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In the past few months, the manor had ceased to be a hollow place. It had become something lively, a place where Hawke’s odd, crooked new family had come to gather. The fire in the carved stone hearth crackled, casting a golden light over polished wood and various trinkets he had collected over the years. A mantle above the fireplace bore small portraits of his sister and mother, a reminder of their sacrifice, and the Qunari Bassrath-Kata hung over the doorway into the hall.
Fenris stood in the center of it, strong arms crossed, a single, snowy brow raised. Over time, the elf had grown comfortable without his armor and walked about (after the servants had left, of course) in naught but breeches and a simple tunic. His tattoos shimmered faintly in the low light, liquid lightning pulsing under his bronze skin. His stance was solid, unyielding. He had made up his mind about something.
"You are too comfortable getting close in battle with only your magic on your side."
Hawke looked up from his book, making a face. One hand held the tome, the other, a glass of wine.
"If you’ll recall, that comfort saved your life."
“And nearly took yours.”
Fenris responded with a sigh, a familiar exasperation rolling through him as he continued.
"You cannot rely solely on your abilities if you truly want to get into close quarters."
He uncrossed his arms, crossing the ornate woven rug beneath them until he stood an arm’s length away, looking down at Hawke, who in turn frowned up at him.
"You’re in my light, Fenris."
“You like to learn, yes? It’s time you learned to fight, without your magic.”
"And you’ll teach me, I suppose?"
Fenris didn’t blink.
"Yes."
The single word caught Hawke off guard. Their banter usually danced around topics like this… Fenris criticized magic, and Hawke pushed back. Tonight though, Fenris was serious. A challenge, then. One he had clearly thought about. There was something in the way the elf looked at Hawke that made him think there was more than just fighting on the mind… but it may have just been a trick of the firelight.
Hawke rolled his shoulders, setting his book aside and draining his wine.
"Alright, alright. But if I somehow manage to end up winning, I expect you to admit I might not be utterly at your mercy."
Fenris’ lips twitched… something almost like amusement, but not quite. He took a step back, raising his hands, settling into a stance so natural it was infuriatingly clear that he had done this for years.
"Then fight me, mage."
Hawke barely had time to shift before Fenris stepped forward.
And he did move fast… far too fast for Hawke to react before rough hands caught his wrist, twisting him into motion. The mage had barely managed to plant his feet before the force of Fenris’s movement drove him back, struggling to keep balance. Hawke wordlessly cursed not wearing more practical boots as he pivoted, trying to break free, only to have Fenris push forward again, relentless.
"Come on now, try."
Fenris said softly, his voice low, almost a growl as he hooked a foot behind the other man’s ankle, sending him off-balance. The mage tried to regain control, dropping low in an attempt to force Fenris back, but he was ready for it. He caught Hawke’s arm before he could move away, shifting his weight, using the momentum to send them both down onto the rug, landing with a soft thud on the blessedly cushioned surface.
Before Hawke could even react, Fenris pressed forward, pinning him effectively. Strong hands braced against his back, pinning him down. The strength the elf had was undeniable, his grip on Hawke’s wrists tight and controlled, bordering just shy of painful.
“Look at you…”
His voice came as a purr, and Hawke could feel the stirrings of arousal against his lower back.
“In the Imperium, a mage would be widely mocked for getting overpowered by a slave.”
That gave Hawke pause. He didn’t talk about Fenris’ past with him unless he brought it up first. It was a thing of great pain for him, agonizing memories he didn’t want to resurface. But the way he spoke in that moment was not bitter, it was… heated.
“You’re not a slave anymore, Fenris…. And I’ve seen you cleave men in half with a single swing.”
The mage’s voice was somewhat strained against the weight pressing down on him, and he jumped slightly as he felt Fenris grip his ass with his free hand, squeezing tightly.
“I am not, no. But tonight, perhaps…”
Fenris trailed off, his warm hand snaking up the back of the other man’s tunic to pull it off.
Hawke got the hint.
“Fenr-”
He started, but when the elf ran his nails down his back, leaving angry red stripes in their wake, he let out a choked cry. He shivered as the other man leaned down over him, pressing his lips to the mage’s ear. The wet heat of his breath made Hawke groan, arching his back involuntarily, feeling the pooling heat pressed against his lower back even more.
“What will you do, mage? Will you fight back?”
It was a challenge, and so Hawke struggled against the pin. It was a valiant effort, to his credit, but Fenris was, as always, annoyingly right. He was taller than the elf, and they had the same silhouette, but the other was undoubtedly all iron-hard muscle where he was tender flesh. The sensation of his squirming made Fenris exhale shakily, and sink his teeth into the lobe of Hawke’s ear.
“Release me at once-“
Hawke said through gritted teeth, and a soft groan and frantic twitch in Fenris’ breeches let him know it was what he wanted to hear.
“Or what? You’ll have me punished? If that’s the case, I best make the most of the situation…”
A warm, rough hand made its way around Hawke’s throat, gripping it tightly as his soft, supple leather breeches were yanked down. He could hear the jingle of Fenris’ belt as he removed his own, kicking them off to the side. The mage could just make out the pile they formed next to his forgotten book by the armchair, and thought vaguely for a moment about how this was a much better way to spend his evening than reading.
Fenris’ body hair tickled his bare skin, and he pressed his forehead against Hawke’s shoulder for a moment, the tip of his cock leaking a single droplet against the bare of the mage’s ass.
“Such a soft body… you’ve never had to work a day in your life…”
The elf murmured, thrusting lazily, spitting into his hand and smearing it over his length to allow for better movement as he thrust between the other man’s ass cheeks and thighs. Hawke flushed as his own cock twitched at the sensation, the slick glide of Fenris’ length over his hole fogging his brain.
“You’d- you’d sully your cock with mage filth-?”
His words came rough as Fenris squeezed his throat, and they made the elf groan again, burying his face in Hawke’s neck, sinking his teeth in like he was trying to leave his mark.
“Oh, you are filth…”
Fenris was breathless, the glow of his tattoos getting brighter, his heart pounding so hard Hawke could feel his pulse along his manhood as it pressed down against his hole a little longer with every thrust. The elf was dragging it out, making him more and more desperate with each passing second.
“Fenris…”
It came more pathetically than he had hoped, which only served to turn the other man on even more.
“Yes, Hawke?”
Those two words were dripping in derision, and Hawke felt his pinned cock struggle to twitch uselessly against the bunched-up leather of his breeches and the carpet. It made his cheeks stain pink in humiliation.
“Don’t tease me…”
Maker help him, Fenris laughed. It was breathless and sexy and coated his skin like warm honey, making him whimper softly.
“If you want it so bad, then order me to do it.”
“Wh- what?”
The pink in his face crept up into his ears, and they started to ring.
“Order me, as a mage might.”
There was a brief silence where Fenris panted softly in his ear, the tip of his cock positioned perfectly to enter Hawke from behind. His muscles were taut, body wrapped around the mage like an iron prison. It was driving the man mad, the aching need inside him to be taken.
“Fuck me. Fuck me, Fenris.”
Hawke’s voice came softer than he wanted it to, and Fenris pushed forward… slipping off the entrance and continuing to thrust between the mage’s thighs, smearing his own leaking arousal into a mess.
“No.”
A frustrated noise left Hawke’s throat before he could stop it, and it brought out another laugh from his lover that made his trapped cock strain desperately for some sort of attention. Lips found his ear again, making his back arch, resolve crumbling.
“If you want it, mage…. If you well and truly want it. Beg for it.”
Maker’s breath.
“Beg to be fucked by a slave.”
Maker’s fucking breath. Hawke’s face was burning in shame and humiliation, but Fenris’ breathing was ragged, never more aroused before than in that moment, pausing between his thrusts to avoid ruining this moment too soon.
“P…Pl-“
Fenris moved from his hand on Hawke’s throat to holding him in a headlock, and squeezed.
“Yes?”
He said softly, moving to position himself once more.
“Please, Fenris. Please fuck me. I need it… please…”
Hawke hadn’t been made to beg for anything in years, and the shame and humiliation made him feel like he was on fire… it only made his cock twitch more.
“As you wish-“
Something in the elf finally cracked, and he snapped his hips forward, burying himself in Hawke’s ass. The sudden insert made the mage cry out, struggling instinctively in the other man’s grip, but it was useless still. The act only made his hold tighten more, his thrusts more aggressive.
“Mages were meant to be taken, to be had-“
He growled into Hawke’s ear, making the man moan pathetically, his vision blurred with the sensation, his head spinning. There was an odd sensation at the small of his back, like something cool and wet was pooling, and he realized that Fenris’ tattoos were glowing brighter for only a moment before he felt a hand wrap around him, stroking roughly.
Fenris had reached through his body to stroke his cock. His thrusts were oppressive, unforgiving, but growing uneven… and his body trembled with his crumbling resolve.
“Venhedis-“
He growled, teeth finding purchase in Hawke’s shoulder once more. He was close.
“Reduced to a whore, fucked by a common-“
It was meant to help Fenris finish, and it did the trick. He squeezed Hawke’s throat so tightly in his arm that it made black dots appear in the mage’s vision and let out a wordless groan as he slammed himself deep, flooding the other man’s insides. The sensation of being filled sent Hawke over the edge as well, spurting into Fenris’ grip, still inside his breeches.
They both lay there for a moment, panting as Fenris released Hawke from his death grip, slipping free of him to hold him gently against his chest. The mage could feel seed leaking out of him, the familiar ache of too-hasty lovemaking settling into his flesh now that they were less distracted.
“So.”
He started, and Fenris looked away from him for a moment, his tan face tinged a deep pink.
“The whole uh…. The whole mage thing.”
“Was it… was it not pleasant?”
“It wasn’t… unpleasant.”
There was a brief silence, and Fenris spoke again, tracing small circles on Hawke’s bare arm, his wide, green eyes reflecting the firelight.
“Would you be amenable to doing it again? Not consistently, per se, but if the mood should strike for me to… seek release in that way. Would you be willing?”
Hawke moved to kiss Fenris gently, brushing a lock of spun-silver hair from his eyes, smiling sweetly.
“As you wish.”