In response to a kinkmeme prompt. A quick, one night fill.


Lyrium, embrium, orichalum, and elfroot. It was supposed to be a potent mixture that would fully restore both mana and health. Hawke had studied, researched, and experimented, trying to pinpoint the perfect ratio of ingredients. Too much lyrium and it would disorient the drinker. Too much elfroot and the potion curdled. Too much embrium and, well, having to replace all her crafting materials, the workbench, and most of the room's carpet ensured she wouldn't make that mistake again.

Her most recent attempt consisted of equal parts lyrium and elfroot, a dash of embrium, and a hefty chunk of orichalum that she had left to dissolve overnight. Hawke lifted the flask of liquid to her face critically. Her nose crinkled in disapproval as she eyed its unpromising light pink color. She could already tell it couldn't cure much more than minor wounds. Potions with strong healing properties were always a rich red. She sighed in annoyance and popped off the cork to pour it out. Immediately, a particularly pleasant scent wafted out in a puff of fine pink mist. It was lovely, a mixture of sunshine, rain, and a field of wildflowers wet with dew. Her lips curved into an excited grin as she thought of the reading lesson she had scheduled with Fenris for a few hours later. Perhaps this batch wasn't a total loss after all. She dipped her fingers into the concoction, dabbing it generously all over her neck, on the insides of her wrists, and in the hollow between her breasts. Very pleasant indeed.

Fenris was waiting upstairs for her when she arrived with a bright smile and a new book under her arm. He regarded her with a small grin in return. Things were so much more comfortable between them with Danarius dead and their relationship rekindled. It was delightfully freeing to be able to wrap her arms around him whenever the mood struck her instead of having to ball her fists at her sides to resist the temptation. He rose from his chair as she approached.

"Ready to get cracking?" she asked as she breezed across the room.

"I'm always ready for-," his voice caught in his throat, and his easy expression melted when she was about five feet away. Hawke halted her advance in response. Her eyes widened as his drooped. His pupils seemed to double in size almost instantly. She held stock still as he closed the gap between them. Something was very wrong. He did not glide over to her in his usual graceful fashion, but instead sort of stumbled in an erratic line as if he couldn't keep track of his own feet. The book dropped to the floor with an audible thud as she reached out to steady him. He mimicked the movement, placing his bare hands on her unarmored shoulders. He half-leaned, half-tripped into her, pressing his face to her neck. Her eyebrows shot up as he began to nuzzle, letting out a happy sigh and humming contentedly.

"Well," she said a bit awkwardly, "hello to you too." She felt his mouth curve into a smile on her skin. A giggle bubbled up from his throat. Not the dark chuckle that made her knees weak, but a real, honest to goodness giggle that caused his lithe body to shake against her. He continued to nuzzle, rubbing his face back and forth, up and down. From her throat to her hairline. From the sensitive spot behind her ear to where her shirt blocked him from going further.

"Fenris?" she said with growing concern. This was very out of character for her solemn, stoic lover.

"Hawke," he replied with another giggle. Though strange, the sound was adorable, and she crinkled nose in confused delight. "Maaaaaaaaaarian," he drawled, drawing her name out and lowering his hand to trace sloppy figure eights on her belly.

"Fenris," she tried again, gently pushing him back to look into the glazed eyes that stared in longing at the skin he'd just been pulled from. It was hard to ignore his disappointed whine and the petulant pout on his face. "Are you okay?" she asked seriously. "What's gotten into you?"

A silly grin that was positively endearing spread across his features as he looked away from her neck to meet her worried eyes. "I like you," he breathed happily. "I think you're... you're..." he trailed off into another pleased hum and pulled her back to him, lavishing attention on the other side of her creamy white throat this time, adding small kisses and nips to his ministrations.

She patted his back lightly. It was hard to ignore how good his actions felt, but she had to figure out just what was going on. Drunken Fenris was nearly cheerful, or as Merrill put it not quite as cross as usual, but even at his worst, the elf had never done anything like whatever this was. It seemed like a place to start anyway. "Fenris," she began in the same voice she used when talking to children, "how much have you had to drink today?"

Instead of turning around to look at the empty bottle on the table, he leaned his head back, arched his spine, and exposed his lyrium-lined throat to her. "Just one bottle of Amontillado," he declared from his upside-down position before snapping forward again, almost bashing Hawke's forehead with his own. He frowned and shook his head to clear his sudden dizziness, tousling his white hair in the process. When he refocused on the shell-shocked face of the woman in his arms, he asked, "May I kiss you?" and pressed his lips against hers without waiting for a response. His tongue snaked past her, twining with hers in a clumsy dance that still took her breath away and caused her to grip him more firmly to keep from losing her balance. The added weight threw is already tenuous stance off, and they wobbled dangerously as Hawke resituated her feet and righted them both. The elf either didn't notice or didn't care because the only action he took was to grip the back of her head to keep their mouths from separating. It took quite a bit more force to push him away once more.

"Fenris!" she cried, growing more frantic as she dodged his inelegant and insistent attempts to kiss her again. "Sit down!" she commanded. When he didn't comply, she was able to shove him into his chair with far too much ease for her comfort. She leaned over him and took a deep breath to steal herself for a serious interrogation. That breath came out in a surprised mixture of a squawk and a squeal as he unceremoniously yanked apart her shirt, flinging buttons everywhere, and dropped his head against her chest, the white strands of his hair tickling the exposed skin of her breasts.

She swiftly stepped back, using one hand to hold her shirt together while the other extended to keep the man, who was already halfway out of his seat in pursuit, from reaching her. He grabbed her hand and pressed his nose against her wrist, inhaling deeply. "Maker! What the hell are you doing?" she demanded, growing tired of his antics.

"You smell so good," he practically purred before taking another deep breath.

"Shit!" she swore as the pieces suddenly clicked into place, "Oh, fuck! I'm sorry, Fenris! It was that potion I made earlier. I had no idea it would do this to you. I'll leave right away!" She wrenched her arm from his grasp and turned to flee in embarrassment back to her estate.

"No!" he cried in horror as he leaped up and scrambled after her, tripping in the process. He barely managed to grab the edge of her skirt. "Please," he begged from his position on the floor, "please, please don't go!" The puppy eyes he had claimed did not exist were even more effective when they were dilated and filled with watery, unshed tears.

"I'd be taking advantage," she countered lamely.

"Don't go," he repeated in desperation, "please!"

She relented to the persistent tugging on her skirt. He immediately enveloped her in a tight embrace, rubbing his face against her like a kitten. "Stay," he pleaded.

"You're going to hate me when this is over," she realized aloud, returning the embrace. "It's too late to stop it. The damage is done."

He shook his head furiously, and the feel of it made her giggle sadly. "I like you," he reminded her. "Please stay."

She gently stroked his hair. "I'll stay," she finally acquiesced. He leaned back to reward her with a brilliant smile before returning to nuzzle her breasts, once again exposed without her hand holding her shirt together. "What would you like me to do?" she asked.

He hummed happily, and the vibration rumbled across her sensitive skin. "Touch me," he replied giddily. "It tingles." The lyrium under his skin glowed lightly with the admission. She did as he requested, helping him undress when his fumbling fingers could not undo the toggles on his tunic or the laces on his leggings, and removing her own clothes as best she could with him practically attached to her. She traced his markings delicately, threaded her fingers through his hair, fondled his heavy, throbbing length as he focused all his attention on her throat, chest, and wrists.

"You're so hard," she whispered in awe.

He shook his head adorably again. "No, I'm all gooey."

After several long minutes, and without warning, he pushed her back and climbed on top of her, sliding into her as soon as he felt somewhat balanced. He moaned her name like the Chant into her neck as he thrust in an irregular rhythm, alternately frenetic and lazy. She panted his name into the empty, dusty air of his mansion, wound tight by his unpredictable motions. It did not take long for them both to be pushed over the edge.

Hawke's afterglow was cut short with a grunt as Fenris' full weight dropped on top of her before he had even pulled out. He had passed out from exertion and the effects of the potion. With a heave, she rolled them both on their sides. She kissed his parted lips, his sharp nose, his closed eyes. Her heart twisted with worry about what would happen when they opened again.

Upon emerging from Fenris' bathroom, her skin an angry pink from her fierce scrubbing, she saw her lover sitting in the same place he was when she had walked into his home earlier that day. The light from the fire danced across his skin and white hair. He had redressed, and his head hung low in his hands. She stood there, unsure of what to say or do, sure only that she had ruined everything, that he would not want to see her again, not want her to be in his life in any capacity. When he finally looked up at her, his eyes were the same as they had been on the morning he walked out, and she felt her heart breaking before he even opened his mouth. "I'm sorry," they both cried at the same time.

"You're sorry?" she asked incredulously. "I was the one who made that cursed potion. I did this to you."

"Yes," he countered, "but I was the one who did all those ridiculous- " He couldn't continue. His face bright red in mortification, he returned his head to his hands. "I'm so, so sorry. I can understand if you do not wish to stay with me."

She was flabbergasted. He was embarrassed? He was worried she would leave? She rushed to his side, kneeling in front of him and lifting his face so their eyes met. "I'm not going anywhere if you don't want me to."

"I don't!" he shouted, gripping her hands. "I mean, I want to stay with you always. I meant what I said before about our future together."

She nodded firmly. "Then that settles it. Nothing has to change. I'll just get rid of the rest of the potion, and you don't have to worry about again."

His olive green eyes widened. "There's more?"

She raised an eyebrow in suspicion. "There is, but there doesn't have to be. I was going to dispose of it. I know you don't like being vulnerable."

"If it's with you," he said a little too quickly, "it's different. I mean in your home with your doors locked, we might..." His face reverted to its horrified red as he realized what he was saying.

She threw her arms around him in relief. "Don't worry. I'll keep the recipe in a safe place. We can use it whenever you want. Just make sure we don't breathe a word of this to Isabella; you know she'd probably use it on Merrill just to see what happens." He looked up at her in disgust, and she laughed long and loud, the sound echoing off the walls of the empty mansion.


Please, please review. I don't do a lot of silliness, so I want to know if I pulled it off.