A/N: Eh, I hate my muse and she hates me. Any other drabbles I write for DA2 won't end up here until the game is out because I'm not fond of out-of-character representations, even unintentional ones. This one, however, is tiny and vague and...yeah. I'm not even a rabid Fenris fangirl, so I don't even really understand why he's implanted himself into my brain to this degree.
Warning: Nudity and sensuality. Nothing explicit.
Disclaimer: I own absolutely nothing. BioWare owns all.
It was an accident, she explained breathlessly. A complete and utter fluke, and in no way part of any ulterior motives, planned or otherwise.
Just because she knew the river was close to camp, and that some of the others had come here to bathe, and that Fenris had headed in this direction over an hour ago did not mean that she had purposefully come here expecting to find him bathing.
Which, apparently, was exactly what he was doing.
Honestly, she was only out wandering the woods out of concern for her traveling companion. It would be dark soon, and she was not sure he knew the area as well as he assured her he did. It was absolutely, completely and utterly nothing but an innocent accident that she stumbled onto that exact bank at that exact moment.
Not that there was anything innocent about the way her eyes were greedily following the graceful lines of his lean form, fascinated by the pulsing ribbons of lyrium flowing in beautiful curves down his shoulders and back and lower to places that the gently churning water hid from her sight. She never expected to be jealous of water.
Still, there was plenty of him to survey, from the tips of his bare fingers trailing across the surface of the water, to the glistening beads of moisture dotting the rippling muscles along his sides, to the way he tilted his head to study her guardedly over his shoulder. Just because being here was an accident did not mean she had to ignore the opportunity to mentally file away such delightful images for later perusal.
She had almost managed to convince her eyes to stop ogling his backside when the elf turned to face her, his movements slow and painfully deliberate. She sucked in a sharp breath and whispered a thank you to the Maker as she took in the sight of his sleek abdomen, the muscles slick with water and flexing under her gaze. His sculpted elven body was threatening to spoil her for bulky, hairy human men, that much was certain.
It proved difficult to tear her eyes away from the mix of scars and lyrium crossing his chest, but when she finally looked at his face, the elf was obviously amused by her dazed expression. He commented that she had yet to wash, then said two words she had only thought to hear him say in her wildest imaginings.
He was not as confident about the invitation as he appeared. They both knew that. This – whatever this thing was between them – was all very new and cautious and tinted with fear, and everything to this point had been almost-but-not-quite, always leaving an easy out, a way to deny or ignore that this thing was something and not nothing.
Accepting his request would change that.
But the decision was not nearly as difficult as she expected it would be. Leering at his naked body and imagining all sorts of scandalous things she would do to him for the last several minutes certainly made it easier. But beyond the lust, she acknowledged that things had to change at some point. And what better opportunity was she going to have than this one?
Her robe parted at a frustratingly slow pace, her fingers trembling and fumbling with the ties, and she watched the elf's eyes as she pushed the heavy material off of her shoulders and let it slide away to pool at her feet. Fenris' gaze drank her in with an unnerving intensity, tracing and lingering on every curve, every dip, every scar and blemish of her body, just as she had done to him.
As he looked at her, something in him shifted. Forgotten was the broken man, the prisoner, the slave gnawed at by anger and bitterness, and in his place stood desire and passion and everything male that he had forgotten or abandoned over the years.
He raised his hand, beckoning her to come to him, and there was no hesitation in her step as she crossed the pebbly grass to the water's edge.
As he moved closer to meet her and his body rose out of the river, the only coherent thought she could form before losing herself to his touch was that this was the best accident she had ever had.