“Maker, it’s freezing outside,” Hawke growled as he stepped into the Hanged Man, banging the door closed behind him. Merrill was so absolutely covered in coats and scarfs her face couldn’t be seen, and she shivered next to him.

“Is there a person underneath that snowman?” Isabela teased, sitting pretty—literally and figuratively—at their usual table, her feet propped up onto it and a mug in hand.

“Fuck you too,” Hawke replied, just as cheerful as he unwrapped the scarf from around his face. “Where’s everyone else?”

“Braving the storm like you, I suppose,” Isabela replied as Merrill started to strip off her layers and signaled for a drink, her teeth still chattering. “Oh, this came for you.”

The wicked grin on Isabela’s face did little to improve Hawke’s mood as he took the paper from her, opening it up.

You are cordially invited…

“…aw, hell.” It was an invitation to some fancypants Wintersend party. Hosted by the viscount, no less. Fuck’s sake. “Who brought this?”

“Aveline. She says you have to attend as champion and she won’t hear otherwise.”

“I didn’t realize I had two mothers,” Hawke grumbled, even though he could see her point. He’d stumbled into becoming the so-called ‘Champion of Kirkwall’. He hadn’t sought it out or asked for it. And now it came with some benefits like getting people to listen to him, and drawing attention to things that were important—but it also meant he had a fine line to tread, as Aveline was forever reminding him.

As if he needed the reminder with Knight Commander Meredith breathing down his neck.

Looked like he’d have to attend this party—or Aveline would probably show up and frog march him there anyway.

The door opened again and two more figures stumbled in, one tall and thin and the other short and railing about the weather.

Hawke smirked. “Not feeling the beauty of the winter wonderland, Varric?”

Varric glared at him as he shucked off his coat. “It’d be a shame if I had to conclude my series by writing how the Champion of Kirkwall met his end smothered in a snowbank.”

Hawke ignored Varric’s grumblings and went over to help the other figure unwrap. The moment Fenris’ face was revealed, Hawke planted a kiss on his cheek. “Hello.”

Fenris’ cheeks were already pink from the cold, or at least that was the excuse Hawke knew Fenris would use if he pointed out the color on them. “I think the whole town’s going to be holing up,” Hawke’s boyfriend (brand new boyfriend, and the word still sent a stupid thrill through him like he was a young teenager all over again) informed him. “Shops are closing, all of it. If we want to be prepared we should stock up.”

Hawke avoided pointing out the ‘we’ as well. Fenris was simultaneously the most dedicated and the most skittish person Hawke had ever met when it came to relationships. He was nothing short of devoted, but if that devotion was in any way pointed out, he would look like he was hoping the earth would swallow him up.

“I’ll talk to Bethany about it,” Hawke assured him.

“Hey, Fenris,” Isabela said in her best wheedling voice. “You want to go to a party?”

Fenris squinted at her suspiciously. “This isn’t one of your ‘bedroom parties’, because if so…”

Isabela scoffed. “I think your stick in the mud attitude would scare off my other guests. Besides, I would much rather…”

Hawke sighed. “Could you please not scar us before noon, Isabela?”

“It’s before noon?” Varric asked, signaling Norah to bring him a tankard. “No wonder I feel like shit.”

“I like mornings,” Merrill replied.

“And we all appreciate your cheerfulness, Kitten.”

“The viscount is hosting a Wintersend party,” Hawke explained, brushing the snow off of Fenris’ shoulders. “And it would be bad form if the Champion didn’t make a quick appearance. I was hoping you might come with me?”

Fenris looked pointedly down at himself, then back up at Hawke. “I’m not altogether sure someone of my… disposition would be welcome.”

“I don’t care if you called their mothers whores to their faces,” Hawke replied cheerfully. Most people would have missed the undercurrent of steel and had in fact missed it many times. Hawke’s cheerful attitude and constant sass made him the life of many a party but there was a reason he was the Champion—his resolve was nigh unshakeable, and his leadership absolute.

The idea of Fenris saying any such thing to anyone, when there were much more dignified insults about, however, was a bit laughable.

“If you truly want me there,” Fenris said, “then of course I’ll join you.”

“I’ll need you there to make the party somewhat bearable,” Hawke replied. “And besides, I’ll have the best-looking date in Kirkwall on my arm.”

Fenris blushed at that, and Hawke mentally punched the air in victory.

“Do I have to go, too?” Merrill asked.

“Pity my invitation was lost in the mail and I’ll have to crash,” Varric said. “You can be my date if you’d like, Kitten.”

Merrill beamed at him. Hawke had a suspicion she was going to be the only one to actually enjoy this shindig. Varric collecting gossip for his next book didn’t count.

Fenris was rather good-natured about the whole thing, letting Hawke pick out a handsome dark blue suit for him—Hawke personally thought it brought out the silver of his tattoos—and let Bethany fuss over both of them regarding their hair. But Hawke was well aware that given the choice between going to this party and returning to the Deep Roads, Fenris would probably pick the latter.

The closer they got to the party the more tense Fenris became, and Hawke was starting to regret asking his boyfriend to be his date. Yes, Fenris was his boyfriend and he wanted the entire city to start fucking respecting that, and yes, he did want Fenris at his side as much as possible, but perhaps he had overstepped. Perhaps he was making Fenris do something that was too far out of his comfort zone. Perhaps…

As they walked up the steps to the viscount’s home, Fenris put his hand over Hawke’s. “You’re overthinking again.”

“Maybe. Just a little.”

Fenris interlinked their fingers. “I am not a slave anymore. I don’t do anything that I don’t want to do. I want to be here, with you. I promise.”

This was why Hawke loved him. Fenris always, somehow, was able to read his mind.

The party was in full swing as they made their entrance, pausing at the top of the stairs to the great hall so that they could be officially announced and everyone could stare at them and applaud politely and Hawke could feel awkward all over again. He was never going to get used to the attention. Almost immediately the viscount himself hurried up to them. Hawke didn’t fail to notice that the man’s eyes swept over Fenris like he wasn’t there.

“The Champion himself.” This was accompanied by a bow. “We’re honored that you could take the time to join us.”

“Viscount, my date, I’m sure you’ve seen him around the city with me, Fenris.”

Fenris gave a tight-lipped smile. Hawke squeezed his hand, soothing him. “I don’t suppose you could point out the buffet table?”

Fenris’ smile became more genuine as he struggled to maintain his serious expression. That had been when Hawke had realized that Fenris actually liked him—when he’d started to get Fenris to smile and laugh.

“Ah, it’s—it’s that way,” the viscount replied, looking put out that Hawke didn’t want to stay and make small talk. He probably had been hoping that Hawke would chat with him so that everyone at the party could see what ‘good friends’ the champion and the viscount were, but that wasn’t Hawke’s problem.

He led Fenris to the buffet table, where there were more than enough sweets and treats laid out. Wintersend was a good excuse for everyone to indulge, and the kind of food Hawke was seeing would give him at least one cavity if he ate all of it.

Fortunately he took that as a challenge.

“Want to try everything? Work our way down?”

Fenris got a quietly mischievous look in his eye. “Aren’t you supposed to be dignified?”

“I’m supposed to be a lot of things, but hopefully not that.” Hawke winked at him and grabbed a peppermint, popping it into his mouth. “C’mon, Fenris. You know you want to.”

“Every time you say that I know I’m going to regret going along with whatever scheme you’ve cooked up,” Fenris replied, but he sampled a peppermint as well.

Hawke picked up another treat, some caramel chocolate thing, and popped it into Fenris’ mouth before Fenris could object.

Fenris glared at him, chewing obstinately.

“You like it.”

“No I do not.”

“Yes you do.”

“I’m not a child to be fed, Hawke,” Fenris said, false exasperation in his voice.

“Nope.” Hawke grabbed another treat, this some kind of salmon and cheese thing. “But you are my boyfriend. It’s supposed to be romantic.”

“Feeding someone like a child is romantic.”

“It’s also getting people to roll their eyes at us.”

“And there’s the real reason.”

Music started up, and he noticed that couples were starting to hurry out onto the floor. He grinned. “C’mon, let’s dance.”

“I do not dance.”

“Not even to annoy everyone by doing it purposefully badly?”

Fenris paused. “…so long as Varric doesn’t put it in one of his novels…”

Hawke grabbed his hand. “I’ll make sure he doesn’t.”

He dragged Fenris out onto the floor, where he started doing the worst dance moves he could think of. Fenris’ mouth twitched as he tried not to smile. “You look like you’re having a seizure.”

“I look fantastic,” Hawke replied, grabbing Fenris and spinning him around, then dipping him dramatically. “And so do you.”

“People are going to think you’re drunk.”

“Then let them. We’re having fun, aren’t we?” He struck an overly dramatic pose like he was a stage actor.

Fenris laughed quietly. “Yes, yes we are.”

They danced for another song, Hawke trying to come up with the most ridiculous moves to make Fenris laugh some more, and then they went back to the buffet for more food.

“I thought you two were supposed to glad hand,” Varric noted, filling up a plate with goodies.

“I came, didn’t I?” Hawke replied. “That ought to be good enough for them.”

“Aveline’s going to have your head later.”

“I’ll deal with it later then.”

Hawke spied none other than Knight Commander Meredith headed there way. Of all the people he didn’t want to fucking deal with… he grabbed Fenris’ hand. “C’mon, let’s find a dark corner.”

“You aren’t serious.”

Hawke wrapped an arm around Fenris’ waist, pressing them together. “I’m dead serious,” he said, dropping his voice down.

Fenris swallowed, his hand toying with the fur of Hawke’s jacket, smoothing it down. “Well… I suppose if we really wanted to cause a scandal…”

“It would stop us from getting invited to these peacock parties in the future.”

“You were invited, not me.”

“But I’m always bringing you so it might as well be both of us.”

Fenris rolled his eyes, but he allowed Hawke to grab them each a glass of wine and lead him up the stairs along the upper hallway, to a dark little hallway that led to… somewhere.

From here they could still hear the music, but they didn’t have to deal with any people, and nobody could see them.

Hawke clinked their glasses together and Fenris tried to hide his smile in his drink. In the soft darkness, Hawke felt like he could relax for the first time since this evening had started. Fenris sipped his wine, humming slightly along with the music, and Hawke’s heart felt like it was swelling.

“What?” Fenris whispered, setting down his glass.

“Nothing.”

“Something.”

Hawke shrugged. Even now, he sometimes felt self-conscious with how much he cared for Fenris. The elf was hard to read, his emotions running deep but carefully hidden, and sometimes Hawke felt like he was still the too-boisterous, too-playful idiot who was trying in all the wrong ways to draw Fenris out of his shell. “It’s just… I love you.”

Fenris tilted his head slightly. “I love you,” he replied, as if it was a known fact, like snow falling from the sky or the sun rising every morning.

“I know, but…”

Fenris kissed him softly. “I love you,” he repeated, his voice gentle, barely a whisper, but firm.

Hawke rans his hands up Fenris’ sides, wrapping them around his back. Fenris arched into the touch. “People will notice we’re missing,” he warned.

“I don’t care.” Hawke kissed him again, then began to kiss down Fenris’ neck, mouthing at his pulse point, feeling it hammering against his lips. “I want you.”

Fenris shivered. “I hate that I can’t say no to you.”

“No, you don’t.”

Fenris gave a breathless laugh, his arms wrapping around Hawke as he settled into his lap, straddling him. “No, I don’t.”

Hawke rolled his hips up, feeling Fenris starting to grow hard against him. This wasn’t exactly private—they were alone for now but who knew if a servant or another enterprising couple would walk by, and they could clearly hear the music still—and it would be rather embarrassing for the Champion of Kirkwall to be caught having sex with his boyfriend at a party but Maker knew all the other nobles would be doing the same thing when they got further into their cups and—

And Fenris was moving his hips in just that way, sharp and sweet, and Hawke really didn’t care about anything else anymore, nothing else other than thrusting back up and feeling that delicious friction and getting Fenris to growl his name.

Maker, Fenris knew how to move his hips. Hawke got his hands underneath Fenris’ clothes, feeling the hot skin, the ridges and bumps, the scars. Fenris still struggled to have sex with his clothes off, but he had no problem with this, and Hawke wasn’t going to push—not when Fenris was kissing him slick and deep as they both started to move in earnest.

Hawke pushed himself up, turning around and pinning Fenris to the wall, giving a long, slow roll that made his toes curl. Fenris panted into his mouth, his nails sinking into Hawke’s back as standing allowed the both of them to get better leverage. Hawke felt like a teenager all over again, not even bothering to get his hand down his pants to get their cocks out, just thrusting hard and desperate together and so close already, electricity underneath his skin, his fingertips, sparks in his stomach…

Fenris tipped his head back and Hawke bit lightly at his throat, growling as Fenris whined impatiently. Maker, yes, fuck, it felt so good, Fenris felt so good, he loved him impossibly, this man who put up with Hawke’s antics and laughed with him and let him debauch him at a stupid ridiculous fancy party—

Hawke shuddered, his thrusts speeding up, unable to hold onto his rhythm as he drew close to the edge. Fenris clawed at his back and thrust hard, messy, yanking on Hawke’s hair and wrapping a leg around Hawke’s hip to get better leverage. Hawke groaned, his legs buckling at the new angle as he came, and his blood roared in his ears but he felt Fenris coming too a moment later, breathing Hawke’s name into his ear.

From below came the sound of laughter and chatter. Ugh. Hawke had kind of hoped the party would disappear while they were busy.

Fenris gently stroked his cheek. “Hawke. Do you want to get out of here?”

Hawke looked at him. Fenris smiled. “You put in an appearance. You said hello to the host. We danced. I think that technically fulfills our societal obligations, don’t you?”

Hawke grinned at him. “But how will we get out without anyone noticing?”

Fenris glanced over at one of the large double-paned windows. “I had an idea or two.”

“You climbed down from the second floor!?” Anders said when they told the story at the Hanged Man an hour later. “And you’re always calling me insane?”

“Like a true pirate,” Isabela said.

“You could’ve taken us with you,” Varric said.

“Like you weren’t enjoying destroying the buffet table with Merrill.”

Fenris returned with a tanker for himself and for Hawke, handing Hawke his before tucking himself back into Hawke’s side.

Hawke through an arm around Fenris’ shoulder. “I’m sure we won’t even be missed.”

Varric snorted. “No, because they all saw you go off to have sex.”

Fenris choked on his drink.

“Aveline really will kill you,” Isabela laughed.

“Let her,” Hawke shot back. He didn’t regret a thing.

And judging by the small smile on Fenris’ face, neither did he.