#fenrow

(Untitled fenrow physical hurt / comfort WIP) "Where are you hurt?"

(My re-write WIP of the Best Served Cold quest) When Rowan promised Orsino he'd look into his rebellious charges, he didn't expect templars to be working with them, and he certainly didn't expect to be attacked on sight.

(Untitled fenrow whump WIP) What had once been a beautiful, peaceful night was now lost to cacophony, the comfortable quiet shattered by the clashing of weapons, the shouts of fighters, the groans of the dying, and the desperate calls between two lovers who knew they were soon to fall.

(Untitled Fenrow post-DA2 physical hurt / comfort WIP) As the last of the newly-freed slaves scattered into the thick woods, Fenris watched as Rowan seemed almost to wilt where he stood.

(Untitled fenrow smut WIP) A bright pinprick of pain burst through Rowan’s sewing-induced reverie, and he sucked in a short breath through his teeth.

(Untitled carian fluff ficlet) "Dorian, come on!"

(Untitled fenrow fluff blurb) The crackle of the fire in the hearth underscored the quiet, even sound of Rowan's breathing.

(Untitled fenrow fluff blurb) "How do you do that?"

(Untitled fenrow emotional hurt / comfort ficlet) The empty wine bottle hit the floor with a resounding clatter and rolled out of sight.

(Untitled carian fluff blurb) A booming swell of laughter and groans echoed uproariously through the tavern as several Inquisition soldiers threw down their cards in surrender.

"How do you do that?" Fenris asked, looking up from where Anders was busy healing a large gash on his forearm. His gaze, soft but glinting with curiosity, met Rowan's, the pale glow of the magic dancing in his eyes.

Rowan cocked his head just slightly, wincing at the way the movement pulled at the wound on his shoulder. "How do I do what?"

"You showed up the second I needed you, like you heard me. I saw how many shades were attacking you; most people would have been too caught up in their own fight to see that someone else was struggling." Fenris tilted his head too, as if unconsciously mirroring Rowan. It was a bit silly, but something about that made Rowan really want to pull him close, take his face in his hands, and kiss his forehead. Might not be the best time for that. Fenris continued, "How is it that you always notice, without fail, when I'm about to fall?"

Anders finished his work on Fenris' arm and turned to Rowan as if to start on his injuries, but Rowan shook his head and patted Anders' shoulder, gesturing towards Varric. "Go ahead and take care of Varric before you start on me; I can wait a little longer. I saw him take a nasty hit towards the end there."

Anders hesitated. "If you're sure...?"

"I'll be alright, Anders. I promise." Rowan gave him a reassuring little smile. "You know I will."

With a nod, off he went. Rowan turned back to Fenris to find him still staring intently at him. His eyes were devoid of any wariness, a far cry from when they were first getting to know each other. Now his expression was open, sincere, perfectly at ease; searching, but out of interest, not distrust. It made Rowan's heart feel weightless in his chest to think of how far he'd come since they'd met.

A bright pinprick of pain burst through Rowan’s sewing-induced reverie, and he sucked in a short breath through his teeth. A bright red dot of blood was rapidly welling on the tip of his finger. He’d gotten himself pretty bad there. Ah well. He supposed that was how things went when you got too used to something; absent-minded mistakes would always sneak up on you eventually. As he cast his gaze around in search of something he could wrap around his finger (it wouldn’t be ideal to bleed all over his sewing), Fenris glanced up at him from his spot, curled up with a book in the other armchair.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes, I’m fine, love. Just wasn’t paying enough attention and jabbed myself. Do you know where…” He trailed off.

Upon meeting Fen's eyes, Rowan had caught a spark of something glinting there, something as lively as the fire crackling before them in the hearth, but what that something was didn’t make itself apparent until Fenris had slid out of his seat and sauntered over to him. 

“Let me see it.” 

Bemused, Rowan held out his hand, only to be caught entirely off-guard when Fenris gently grasped it, sunk to his knees, and wrapped his smirking lips around Rowan’s bleeding finger. A choked-off noise of surprise was all he managed before every coherent thought fled his mind. All that was left was the acute awareness of Fenris’ mouth, the warm wetness of his tongue as it lapped at the tip. Just as Rowan had scraped together enough of his wits to ask what brought this on, Fenris took it the rest of the way in, sucking and laving his tongue along the whole length. Heat pulsed through him, warming his cheeks and settling between his legs, and the few words he had eked out hung, abandoned, in the honey-thick air between them. 

After what had felt like hours, though was likely only a few seconds, Fenris relinquished his finger with a quiet pop. Mischief and amusement danced across his face, and Rowan knew he must look quite the fool sitting there slack-jawed and stupefied. That easy smile was worth it, though. Always. A sudden swell of affection swept over him, and before he could even properly register what he was doing, his lips collided with Fenris’ in a clumsy, hungry kiss. His mouth was soft and eager against Rowan’s, still curling up at the corners, and his hands tangled in Rowan’s hair just roughly enough to tug a soft groan from deep in his throat. Fenris huffed a short laugh against his mouth before giving it a sharp, intentional yank. Rowan shuddered with bliss, and a thrill prickled down his spine, raising the hairs on the back of his neck. His trousers most definitely hadn’t felt this tight a few moments ago. Their lips met and parted and met and parted, each kiss deeper and sloppier than the last. Tongues laved against tongues and curled around teeth and licked along lips and deep into mouths, breaths came short and panting, hands clutched tighter and tighter at clothes and hair.

Lost in the haziness of it all, it took Rowan a moment to register that Fenris’ hands were moving; travelling down his chest, stroking over his thighs. He had only a vague awareness of those wandering hands until they grasped his cock and white-hot pleasure tore through him, leaving him completely breathless. His gasp caught on his shocked moan and resulted in a broken, strangled noise that might’ve been embarrassing had Rowan been in any sort of state to care, but as such, the only thing he cared about was that Fenris was now fondling him slowly through his trousers in time with the rhythm of their kiss. He was so hard now that it was beginning to get dizzying. 

With one last nip at his lip, Fenris pulled away, and Rowan couldn’t help his forlorn whine at the loss. He could spend eternity kissing him, he really could. Fenris chuckled, cupping Rowan’s cheek and smoothing a thumb over his bottom lip. The tangible affection in that gentle touch left a burning trail in its wake, and the intensity of Fenris’ gaze set Rowan’s heart fluttering.

“Such a tragic sound. Have you considered that I might need my mouth for something else?”

Rowan felt Fen's hands tugging at the waistband of his pants, but a twinge of nervous concern broke through his desire and gave him pause. It hadn’t been long since they’d gotten back together. What if he felt obligated to do this, whether to make up for lost time or because he assumed it was something Rowan expected from him? He couldn’t live with himself if that were the case.

“Wait, Fenris… Are you sure? You know you don’t have to-”

“I want to. You must trust me when I say that I wouldn’t do this just because I felt I should. I want this, and I want you.” Fenris’ voice was firm and brooked no argument, and it was all Rowan could do to nod in the face of the relief that washed over him. The next words to pass Fenris’ lips would spell the ruin of the last shreds of his composure. “I want to taste you.”

The empty wine bottle hit the floor with a resounding clatter and rolled out of sight. Rowan buried his face in his hands, choking back an ugly sob. He shook with the strain of trying to keep himself together in the face of the terrible grief that was taking him apart bit by bit, ripping down his resolve like paper. It didn't matter that he was alone; he couldn't let himself crumble. What if he couldn't put himself back together? What if something happened and he wasn't strong enough to face it and somebody else died? Maker, what would he do? This time, he couldn't stifle the agonized groan that tore its way from his throat. His fingers tangled in his hair; for once, it was hanging loose around his face. His head spun. When had that happened?

So absorbed in his struggle against total collapse was he, that he didn't hear the approaching footsteps until the wine bottle was sent rolling loudly back towards him, followed by a surprised grunt. The sudden noise startled him and his head shot up to see Fenris in the doorway, rubbing awkwardly at the back of his neck.

"Ah. If this isn't a good time, I can– oh." Fenris' eyes met his, and Rowan saw concern spark in them the second Fenris saw his face. He felt sick. Now he'd done it. Fenris wasn't supposed to be worried for him. Nobody was, but especially not Fenris. Not after that night. Maker, he was so selfish.

"Hawke... what happened?" The unusual undertone of care in the deep rumble of his voice made Rowan's chest ache as if Fenris had reached in and took his heart in his hand. In this moment, he would almost rather he did do that. Fenris took a couple of steps forward and, to his utter horror, Rowan felt the tears he'd been fighting for so long finally overwhelm him.

As they welled in his eyes and blurred his vision to mere blotches of color, he choked out, "Maker, Fenris. I– I'm sorry. You don't– you don't have to–" and the rest of his protest was lost to the sobs that wracked his entire body. He hid his face again, hands fisted in his hair. For a while, there was silence; presumably because Fenris was at a complete loss, which did nothing to make Rowan feel any less ashamed of himself. He wished Fenris hadn't picked this exact time to show up, and he wished that he hadn't decided to stay, for the love of Andraste. He wished he'd never drunk that bottle of wine. He wished–

Something settled on his shoulder. Something warm and hesitant. He looked up, and there was Fenris, looking down at him with uncharacteristic sympathy. There was uncertainty in his face, but there was determination too. Determination to be there for him. For a moment, Rowan forgot about his guilt, forgot about the complexity of their relationship, and leaned his head against Fen's arm. Fen's eyes went round, soft around the edges with regret and an emotion Rowan couldn't name in his current state, but would come to realize later was longing.

He straightened abruptly and opened his mouth to apologize, but Fenris beat him to the punch. "You don't need to apologize; I'm not bothered." Fenris took a quiet, steadying breath. Rowan could feel his hand flex against his shoulder. "Is this about your mother?" he asked, and before Rowan could try and duck the question, he continued. "I'm here to listen. You aren't under any obligation to talk to me, but perhaps it would do you some good. You do too much, Hawke, and expect too little in return."

That certainly gave him something to think about. What was left of the sober part of his mind was screaming at him not to needlessly burden Fenris by letting him see how badly he was really struggling, but between the alcohol and the intoxicating comfort of Fenris' presence, the part that wanted him to spill his guts won out.

"It's everything." Rowan confessed in a voice barely above a whisper. He squeezed his eyes shut. Hung his head. "Fenris, it's everything. I'm to blame for it all. I didn't do enough and they all died because of it. Because of me. Carver. Bethany. Mother. I wasn't strong enough. I wasn't good enough. Maker, I'm still not good enough. I'm sitting here, putting this all on you when you don't deserve that. You don't deserve to be weighed down by someone like me." A few seconds of silence passed. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said anything."

The reassuring weight on his shoulder disappeared, and Rowan felt a kind of grim satisfaction. The loss of Fenris' touch stung terribly, leaving him off-balance and floundering, but it was for the best. He'd put too much on him and this was exactly what he deserved.

The feeling of Fenris' hand gently coming to rest on his cheek sent a jolt through him so intense, he could've slapped him instead and it wouldn't have taken his breath away like this. The hand on his cheek inched down to catch under the edge of his jaw, guiding his head up so his eyes locked with Fenris'. He held Rowan's gaze unflinchingly, earnest affection and understanding etched into every inch of his expression.

The crackle of the fire in the hearth underscored the quiet, even sound of Rowan's breathing. Fenris felt the steady rise and fall of his chest with each one, bare skin warm where it was pressed against his. For a moment, he just laid there and stared, watched the nearly imperceptible shifting of Rowan's sleeping features. His face was always gentle, even when awake, but there was a naked vulnerability to him when he was asleep that stirred something deep in Fenris' chest. It was that fluttering, weightless feeling that urged his hand from Rowan's chest to brush the backs of his knuckles over his cheek, following the line of his tattoo along his cheekbone until he felt the feather-light touch of his deep red hair. His eyes followed, drinking in the way it fell loose around his face, freed from the leather tie that kept it pulled back throughout the day. It wasn't often that he got the chance to run his hand through it like this, so he indulged himself.

Rowan's hair was smooth, well taken care of, and it parted easily around his fingers as they scraped softly along his scalp. He stirred a bit, unconsciously leaning into Fenris' touch with a contented sigh. Fenris couldn't help the smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth. Though it seemed Rowan was likely to wake if he kept going, he couldn't resist; and with the next indulgent stroke, he did indeed. With a deep, slow breath through his nose and a quiet hum, Rowan's eyes fluttered open. When they settled on Fenris, they softened, and he smiled.