#mx m

(follows a different canon from da2; rather than disband, all of Hawke's companions stayed with them. Literally all of them. It's terrible.was not as angry in the make out as i intended it to be. oh well. enjoi.)

The elf was infuriating and disgusting.

He was crude and vile, and he smelled like wine. Not that Dorian disliked wine; he was more of a whiskey man, himself, but on Fenris, everything was deplorable.

"You'll like Broody," Varric had laughed, patting his arm the night before he and his companions - the Champion of Kirkwall, her Dalish lover, that infuriating Prince, his equally infuriating mage... Varric had apparently seen fit to open the barn doors, because the group was far too large and far too rowdy. They fit in curiously well with Bull's lot; none of the charm and valor Dorian had read about was on any of them. Even the supposed only normal one, Aveline, had eventually given into pokes and prods and was currently arm wrestling with their Lady Seeker. Dorian hadn't seen either's arm budge in two minutes.

Of course, by now they probably had settled on a winner; the inn had grown louder and louder, despite his retreat up into the library for peace and quiet. And he was regretting his attempts at being charming with any of them, because where Sebastian had shot a pointed glance at Dorian's offered whiskey and replied stiffly, "Starkhaven's is better," and Anders had all but growled at him, the elf had actually sought him out.

"Shouldn't you be rolling around in the filth?" Dorian attempted to wave him off. "Fist deep in trouble, or something?"

"I could be fist deep in you, if you keep up the attitude," Fenris snapped back, before realizing what he'd said. He leaned away as though he'd cought a whiff of something foul. "It is quiet in here. I like the quiet."

"And yet, here you are, disturbing it."

Fenris was leaning, balanced on his hands against the book shelf. "I like a certain level of quiet," he corrected himself. Then he pushed back from the shelf, stumbling a little too hard backward. Dorian saw the potential danger and launched himself out of his seat, grabbing at Fenfris' wrist to keep him from stumbling back over the railing. The drunken yank ended with him pulling Fenris against himself as he fell back, landing harder than he'd have liked to on his tailbone with a notoriously pointy and touchy elf in his lap.

"That was - " Dorian started, snorting as he leaned a little against Fenris' chest. The elf had put his hands on Dorian's shoulders. "That was - "

Fenris leaned in and cut him off. The kiss was fierce, heavy, and wanting; Dorian hooked his arms around Fenris and felt him push against him, hard. It was brief, but it led into more kisses, and grinding there on the floor; eventually Dorian allowed himself to be pushed back, Fenris straddling his lap and pinning his hands by twining their fingers together and holding them against the floor. When Fenris finally stopped kissing him, turning his head to the side to catch his breath, Dorian continued.

"Incredible," he managed, wiggling his hips against Fenris. All that grinding had left him half-hard and he felt it brush against Fenris, saw his face when it did. "If you wanted me to kiss you, all you had to do was ask."