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.