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phasegender · 9 years ago

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write something fenhawke? something cute tbh because i don't know enough about them to give you anything more intelligent than that and i am sorry but i love ur writing so <3

(This is a Fic I worked on a while ago and edited just for you, combining a lot of angsty things barely referenced in-game and a lot of my personal feelings about how things go with the two of them after they get back together. This is probably a lot heavier than you intended, but it has a cute ending, I promise)

“No. Stay with me.”

The Bitter Taste

Danarius had used every tactic to make him obedient. There had been fear, there had been pain. They were fresh, prominent in his mind, as visceral as the agony of receiving his markings. But fear, pain, punishment- those had never been enough. They could never be enough- how could you keep a dog loyal if you only ever beat it? And Fenris had needed to be loyal, needed to be trusted. There was no other way he could ever be a faithful bodyguard to Danarius.

So there had been affection, praise, rewards. Attention when he did something right, none, and punishment, when he didn’t. Depriving him of the affection he had been manipulated to crave, the approval he had been forced to seek. Love, Danarius had called it. It had only ever been another type of manipulation.

“Well done, my beloved little wolf. Don’t I just adore you?” Danarius would have said, ruffling his hair. “Do you love me, pet? Tell me you love me, Fenris.”

“I love you, master.”

The memory of what followed, what always followed, made him sick. He sunk his head under the bath, as if he could wash the thought of it from his mind. As always, he couldn’t. He felt suddenly as if an iron collar had been clasped around his throat. He sat up, gasping for breath.

He remembered the large, doglike collar Danarius had used to control him, to physically chain him. The cold iron had been chafing at his throat at all edges. A welded loop rested at his throat, a heavy chain attached. He remembered being dragged by it.

Fenris took a deep breath, running his hands over his face. He wanted all of it to stop, to just end- to be able to leave his past behind him. It was not his life anymore, but still… it lingered. Danarius had tainted not only his memory, his experiences, but textures, words, everything leaving a bitter taste in his mouth.

Love. That was the most tainted. Thinking about it made his tongue taste bitter and metallic, his throat as raw as if he’d swallowed a knife. Danarius hadn’t loved him. Nobody ever had.

He climbed out of the bath, drying off. Everything in his life had spoiled, and the further he got from it the longer it seemed to fester. He dressed, torn between wanting a distraction and wanting to be alone.

He found himself knocking on Hawke’s door. Hawke answered it, his hastily-put-on house clothes not quite straight. Fenris hadn’t realized the time.

“Fenris?” Hawke said sleepily. “What… Is everything alright?” Fenris stiffened. Hawke seemed to know that something was very wrong. “Come inside,” He said quietly, gently. Fenris followed him, letting Hawke lead him to the library. He showed him a soft chair by the fire. He sat, but not comfortably.

“Fenris?” Hawke asked again, looking at him. “Let me get you a drink, alright? Tea? Or… something stronger?” Fenris didn’t even move. Hawke left, coming back what felt like seconds later. He gently pushed a cup of tea toward him. Hawke’s gentle, strong fingers made sure Fenris had a good grip on the cup. He held it, unresponsive to the warmth in his hands. Hawke sat in the other chair, looking at him.

“What is it Fenris?”

He couldn’t speak. His tongue had turned to bitter sand in his mouth, his limbs to lead. Hawke waited patiently, the silence gentle. Hawke was always so gentle.

Fenris struggled to breathe, to get air into his suddenly iron lungs. His lip trembled. There were so many things, so many thoughts and memories, building up like a venom inside him. He felt poisoned, stained.

“Danarius used to…” He started, but stopped. He couldn’t. Somewhere deep and primal he was afraid. He was afraid of the pain that would follow if he betrayed his master. Danarius is not my master, he reminded himself. He lifted his gaze, holding his head high. Then he was speaking, suddenly pouring out words he had held inside him for as long as he had memory.

The more he talked, the more he told Hawke, the better he felt. Painful, like cutting out buried barbs from a tender patch of flesh, but he felt as if the poison was leaving him, dragging the bitter taste up from his stomach and out by way of his tongue. It was difficult to talk about, but he had to, he felt he had to. He detailed everything. He was not going to hold back now. The more he talked, the deeper he delved into the atrocious. He talked for hours, his voice eventually rasping into a heavy silence.

“I’m glad he’s dead” Hawke said after everything.

“No more than I,” Fenris replied. His voice sounded heavy, but his stomach felt lighter. It was if he’d gathered up all of the heavy, broken pieces of himself and laid the burden out for Hawke to see. He wondered if Hawke would take it and carry it for him.

“The way he… used you.” Hawke said, shaking his head now. “I can’t imagine… I’m sorry, Fenris.”

Fenris wanted to deflect, to tell Hawke his apologies wouldn’t help him now. But they would help. They did help. If Fenris let him, Hawke would embody everything that Danarius hadn’t been. Hawke would be everything, but in a way that Fenris wanted. Not in a forced way. Not the way Danarius had smothered everything else until there was nothing left.

Hawke took the now cold tea from Fenris’s hands, setting it on the floor.

“Tell me what I can do, Fenris. Anything. Anything you need from me, I’m here.”

Fenris stared at his hands. He wanted a word to tell Hawke what he meant, what Fenris felt for him. What it meant for this mage to physically kneel before him, this powerful, beautiful man, what it meant for Hawke to kneel at is feet and offer him everything. Amatus was the word that came to mind, a Tevene word of affection. But that was tainted, poisoned by Danarius. He could never say it. Love was the same. But there was no other word, so he said none at all.

Hawke’s strong hands cradled his head, fingers running through his soft, snowy hair. Hawke kissed his forehead through his bangs, looking at him with sad, warm eyes. Fenris didn’t move.

Hawke embraced him tentatively. Fenris returned it suddenly, his nails digging into Hawke’s back. Hawke held him gently, warmly. It was a genuine embrace, all of Hawke’s comfort and nearness rushing to fill the hollow places in his chest Fenris had emptied with his words. Fenris leaned into him from his perch on the chair, needing that nearness. Hawke, unprepared, overbalanced from his knees and they fell back onto the floor.

Hawke sat up, still holding Fenris to him. All the tension of the past hours, all the horrible thoughts and feelings he had dug up, poured out of him in unrestrainable laughter, triggered by the simplicity of Hawke falling over. Fenris pressed a palm to Hawke’s shoulder, Hawke’s strong, warm hands gently on his back. He laughed, loudly, as if he’d never really laughed before. Perhaps he hadn’t.

Hawke held him loosely, laughing with him. Fenris laughed until he was breathless, until tears came out of his eyes, until every emotion he’d ever restrained was free. He pressed his face to Hawke’s neck, trying not to think about where this wild, unpredictable change of emotions, this incredible lack of self control, would lead.

“I’m not going to submit myself like that to anyone again.” He said.

“Good,” Hawke replied. “You’re free. You always will be. You are your own man, Fenris. You will be for the rest of your life.”

Fenris held on to the words, burying those deep inside him instead. He would keep those words. He would use those words to push out the others, the ones that clung to the inside of his being. He would use Hawke’s words to push out Danarius’s, to pull the barbed threads from the inside of his being and let them out. He would use Hawke’s words to build something new inside himself, something no one could poison. Something pure.

“I don’t know what to call you,” Fenris said. “I don’t know a word that hasn’t…” He trailed off, but knew Hawke understood.

“How about inamorato,” He said. “They used to say that back in Lothering and the surrounding villages. Mostly at weddings…” Hawke added, a little sheepish, though Fenris wouldn’t know why.

Fenris considered it. It was nothing he’d ever heard before, so it was nothing Danarius had said or made him say. It was nothing anyone in the Imperium said, either, or anyone in the Free Marches. It was Ferelden, maybe even specific to Lothering, like Hawke.

“Inamorato,” Fenris said, trying it out on his tongue. The word did not taste bitter. “My inamorato. It means beloved?” He paused, briefly. Hawke nodded. “I will consider it.”

Fenris waited a beat before saying, in a voice that was breathless and much more desperate than he meant it to be, “Kiss me, Garrett.”

He did without hesitating. His mouth was warm, soft. It was sweet, too, his lips and tongue gentle. Fenris held Hawke close, pulling him closer and closer between breaths. Hawke remained gentle, steady, and never firm, never harsh. He seemed almost afraid to be rough or commanding, though he needn’t be. Fenris broke the kiss to nuzzle his neck, making Hawke laugh.

“How are you feeling?” He asked, pushing his fingers gently into Fenris’s hair at the back, cradling his head.

“Much better,” Fenris said. He still clung to Hawke, not wanting to be apart from this man, this warm and beautiful and precious being that was nothing Fenris felt he deserved. Hawke represented a future for him, a future he hadn’t had before. Being with Hawke felt like freedom, like his emotions were finally his own. He nuzzled Hawke again, deliberately eliciting that honest, involuntary laugh. It made him smile.

He wanted to be happy, wanted to let Hawke make him happy. So he did his best, focusing on individual things. He focused on the pores in Hawke’s skin that he could see when he opened his eyes. He focused on the warmth of the fire in the room, on the placement of Hawke’s hands and each fingertip on his back. He focused on the sensation of Hawke’s closeness, of the sound of his breathing.

“Fenris, I hate to interrupt our tender moment,” Hawke said, “But my ass is numb from sitting on the stone floor.” Fenris chuckled.

“Take me to bed, then,” He said. Hawke listened, scooping Fenris up into his warm, strong arms. Hawke set Fenris carefully on the bed, then straightened up.

“You never drank any tea,” He remarked. “I’ll go-”

“No,” Fenris said, grabbing Hawke’s hand and pulling it to rest on the bed. “No. Stay with me.”

Hawke blinked slowly and smiled, sitting beside him. Fenris sat up, grabbing Hawke’s face and kissing him. Hawke seemed to melt to Fenris’s will, letting himself be pulled down into Fenris’s arms. Fenris wanted to steal all the sweetness from Hawke’s mouth, kiss him breathless. He did, guiding Hawke’s forehead to rest at his own throat when he decided he’d finished. Hawke laughed. He rested on Fenris’s chest, enjoying his warmth. Hawke kissed his neck lazily, not moving his head. Fenris sighed, smiling.

“My inamorato,” He said, the Ferelden word sweet on his tongue. They fell asleep tangled in each other’s warm embrace, and at least for a time there would be no more bitter taste.

#binaryfrission #fenhawke #my writing #woOOoo some heavy angst there we go

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