museboxings | once upon another time

once upon another time

She never felt remorse over killing other mages if the situation called for it. Hawke had lost her distaste for killing long ago back with the Red Iron, once she had realized that she would do anything if it meant keeping her family safe. But that seemed so long ago now, a different part of her, one that had been poor and scrabbling for anything if it meant feeding those she cared most for. That was someone whose brother was free from the Wardens, carefree. That was someone whose greatest fear was running out of coin. Things had changed since then. She had changed.

But she wasn't entitled enough to believe or espouse the idea that those who practiced blood magic or those who kept slaves should be treated with respect. Those who hurt others were put down. There was no gray area there. And it had been woefully easy for her to go with Fenris to kill Hadriana, and though he broke his promise and killed her, she found it very difficult to feel sorry for the woman. If anything, the reality of a magister's cruelty weighed heavier on her and reminded her just why mages were hated and feared.

I'm not like that, she would say and others would agree. But everywhere she turned, there were more reasons to hate people like her, to curse her magic. It was a wonder that some of her companions didn't accuse her of practicing blood magic by now.

She ran her hand over her face, tired, and finished tying the sash of her robe closed. She shouldn't think about it now. She was home early and she intended to rest that night after the trials of the day.

"Messere," Bodahn called from the stairs. "A visitor for you."

Leaving her room behind, Hawke descended the stairs and met her dwarven manservant. "That's fine, Bodahn. You and your son can turn in early, you know. I'm not heading out tonight." He nodded and she made her way to the entryway, where she saw someone sitting on the bench there. Her eyebrows shot up when she realized who it was. "...Fenris?"

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He did not know what tugged him towards Hawke's mansion that night, or rather he could not break apart the uncomfortable mixture of emotions that weighed on him. Guilt seemed to be the heaviest burden, but he would wager that was because it was the feeling he was least likely to hide. After all, he was no stranger to guilt. Sebastian had claimed to see it in his very appearance, before, which agitated Fenris.

Beneath that lay the more confusing emotions. Anger and anxiety and a thirst that should have subsided the moment he killed Hadriana. Memories of the past that he had been able to push to the back of the mind were crowding his thoughts. And most challenging and new of all, the realisation that what Hawke thought of him mattered to him. Desperately.

He stood up when he saw her approach, eyes dropped to the ground.

"Hawke."

He had to pause to gather his words after that, despite rehearsing them several times over on the way to her mansion.

"I... apologise, for this evening."

Edited 2013-03-06 10:49 (UTC)

She seemed briefly unwilling to approach, as though he'd snap at her again, but then she stepped toward him. "It's all right." No, perhaps it wasn't. She wasn't angry with him, though, and she didn't want to give the impression that she was. But seeing him murder his former master's apprentice after he'd promised not to...

Would he one day do the same for her?

Some part of her hoped that if she ever became like Hadriana in any way, that he would be able to. It was a twisted reason but Fenris, unlike the others, knew the dangers magic presented. She could rely on him to do what had to be done.

"I didn't know where you went. I was worried." She felt foolish for admitting it now, knowing Fenris could take care of himself better than most. But it had weighed on her mind.

She was worried? He squashed the little ball of warmth that suddenly grew in his chest. A year ago it would have been irritation, and he would have snapped back that he didn't need her to be.

"Home, for a time." To take a bath, and scrub the blood from his skin and clothes. There was the faintest scent of alcohol about him now, but in truth he hadn't been able to take more than a sip of wine. It had tasted like blood.

"After that... out." He had wandered around Kirkwall, perhaps hoping to incite a fight with some bandits or a group of drunk soldiers. But there had been something in his posture, his expression that had suggested he shouldn't be messed with, and he found that everyone gave him a wide berth.

His hands opened and closed on nothing, then dragged through his hair.

"I was going to keep my promise to her," he began, pacing a few steps to the side. "I tried to."

But he had been safe. He hadn't gone to find others and to exact his rage on them. That...comforted her, strangely enough. And he had found himself back to her mansion, possibly on his way home. She nodded briefly to show she was listening, though she lifted her head when he spoke of Hadriana.

She wanted to say she understood. That if someone had hurt her so much in her own life, she would have killed them. But there was a deep-rooted fear in her, a ball that wouldn't go away, when she remembered him ripping into the mages they'd faced that day.

Instead of accusing him of going back on his promise, she simply asked, "Why couldn't you?"

He made a helpless noise, the turned away from Hawke. "I don't know." It's a lie, but it buys him time to explain himself better. "It wasn't that I didn't remember what she did to me but - " His hair was ruffled from how often he dragged a gauntled hand through it, "When she was in front of me, it was too much. I saw how easily I could make her pay."

When he turned back to face Hawke, he looked utterly wretched. His eyes were alarmingly green against the dark circles of his eyes. "I thought it would ease..." What, exactly? The shame? The memories? All of it?

"Something." Yet it was clear, from the tone of his voice, that it had eased nothing at all.

Hawke's eyes lit up with realization where he seemed to flounder, understanding at least a part of what was troubling him. "You thought seeing her die would gratify you. That it'd ease how you felt." Revenge wasn't always necessary and, indeed, didn't always make a difference. But she could see why he would have succumbed to it, if only because of how he had been hurt. Unlike others, he had a permanent reminder of what had happened to him.

The look in his eyes struck her and her frown deepened. Fenris always carried himself proudly, with strength and conviction. To see him so haunted was alarming.

"...But it didn't help."

There was some relief in his eyes, when Hawke spoke. She understood. Whether she agreed remained to be seen, but he would not have to further explain his actions.

"No. It didn't." A sullen agreement.

There had been a moment, while he walked through the streets at war with his thoughts, where he wondered whether he would feel the same once Danarius lay dead at his feet. If he could have torn that thought from his mind with brute force, he would have.

It would be different, with him. It had to be.

"It should have," he said finally, bitterly. Shouldn't it?, he wanted to ask Hawke, but he didn't want to hear the answer.

"Would one death satisfy you, though?" One death to account for all of the pain and humiliation he had told her about. Two, if they counted the eventual death of Danarius. That would only be a matter of a time now that Hadriana had fallen. Fenris deserved any piece of retribution he could find.

Each one was another death added to the pile, another body. At the end of the day, it didn't content him. It settled her to know that he took little pleasure in their deaths, even if it meant he was finally free of part of his problem.

"Hadriana's gone. She can't bother you any longer. And you've proven capable enough that Danarius will either leave you alone or take the risk and be killed himself." It won't be that simple, though. Hawke knew that. "But you can take comfort in knowing she's gone, can't you?"

Edited 2013-03-08 04:45 (UTC)

"No. I expected... something more, however." He shrugged his shoulders without spirit. "It doesn't matter. It is no more than she deserved." Regardless of what her death does for Fenris, he knew that to be true.

"Comfort? Maybe. Danarius will only replace her with another vile creature, Tevinter is not in short supply. I hold no delusions that I have spared other slaves from torment." To admit that her death caused him comfort would be to admit that he was still frightened of her and his memories of her, even in his freedom. He could not do that.

After a short stretch of silence, he spoke again. "Hadriana... my apology... they are not the only reasons I wanted to see you." The words stuck painfully on his tongue, like burning sugar.

Though Hawke wasn't the sort of person who enjoyed killing, she wasn't foolish enough to believe he wasn't right. There would always people in the world who deserved to die. Slavers in any form were one of those types of people, even if they were mages. That much was certain to her. She nodded in agreement.

"You have, though. For a time at the very least. He might find a replacement but they've been given some reprieve. No one will suffer under her again." It made her wonder if Danarius would find someone worse to take up Hadriana's position. She frowned, her attention briefly flitting elsewhere at the idea. She didn't want to dwell on it or bring it up to Fenris.

She lifted her head to look at him. "What else did you need?" she asked.

"They will not remember a reprieve, in the years to come." There had been days, weeks in his past as a slave where he had been given similar reprieves. He cannot remember their details now, but he can remember each and every punishment that was given to him. Humiliation and fear clings, not relief and safety.

He took a step forward, leaving only a foot between them. His eyes lingered just below Hawke's, an attempt to make eye contact that fell short. "I have been thinking about you." He cursed himself for the strange timing of his admission. Hawke would think he was mad, to discuss this in immediate succession to a conversation about murder. "I cannot stop." A muscle jumped in his jaw, as he waited for a reply. It was only a few seconds before he added hastily, "If you wish for me to leave, command it. I will not mention this again."

"Under the circumstances...I can't imagine they would." Who would remember the short week where nothing happened to you when the pain and torture was so much more fresh than anything else? Nodding faintly, there was little else she could add. She did not know that life and it would be wrong of her to try to imagine it.

Surprise overtook her and she tried to meet his gaze, looking for some confirmation for what she could only assume he meant. She swallowed back some half-formed question that she realized was pointless, meaningless under the promise of his offering. For several moments, nothing was said. "No," she finally managed through the startle. But that wasn't enough and she shook her head, releasing a breath she didn't realize she was holding. "No," she tried again, conviction returning even as she reached for his arm, for a place to rest her hand that wouldn't frighten him off. "I want you to stay." Her fingers brushed the wrist of his gauntlet.

Edited 2013-03-13 03:49 (UTC)

There was a moment after Hawke reached out to touch him that even Fenris did not know if he would move away - or towards Hawke. 'I want you to stay' rang in his ears, but he had to listen again and again until he was convinced that was what he had heard.

For a moment, the only sound in the room was their breathing and his own thumping heartbeat. To Fenris they both felt far louder than they should have. He looked like a deer that had frozen in the moment before a spear was thrown, only a thin ring of green around his swollen pupils.

Then his reaction hit, fiercely. He took each of Hawke's wrists in his own hands, and crushed his lips against hers in a kiss that was desperate yet still restrained. That restraint showed in the tension in his limbs and the inches that still remained between their bodies.

The silence stretched and she was afraid, as his wide eyes met hers, that she'd said the wrong thing. She braced herself for him to turn on his heels and leave despite what he'd said. Her relief was great when his mouth found hers, but for a fleeting moment there was also tension with his hands closed around her wrists. Under other circumstances, she would have fought to have the freedom of movement, so integral to casting. But if she thought of resisting, it wasn't apparent, not by the way she tilted her head to accommodate him better, to fit their mouths together in a way that knocked the breath out of her lungs.

She thought of closing the distance between them and realized better, allowing him to set the boundaries he wanted to pursue. It didn't stop her from reciprocating with enough fervor to make her approval apparent, her reaction mirroring his in intensity, nor from relenting even with his grip on her hands.

Fenris slowly pulled away from the kiss, then pulled away from Hawke too, taking a step backwards and letting go of her wrists. His retreat was not in disgust but astonishment. His chest rose and fell so visibly that anyone but Hawke might have guessed he had just fought a battle, or run a mile.

He had kissed Hawke. She had kissed him back, left his cheeks flushed. Even he could not rationalise that as misplaced sympathy. Yet he still seemed unsure, peering at Hawke from under mussed bangs that reached just past his eyes.

"You... want this?" The same Fenris that had moments ago condoned murder sounded timid.

She nearly took a step to follow him as he backed away, eyes opening and head lifting to watch him. Her breathing was ragged, though not like his, eyes wide as she took a moment to get her bearings. She felt his lips on hers still and pulled her lower lip between her teeth, contemplating the sensation even as they stood in silence.

Swallowing, she allowed herself a brief and unfettered smile at his question. "I want you, Fenris."

I want you.

Reciprocation of a physical gesture was one thing, but to hear those words made his chest ache in a not altogether unpleasant way. Hope was dangerous, and he had forced himself not to hope that his feelings would be returned. Yet he would be a fool to think he would not hurt, if they were not.

"I want you too," he admitted, the possessiveness of statement a strange thrill.

He watched Hawke owlishly, hyper-aware of each of her little movements. Before meeting her, he would not have believe he could find a mage beautiful, and yet...

He closed the distance between them again, but did not lean in to kiss her again. Instead he searched her face, uncertainty and eagnerness mingling on his own.

Her smile came back, stronger this time, when he verbally conceded the same. The tension that had built in her shoulders emptied out, body relaxing. If nothing else, she had confirmation, which was more than she'd had before. Even if he left, it was a truth neither of them could deny any longer. A barrier had broken.

As he stepped back toward her, Hawke lifted her gaze to meet his, though she hardly had to. They were practically the same height as it was and the distance was too easy to close, though she did not step closer. Not yet. Her hand raised instead, hesitating to find an appropriate spot to settle. She chose his shoulder, innocuous as it was, fingers settling against the fabric of his clothes.

Her smile broadened and, finally, she stepped closer so she could close the gap. She wanted to kiss him first.

The breaking of that barrier was a considerable source of discomfort for Fenris, but -

It was done. He could not take those words back.

His eyes followed her hand with curiosity and a little trepadition. Her touch was light and there was more than one layer of material covering him, but he felt as if she had brushed across his bare skin. The shock, however, was more pleasant than unsettling. He carefully hid the surprise from his face.

He let his arms fall around her waist, his hands settling in the small of her back.

Then their lips were pressed together again, with Fenris letting Hawke take the lead this time. He could hear the strength of his heartbeat, and wondered if Hawke could too, in the tiny distance between them.

She watched the way his eyes moved, the uncertainty in his gaze mirroring her own from earlier. A smile was on her lips without her knowledge, faint but genuine just the same, and it was still there when her lips met his. The intensity had faded for the moment, the second press much more gentle and exploratory in nature than anything else, but she could still hear the dull roar of her heartbeat in her ears.

Hawke stepped forward just enough to bring them toe-to-toe, the hands at her back a comfort just as his mouth was an enticement. It was a slow build, the realization finally dawning on her that this was mutual and not unwanted. And that was all it took to remove another shield for her.

She broke contact only a moment, eyes drifting up to his, and then she kissed him again briefly. Her smile was back, stronger, and the hand at his shoulder squeezed gently as if in reassurance. "Fenris," she whispered, and it came out reverently.

He felt the tips of Hawke's boots pressing lightly against his toes, as her lips pressed against his in much the same manner. Almost asking a question.

"Yes?" He had not meant for it to sound like a question, but his tone had lifted up with his uncertainty. "Whatever you ask of me, I will do it." And had not meant to say that at all. It had simply been in the forefront of his mind after meeting Hawke's eyes, a repetitive thought which had somehow fell on to his tongue. He sounded utterly solemn in this offer, with no smile to match hers.

He had never learnt to court, as far as he knew. His tongue felt thick and clumsy in his mouth, his hands clammy.

Hawke managed a fond smile at the offer, holding back a chuckle. "You always have." He had every opportunity to turn her into the Templars, to stop her from casting, from killing her. But he protected her, walked at her side, and never refused her. Her trust in Fenris was very nearly implicit in every way, a frightening thought.

The thought of asking him to join her upstairs was tempting, more than a little appealing. But, if nothing else, she wanted to be aware of how far he wanted to go, despite what he'd said prior.

She met his gaze thoughtfully. "But what do you want?" Choice. It was always about the freedom to choose.

Edited (omg I'm so sorry for all of these edits /pulls at face) 2013-04-03 03:21 (UTC)

What does he want? The question is very nearly paralysing. You is the simple answer, but she already knows that. Whatever you want is... wrong, though it is his automatic response. Hawke wouldn't like that. He had learnt about choice, in his years of freedom, but he still found it difficult to want in anything but broad terms. He wants to kill Danarius. He wants Hawke.

Wn he finally spoke the tips of his ears were pink with embarrassment, aware that he had mulled over his response for far too long.

He reached out and took her hand in his, aware of but ignoring the slight sweatiness of his palm. He glanced behind him, to the door that led to the rest of Hawke's home. "Shall we go inside?" That was what he wanted, even if he couldn't bring himself to say I want.

She caught sight of the pink in his ears and tried her best not to smile. It was a useless endeavor and she might have saved herself the trouble, as he didn't bother to remark on it or even tell her to disregard it. Instead, he took her hand, and her smile softened. "Of course."

If she dwelt on it now, she'd realize it was wise of her to tell Bodahn and his son to retire. It would have drawn too much attention to the two of them if she was leading him through her house, regardless of where they ended up.

As it stood, she hardly paid it any mind. He wanted to stay. That was what mattered. She tugged him gently just past the door and to the living room, where it was warmer with the fire going. Her dog was resting in front of the fireplace and he perked his head up when he saw them, but did little else. Hawke lifted a finger to her lips to urge him to keep quiet.

Stepping into the warmth of the estate was pleasant, and even more pleasant with his fingers twined between Hawke's. It felt natural, though he was not entirely inclined to trust his judgement as far as that was concerned.

"Do I have his approval to stay?" The joke, mumbled softly, eased his uncertainty. Hawke's dog had always liked him well enough, though he assumed the mabari only liked people who Hawke liked. The crackling of the fireplace also seemed to loosen some tension from his shoulders. It reminded him of his own room, of nights spent falling asleep in his worn armchair.

Hawke chuckled quietly, casting a glance from him to the dog. The mabari began to wag his tail, his entire back end moving as he did so. She shook her head at the animal, her fingers closing over Fenris' briefly. "Of course you do." He'd be a little disappointed if they closed the door to her bedroom and left him out, but she imagined he'd take it in stride. He was spoiled enough as it was.

She huffed out another laugh and looked at him. "Abominations don't make you bat an eyelash but you're concerned my dog may trip you when you go for the stairs," she teased, her voice quiet and close for him alone to hear, even if they were the only ones awake.

"I hope that isn't a suggestion that you're keeping abominations hidden under your bed," he murmured back, acting on a sudden impulse to run his fingers through her hair. A few strands caught in the hinges of his gauntlets, and he offered Hawke an apologetic, almost guilty smile.

"I should - " His attention moved to the buckles holding his gauntlets in place, and he began unlatching them. Once they were removed he set them on the chair by the fireplace, then flexed his fingers, the lines of lyrium stretching with his skin.

She snorted softly. "Maker, no. I think I have enough on my mind without needing to consider grotesqueries under my bed." Her smile was crooked when he threaded his fingers into her hair and she hardly winced when they caught on the metal pieces of his gauntlet. "It's okay," she reassured him, stepping back to allow him to remove them.

Hawke had never seen his hands or his lower arms before, not while they were covered all the time. She began to reach for his hands and then paused, stopping only to pull off the gloves she wore. Even if they had been cut specifically so her fingers were bared to grip her staff, she wanted to have the entirety of her hand to use, to feel. When she stepped forward to return to him, it was with some care that she touched his hand, brushing their fingers together once more.

Fenris' hands are one of the most sensitive areas of his body, his tattoos more dense there than anywhere else. Even when in more casual clothing - a rare occurrence - he prefers to keep his hands covered. He has always assumed that it was functional rather than purely aesthetic choice made by Danarius, to ensure that he would be able to phase through flesh with his hands.

He hesitates at the first contact, barely hiding a flinch, then loosely links their fingers together.

It has been a long time since he has touched anyone without leather or metal between skin. Hawke's fingers are less callused than his, but he expects that. They are rougher than the silky smooth skin of most magisters, though he wishes that did not calm him. She may be a mage, but she has known a different life to them. Nor would she care to spend excessive amounts of coin on the latest salves.

Trying to distract Hawke - and himself - from his hesitation he moves to kiss her again, this time with gentle open-mouthed presses against her jawbone.

Hawke's more surprised that while she offers contact, he seems to be more focused on making the decisions with some degree of finality. Despite the few hesitations she can see in his muscles and in his eyes, Fenris is just as willing as she is to continue. Even though she's a mage.

It's humbling in more ways than one to know she is possibly the only mage he would ever allow this close, to show his affections to, without harming them.

She tilts her head into the press of his lips, her free hand coming around to rest at the small of his back. The kisses are nearly feather-light, enough to make her toes curl, and she squeezes their hands briefly. Carefully turning her head, she brushes her lips against his cheek when she has the opportunity to reciprocate.

Fenris had not allowed himself to imagine how it would feel, to hold Hawke against him and press his lips to her skin. It is simultaneously thrilling and frightening to have exactly that now, the fear that he may yet act incorrectly nagging at him.

Boldly he steps closer, his free hand resting in the small of her back to push their bodies together. Layers of cloth and armour still separate them, but the closeness is intoxicating nonetheless.

"No one is awake?" He murmurs against her throat. He is hesitant about remaining in the living room. It is late, yes, but if someone should wander through the house to fetch a glass of water...

He's impossibly warm, she realizes as he nudges them flush. Or perhaps that's her, and in either case, she's not going to complain. Her fingers find the opening in his armor, the sole open line that rests against his spine, and somehow resists the urge to touch that bit of skin.

"No," she breathes, surprised to hear herself. Hawke presses her hand to his back once more in reassurance. "No, they're all sleeping." But Sandal is prone to wandering in the middle of the night, and somehow that makes staying where they are rather unappealing.

She turns her head and kisses near his jaw, catching his gaze. "We can go upstairs, if you'd like."

Even in something as small as deciding whether to move upstairs, Hawke is offering him a choice. Something so trivial should not make him pause, but it does.

"I would." His heartbeat races at the thought, and Hawke can probably feel it. Moving to her bedroom implies other activities will follow, and his anticipation is both positive and negative.

There's a little thrill at his consent and Hawke doesn't try to fight her smile. She turns and kisses him again, just a brush of her lips against his, and then pulls away just enough that she can take his hand again. With a gentle tug, she backs up toward the stairs, and that gets the attention of her dog at the fireplace.

She stops and looks over, putting a finger to her lips. "You stay right there, okay?" He doesn't seem particularly put off at the suggestion and curls right back up. Hawke gives Fenris a brief look, her smile sheepish. "Come on."

Hawke's room is bathed in the same warm glow as the rest of the estate, and he idly wonders why his own rooms seem grey and inhospitable even when his fireplace is filled with a roaring fire. Maybe it is imagined, the heat in body casting an illusion.

Fenris quietly closes the door behind them, his hand still in Hawke's. He is not a blushing virgin but he would forgive Hawke for thinking as much. He is hesitant, desperate to please and certain he is balancing on the edge of disaster but driven by desire to ignore the danger. He leads her to the bed, sits and pulls her to him again, a hand twisted in the front of her robes to tug her down into a kiss. The stretch of the fabric paired with the angle allows him to see the swell of her breasts. Most female mages in Tevinter wear robes exclusively, carefully pulled in to show the curve of their hips and often leaving little to the imagination - particularly at parties. Hawke wears armor and heavy fabrics that hide the shape of her body and don't shout mage. It feels sacred to be able to see her without that.

If there's any trepidation, Hawke takes care to hide it, every step only further solidifying that this is happening. Further still, that Fenris is as willing and takes as much initiative as she, as he pulls her into the room and to the bed without prompting or much in the way of hesitation.

She carefully props a knee beside his hip as she bends to accommodate his tug, the hand in the fabric of her robe coaxing a brief smile out of her. It's not very apparent to her what he sees but it occurs to her, belatedly, that he's only been in her home a paltry handful of times when she hasn't been wearing armor, ready to duck out to the streets or coming home covered in blood and Maker knows what else. Now she has no armor to keep between them. And that's fine with her. Hawke carefully deepens the kiss, one hand settling on his shoulder for leverage, the other resting gently over the back of his neck. It takes a bit of care and cautious maneuvering, but she eventually brings herself down to his level, both knees on either sides of his hips and using them to prop herself up instead of resting in his lap just yet.

His fingers dig into her shoulderblades when Hawke touches his neck, but the desire to freeze in place passes quickly when he meets her gaze. He has seen ill-intent on Hawke's face before, but not now. There is only warmth. His hands roam carefully down her back, as if trying to commit her shape - or what he can feel of it with fabric covering her body - to memory. When he reaches the belt fastened around her waist he pauses.

"May I?"

Hawke is attentive to his reactions, wanting to strike a balance to what Fenris wants and what she wishes without crossing certain boundaries neither of them may be comfortable with. Her grip eases as his fingers find her shoulders until he relaxes, and she meets his eyes with a smile on her lips. Her hands knead carefully at the tension in his shoulders, at the knots he must carry from his blade and from his caution, their foreheads nearly pressed together as she looks down to watch him.

With a nod, she tilts her head up and brushes her lips against his temple. "Of course." She moves back just enough to accommodate him, so he can see what he's doing.

His shoulders ache when she gently massages them, but it's a pleasant ache. Her hands are warm and clever and know when to press and when to back away. After the initial pain comes a looseness in his muscles that he rarely feels, and he sighs unconsciously, simply leaning against her.

It is only when she takes a small step away that he remembers he asked her a question. He unclasps her belt at the back, and lets it fall to the ground. He grasps the fabric at her waist, then pulls the tunic over her head, letting that fall as well.

That leaves her in her skirt and underclothes, her hair mussed from tugging the fabric over her head. Fenris seems stunned by his own forwardness, wetting his lips as he looks over her body. He wants to tell her that she is beautiful, but the words are lodged in his throat.

She wants to tell him how open her looks right then, how his eyes say so much more than his silence. He leans against her, warm and inviting, and she sighs with him. This is the most contact she's had with anyone, anyone, for fear and self-loathing because of her magic. And he doesn't care.

Hawke smiles at the look her gives her and dips her head to press a brief kiss to the side of his lips, her hands finding his breastplate. Fingers skirt to the sides in search for the straps that hold his armor in place, and once she finds them, she pauses.

Meeting his gaze with a boldness that wasn't there when they were downstairs, she asks, "Can I?"

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once upon another time

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I think I wrote 'want' like 5832 times in this tag, sorry

pfffft don't be sorry

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hdasjkd do you mind if I switch to present tense, my past tense just sounds so clanky and hfff

omg I totally DO mind............except I don't. go wild!

<3

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... oh my gosh my last tag was bad, I'm sorry. Writing should not happen when I'm sick.

it wasn't bad at all!

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