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Her back collides with the wall, solid and harsh- the warmth of him against her, dark green eyes staring her down, the glow of lyrium, and his breath against her face. And if she didn’t know him, if she didn’t trust him- she might fear his fingers pushing through her ribs and seizing her heart, but his eyes seem to shift from her eyes, lower, to her lips. And she looks at his, how close they are, able to remember the heat of his face when she cradled it, the night he talked about the Fog Warriors, when she brushed her thumb just beneath his lower lip- testing waters that terrify and excite her all at once.
And one or both of them moves, their mouths crash, teeth clang together- but the ache quickly forgiven by the swipe of his tongue, the slide of it over her own. She groans into it, he tastes like blood and wine- metallic and heady, sharp enough to make her head spin and her thoughts blur, needing more. Hawke grabs at his leather, careful, still hesitant- she avoids touching his skin until she’s afforded the permission, grasping at his clothes as she presses deeper in.
He starts to pull back, space between them, she fights to fill it. To chase his kiss and tug him closer. Fear, desperation, need- she twists him around, a gasp against her lips as she pushes him into her position. His back hits the wall with a thunk as she deepens the kiss, quick and hard as she pushes her tongue into his mouth-
Shit, no, fuck- regret burbles inside of her, thumps against her ribcage in tune with her pounding heart. She caged him in, she moved him around, she pushed too far, and he was pulling away- how could she do that to him?
“Sorry, sorry, fuck, I-” She blusters and gasps as she breaks away, she ruined everything, how could she take what he wasn’t ready to give? How could she hurt him when he-
A clawed gauntlet curls beneath her ass, another behind her head, the metal cold though her clothes and hair- where it brushes her skin, pulled in tight and close, his nose bumps her own, green eyes blotted to near black.
“Don’t be, please, I, please…”
And Maker save her, she nearly falls apart then and there- his deep voice ravaged and breathy as he pleads for her, she may never know what she did to be worthy of having a man like him beg for her, to plead as he pulls her back into a kiss. He anchors her mouth to his own as he gropes at her ass, cloth tearing beneath the scratch of his gauntlets, feeling metal against bare skin.
“Fuck,” she breaks off just long enough to curse against his jaw, she’s burning beneath her skin, a faint glow runs along the lyrium in his. Her eyes dart around, they’re still in the foyer of her home, it’s late and everyone should be asleep, but-
His mouth falls to the juncture between her neck and shoulder, a harsh suck and rougher bite that dances pain and pleasure along her nerves- heat pooling between her thighs, aching as he squeezes her ass through her torn clothes, a mix of the metal of his armour and the warmth of his skin, he burns hot and she wants him closer, desperate to have more of his mouth, his hands.
She yanks and tugs at his leather, caught between desire and fear of pushing too far- but he’s mouthing at her throat, sucking bruises deep into her skin. His hand in her hair drops and soon he’s pulling at the tie at her waistband, both hands meeting there to yank at her clothes. He nips and bites- she groans at the ache and throb of his teeth in her skin, the lave of his tongue over the bruises he makes. And she can feel him hard beneath his leathers, grinding against her thighs.
“Festis bei umo canavarum,” he whispers against her bruised throat and there’s a creak in her throat as she starts to ask what it is, only knows it makes her knees weak and there’s a sharp sound and her waistband feels loose, pants slipping from her hips.
“Shit, fuck,” she gasps, instinctively trying to catch the fabric- the ties laying uselessly on the floor, cut off of her. And she aches- with need, with desperation, with the feeling of being wanted- to be desired so much he’d beg and cut the clothes from her body.
“Hawke,” he whispers, pushing his hands beneath her own, a silent plead for her to let the fabric fall away- she lets his hands slip beneath her palms until she’s barely holding her pants up
“We should go to my room,” she tries to offer and she tries to look around, to be nervous, to be scared- she should be. They’re in her foyer, anyone could wake up and see her, but she can’t look away from his eyes, can’t pull away from his hands on her own, begging her to be naked before him.
She lets him pull her hands away, lets the claws of his gauntlets hook into the fabric.
And he hits his knees as he pulls the torn pants down to her ankles, getting caught on her boot- another Tevene curse on his tongue as he starts trying to wrench off his gauntlets. Tearing at straps with his teeth until finally the metal hits the floor with a heavy sound. His bare hands brush her skin, hot against her already burning flesh, he starts to help her out of her boots- and she notices the extra care as he pulls the one off her prosthetic leg.
She steps out of her pants, accepting her fate to be stripped naked in the Amell Estate foyer- she's sure her grandparents would be so proud.
Then his hands run up her thighs and hips, lyrium glows, hums and pulses as if greeting her- warm and she's already melting, looking at the man kneeled in front of her. Impulse moves her, because acting without thinking is her favorite hobby- white hair silken between her fingers, as soft as she recalls. And his head lifts, his jaw presses into her palm, she cradles her face as he allows her too- feeling the warmth of his skin, the way he leans in, looking at her from beneath his lashes- turns against her palm and gives a shadow of a kiss there.
“You're killing me,” she remarks, not even sure if she meant for the words to leave her.
And he deems it fit to smile, to chuckle through disparate breath- pride looks so lovely on him.
“Truly?” He suggests, almost incredulous, smug and jovial at a joke she doesn't recall making. Lyrium etched fingers curl behind her knees as he looks up at her between them.
“Truly,” she assures him, not knowing quite why he's so amused, but if it makes him smile she'll say it again, again, again.
And her ass hits the ground, a heavy smack of her weight bouncing against the foyer tile as her legs are yanked out from under her. She yelps, pain pulses at the base of her tailbone- passively aware of the feel of soft hair and warm skin between her legs, but anxiety spikes sharper. Hawke slaps her hand over her mouth, cranes her neck to look upward and upside down into the den- listens for any creak of activity at her outburst, it's a large estate but noise bounces off its walls, traveling further than it has any right too.
A harsh bite at the plush of her inner thigh, Fenris steals her attention back almost as soon as he's lost it. Her legs now hooked over his shoulders as he moves further between them, mouthing at her skin- licking over the mark and she muffles a groan with the palm of her hand.
He forces her thighs further apart as he lays between her legs, kisses and bites along her skin- the dig of teeth, the lave of his tongue, the pulse of lyrium, and he's killing her.
And he doesn't bother to try and tug off her underwear, nothing that would require him to move away from her- quickly yanking the thin wet fabric to the side of her cunt and she clamps her hand down against her mouth. His tongue presse into her, a groan in his throat as he laps at her. Sharp, hot, he burns through her, pleasure prickles her skin and threatens to consume her- trying to trap her whines behind her teeth and palm, because if someone finds them here- if someone ruins this for her before she manages to ruin it for herself-
His nose bumps her clit, wet and swollen, burning and sensitive- she nearly chokes, seeing stars as he mouths at her like he's starved. Like he's just as desperate, just as needy, and she knows it's been so long for her- she can't imagine for him and maybe if she wasn't getting her cunt licked out she'd have enough shame to feel selfish- to feel bad about taking and not giving.
He sucks at her clit, the hand not muffling her voice grabs at his hair, wrenches into it- thighs tight around his head as she tries to anchor herself, pleasure building with every lick, every suck. As if he can't decide between licking into her and sucking at her clit, hungrily moving between the two in a rough hurried pace she can't keep up with- but its the hook of his fingers inside of her, pushing in with his tongue, pulsing lyrium veins splitting her open that finally sends her over.
Crashing, reelings- she cries out against the palm of her hand, desperately stuffing her noises back down her throat as she clutches at his hair, cumming on his tongue and fingers. Slowly, she comes back down off her high, whining as he pulls away, and even through the blur of her vision- she sees his hand hovering towards his waistband, cock straining beneath the leather.
“Wait, uh, fuck,” she reels back, breathless and sweaty, her own voice suprising her, “My room, we, we need to go to my room.”
And she sounds far more desperate than she intends, but she won’t survive him fucking her out here. She’ll scream and thrash- her mother, Bodahn, Sandal, and Orana will all hear and come running out to see her getting fucked in the foyer of her dead grandparent’s estate- and she will die.
“Of course,” he agrees, voice ragged and rough, his lips flushed and swollen- her slick wetting them and his chin.
As she sits up, she can’t resist, catching the back of his head and pulling him in for a kiss, needing his skin against her own again. She tastes herself on his tongue, he groans into it, leaning back over her- they haven’t even managed to get back to their feet yet.
Warm fingers wrap around her wrist, just at his neck where she pulls him in, and her hand is wrenched away- his hold iron tight as he yanks his mouth off of hers, anxiety needles.
“Fasta vass!”
“So-”
“Kiss me like that again and I will take you here and now,” he warns- but it is so tempting.
“No, no, we should, um, we should get to my room,” she fumbles over her words, not sure who she’s trying to convince- the blood still rushing around her head, but he gives her a smile and she forgets to feel embarrassed under the warmth of it. His hands slip beneath her own and if it hurts where the lyrium heats beneath her fingers, he doesn’t show it- pulling her to her feet.
Her mind still fuzzy and her gaze still on his smile, temptation and impulse win again as she presses a kiss to that expression she loves so much. Far too chaste and tender to be the result of slamming each other against walls and tearing clothes off in the foyer, but she just wants it so desperately, loves the way he wears a smile too much to resist.
“Hawke,” he says, low and threatening against her lips and she remembers what he said- she giggles, dropping one of his hands long enough to grab her torn pants and she pulls him by the other.
They skitter through the den, the pair trips up the stairs, Hawke pulls him along with her- trying to keep her steps light as she moves, his free hand catches her hip as they reach her bedroom door, easily turning her back to him. Her back hits the wood and and his mouth is on her again, his tongue presses in, he squeezes at the soft skin of her hip, before his hand roams higher and higher- slips beneath the thin fabric of her shirt and bra, gropes at her chest.
She whines into the kiss, skin prickling as he touches her, thumb brushing over her nipple. Their noses bump, each swipe of his tongue, bite at her lips- Hawke reluctantly lets go of his hand to pull at her door, feels it open behind her. Her fingers twist in the leather of his shirt, despite the eager consent- she can’t help but worry, fearful of hurting him.
But she pushes a bit of luck, pulling him back into the bedroom with her as she steps back, finally getting closer to having a bit of privacy. Fenris breaks their kiss off again and she takes a much needed breath while he shuts her door. She starts to reach for her shirt, she wants to feel his hands back on her tits-
He’s back on her before she can even begin to lift the fabric, his hands on her hips, thumbs forming divots in her skin. His mouth slanted against her own, chaste in comparison to the heavier ones they’ve shared. She reaches for his clothes now instead, testing the waters of reaching for the straps of his armored pieces, her hands hover- her touch as light as she can make it.
She gasps, not having made any progress before she’s being pulled up above the world, Fenris lifts her, her eyes going wide- then she’s thrown backwards, her ass bouncing on her bed, she laughs. He smiles at her as he moves closer to meet her again, she’s well aware of his strength after so much time fighting together- but still her insides bubble, her face red. She’s not the lightest of women- short but compact with her fair share of muscle mass, but he threw her so easily.
“Keep this up, you’re gonna hurt someone,” she teases, this now the second time he’s done something to land her firmly on her ass, but she takes the opportunity to start pulling off her top and bra.
He laughs, a deep rich sound that rings rapturously to her ears, only to then nestle directly into her beating heart. She’d kill every Magister in Thedas if it meant hearing him laugh like this, if it means seeing him smile, if it meant seeing his head held high where it belongs- she loves him like this- happy. And to be a part of that, to be a reason for it…
Fuck.
A realization is rising like a tide in the back of her mind.
She pushes it down, watches instead as he pulls off the armour touches and pauldrons, pulling at leather until finally he’s shirtless before her. And all at once she finds him beautiful and hates herself for it. The markings cover even more than she expected, she could see hints and traces of it beneath his clothes before, but it’s clear now just how far they run. The stark white etches lines along his throat, scatter like lightning along his arms, etch along his chest, curves along his abdomen muscles, swirl to eventually vanish into his waistband- able to see where they continue beyond his shoulders, no doubt covering just as much of his back.
And they’re pretty, she can admit it, though it pains her- wishes she was above the superficial acknowledgement that the bright white against his dark skin looks nice, that when she sees them glow- he looks ethereal, mesmerizing…
But knowing they hurt him, knowing what was done to him, to know herself capable of seeing the proof of his pain as something to admire and gawk at…
He deserves better.
“You’re no fragile thing, Hawke,” he reminds her, pulls her from her thoughts as he moves closer, stands at the bed between her legs that hang off it.
“Am I not?” She teases, trying to calm her own worries as he leans over her- nose bumping her own, but she wonders how she can avoid touching his marks as much as possible- how can she make sure this doesn’t hurt?
“No,” he repeats against her lips then his hand slides over her own, brings it to his chest, “And neither am I.”
His marks thrum beneath her touch- pulse and glow to welcome the contact. The intention in his words whirl through her mind, prod at her anxiety in an attempt to settle it. He does not want to be coddled, doesn’t want her to hold back from him, doesn’t want her to test waters, but to simply dive in- no longer the time for restraint.
But, but, but-
“Does it hurt?”
She needs to know.
“Not with you.”
He’s killing her. He’s going to accomplish what the Blight, darkpawn, demons, qunari, corrupted spiders, dragons, highwaymen and more have all failed to do- he’s going to be the death of her.
And she welcomes it- readily, greedily, desperately- she throws an arm around his neck and pulls him down to her, crashes their mouths together again. He lets go of her hand to grab at the waistband of her underwear, she lets herself take what he’s readily offering, runs her fingers along his chest- feels the warmth and lean muscle, feels at his stomach where there’s just a bit of soft give.
He’s gained a bit of weight since settling with them all here in Kirkwall, still lanky and wirey, more lean muscle than anything- but he wears a bit more weight now, a touch healthier, and it’s bliss to feel it beneath her hands, she smiles into the kiss.
Pride, confidence, security, health, happiness- she’d die a thousand deaths to see him with it all, to see him thrive more than he survives.
He pulls back and she whines at the loss of touch as he tugs her underwear off her legs, throwing them aside- leaving her completely naked on top of her sheets. Hawke shifts a bit further back and tugs at his waistband, urging him to follow, to keep touching her- but also she needs him fully naked at some point or she is going to scream.
Fenris climbs over her, uses his knee to nudge her thighs apart, settling between them- his hands run up her stomach, a groan on her tongue as he grabs at her tits. His fingers squeeze and sink into her breasts, groping and playing with them. Fenris’ mouth falls to her neck, sucks and bites at her skin, she reaches between them- skims her fingers along his stomach, before slipping past his waistband- precum sticks to her as she cups his hardon.
A Tevene curse against her throat, he leans his forehead against her jaw, a shaky breath as she squeezes at his cock. She feels the heat and weight of him in her hand, twitching as she strokes him- precum coating her. And Fenris is almost entirely stalled above her, taking another deep breath. She wonders again just how long it’s been since he’s been touched in a way that doesn’t hurt, if it’s ever happened before.
She strokes along his cock, rubs her thumb along the head, groaning when he curses against- the deep rumble of Tevene making her thighs clench around him. Reluctantly, Hawke pulls her hand from his cock, a choked gasp against her skin- she steadies her hand instead on his hip and in one rough quick movement she rolls him beneath her.
His weight thumps against the bed, her own on top of him- straddling his hips and groaning where his cock grinds against her cunt. His face is flushed, his eyes blotted to near black, white hair sweaty and clinging to his forehead- he smiles as he looks up at her.
“What- you’re not fragile, right?” She teases, leaning forward and catching his lips in another kiss- soft as she pulls back for a response, needing just a touch more reassurance that she’s not pushing too far. That his permission remains, that she can take freely from him.
“Far from it,” he assures her, his hands already kneading at her hips.
“Good,” she whispers against his jaw before she kisses it and kisses down to his neck, bites at his skin- feels lyrium thrum in tune to his pulse, beneath her tongue as she licks at the salt of his sweat slick flesh.
He groans as she nips and sucks at his throat, his hands roam up again, squeezing at her tits as she bites up his neck. She bites at his ear as she slides her precum slick hand back down his waistband- giggles at the shaky breath he lets out, the way his groping pauses when she’s palming his cock again.
She kisses down his neck and throat, pausing to suck and bite when impulse strikes, stroking and toying with his cock. Hawke peppers kisses along his shoulder, listening for every groan and curse that spills from his throat. His hands fall away from her chest as she kisses down his, having to move lower as she bites at his skin. She takes a moment to pull back, to look at him.
His jaw clenched tight as he watches her and she’s left a trail of hickies along his skin- deep purple bruises between white lines of lyrium. She moves lower, having to move her hand off his cock as she leans in to kiss at his stomach- a groan and staggered breath pulled from him, at having the direct contact replaced with the lighter brush of her lips over his abdomen. One of his hands grabs at her sheets, the other finds her hair as she hooks her fingers in his waistband.
Fenris’ hand pushes through her hair, nails scratch along her scalp as she starts to kiss lower and lower- until she can feel the leather against her chin, his hard cock bumping her through the fabric.
“Hawke…” He grasps, grip tightening in her hair and she hums against his skin, considering something.
“Astraea,” she corrects softly as she pulls down his pants and underwear, not wanting to delay for too long. And she tries to ignore his gaze on her, she wouldn’t necessarily call her first name a secret- but it’s become something she doesn’t share that readily.
“Astraea?” He says, his voice a bit scratchy- his hold tightens in his hair, as if trying to anchor her in place and her name sounds nice in his mouth.
“My name, the first one,” she clarifies, her face feeling like it’s on fire- wishing she’d kept her mouth shut, but she can’t help wanting him to call her first name. She doesn’t want to be Hawke at this moment- she wants to be Astraea right now, with him.
“It suits you,” he says and heat colors her cheeks an even deeper red, he smiles at her and she’s reminded again that he’ll be the death of her.
“Shut up,” she huffs and bites at his hip, earning another soft groan from him before she yanks down his pants and underwear.
And she doesn’t know what it says about her to be less embarrassed making eye contact with his cock versus his actual face at this moment. She swallows a lump in her throat as she strips the rest of him, finally both fully naked in her bed- and he is still far too attractive. The marks still extend along his thighs and legs, almost no spot on him completely free of the lyrium- more importantly though, his cock is hard between his legs, smearing precum across his skin.
She presses her hand against him, a choked gasp ringing through the air, she squeezes and strokes- he's thick and heavy in her hand. Her thighs clench as she feels the length of it, runs her fingers along the veins, imagining what it'll feel like inside of her. She's no virgin, but admittedly- Kirkwall hasn't served her sex life well. In her four years, she can count on one hand how many times she's found herself tangled in the sheets with anyone. Gamlen's house didn't exactly have any privacy, she wasn't about to bring anyone back to her bottom bunk bed. Not to even discuss how grief, adjusting to a prosthetic, getting over a crush, developing a new one- has all kind of made intimacy… difficult.
She's a little worried at how the stretch will feel after so long, but even the worry is overshadowed by want. Her mouth watering as she presses a kiss to the flushed leaking head of his cock, the salt of precum on her lips, swiping her tongue through it, bitter and hot.
“Venhedis, Astraea, ah,” he curses and groans, her name in his ragged tone goes straight to her cunt- clenching her thighs together to get some fraction of relief.
She takes the head of his cock into her mouth, humming at the taste of him, his hand wrenches tighter in her hair- his hips stutter, snap up and it presses his cock further down her throat, nearly gagging her.
“Sorry, I..” His choked apology fades to another Tevene swear as she smoothes a hand over his hip- attempting to assure him without having to speak, not wanting to pull her mouth off of him. She hums around him instead, taking him further down her throat as she does so.
Her scalp prickles as his hold on her hair is an iron vise, affording her barely enough slack to move, his other hand twisted painfully tight in her sheets. The muscles in his neck and jaw set tight, she can feel a tremble in his hips, his thighs- like he’s trying to hold back desperately not to fuck her throat. And that makes her cunt clench, able to feel how badly he wants to feel her mouth around him.
She starts bobbing her head, sucks as she moves up and down the length of him, trying to move him deeper down her throat with each motion. Drool spills from the corners of her mouth- each movement of her head, plunge down her throat, is rewarded with precum streaking across her tongue and a shaky groan or curse from Fenris. She moves faster, the wet slide of him in and out of her mouth, a squelching sound starting to ring out in the room alongside his groans- her lungs start to burn-
“Astraea, e-, vasta fass, enough, I-”
And then she's wrenched off, her scalp aching as she's pulled off of his cock. She sputters and coughs, throat raw- but before she can even collect a breath, he's yanking her into a kiss, their teeth clang in a familiar ache, his tongue pushes into her mouth in a quick desperate lip lock. Her mind blurs, her lungs ache, his other hand grabs at her hip
Then her back is on the bed, Fenris on top of her. The kiss breaks off and she finally gets a deep breath as his mouth falls to her throat, his hands at her thighs and spreading her legs. A part of her wants to ask why he pulled her off, but her thoughts blur and muddle when she feels his slick cock brushing over her cunt.
He pins her thighs against the mattress and in a quick brutal motion he’s fucking into her, her voice strains and he gasps against her jaw as he sinks in. A slick squelch as his cock splits her open, no pain but she can feel the stretch of him, whining when she feels his hips flush against her, the lyrium that dips down along them hums and warms against her. He’s as deep as he can press into her, filling her until she sees stars.
“Fuck, Fenris, ah- fuck,” she stutters as he grinds his cock into her, barely pulling out at all, staying as deep as he can reach for a moment- friction sparking against his hips where lyrium etched skin rubs against him.
She throws her arms around him, clings to him and drags her nails across his shoulders. He bites and sucks at her jaw. He starts to pull back, the slide of him inside of her, before he fucks into her again- a sharp brutal snap of his hips that makes her hold tighten, her voice squeak as he begins to set a pace.
“You feel, I, ugh,” he groans, his words crumbling as he thunks his forehead against her skin- hair tickling her, skin sticking sweaty to hers. His pace quick and harsh, her hips ache with every thrust, bruises forming where their bodies collide- each fuck of him into her burning through her, pleasure building, tension growing tighter and tighter as his cock drags through her sensitive cunt and crashes deep inside of her.
Astraea nudges her face down against his, Fenris lifting his head from her neck- his nose bumping hers. She pulls her arms tighter around him, rubs a thumb against the beck of his neck and slides her fingers into his hair- pulls him down for another kiss. His hides run up from her thighs and slip beneath her and around her as his weight comes down more on her- nails digging into her back as they’re pressed completely flushed together, no space between them.
She wraps her legs around his hips, tighter around him, their voices muffled by each others mouth- the tighter clench making her body thrum, pleasure molten between her thighs, and her high building with every motion. Her heels dig into his ass, pulling him closer, tighter. His pace becoming quicker, motion more contained, barely able to pull out before he’s burying himself back inside of her- not given the chance to feel empty before he’s filling the deepest parts of her again, like her body won’t let him go, like he can’t stand the thought of pulling any further from her.
And it all builds and builds into too much- his tongue in her mouth, sweaty slick skin pressed together, every vein of lyrium thrumming against her, his cock buried inside of her as he chases his end as he pushes to her own-
“Fuck, fuck, Fenris!” She cries out against his mouth, clinging to him like a lifeline as the tension snaps- as she shakes in his arms and pulls him as tight and close to her as she can as she’s overwhelmed and cums beneath him, cunt clenching around him.
Something in Tevene she’s either too stupid or too blissed out to understand and then he’s spilling into her, warm rush of cum filling her, leaking out onto the sheets beneath them- a mess where they connect as he fucks through the aftershocks until he collapses, warm and sweaty on top of her.
They catch their breaths, deep ragged panting as they tangle together. His natural warmth, the muted burn of lyrium, and the heat of exhaustion stack and stack- the room obnoxiously hot and cloying. But she can’t stand to lose her hold of him, can’t help but stay pressed to his skin.
And she knows she likes him more than she ever planned- a certain word having spun around her head and nearly bubbled up her throat. But she can deal with that in the morning, they can talk this out when her cunt isn’t filled with him and sweat isn’t chafing beneath her tits.
Reluctantly, disgustingly, they have to separate a little- his cock slips out of her and she whines, already missing the stretch. But he doesn’t make it far from him, falling sweatily to the bed, and they’re back in each others arms like they never left, curling into each others warmth- not even bothering to pull the blankets over each other, Astraea not even able to gather the energy to tug off her prosthetic. She just wants to stay here, content in his warmth, exhaustion crawling in and weighing down her eyelids- she drifts off with the heat of lyrium veins thrumming beneath her cheek and the shadow of a kiss against her forehead.
She wakes up cold.
Even with golden light beginning to drift in from the windows, she finds herself cold. Sweat chilled against her body, slick and cum drying and sticking to her thighs, her stump raw and aching where she’s kept her prosthetic on for too long…
Her bed is otherwise empty and his back is to her as he pulls on his leathers- she pulls her blanket around her but there’s no warmth to be found.