A/N: This is essentially going to be a collection of everything Fenris/femHawke that I write. I like to think of them as one-shot pieces, but some will probably link together. From time to time, I may skip from a rogue to a mage Hawke, depending on what suits the story better. I know going into this that most of these are going to be pretty dark, with only a bit of fluff to lighten things up a little, and a lot of smut. I'll try desperately to get some plot in there, I promise. ;)
Description: Late, late Act 2. Confrontation with Gascard DuPuis following 'All That Remains'. Hawke had Gascard help find Leandra, and he survived the encounter.
Warnings: Sensuality and mild violence.
Fenris's fingers sank through the soft layers of flesh and tissue, stopping within the chest cavity as he reached the plump beating organ he sought.
He knew just how far he could twist, how to bring the sniveling mage to his knees without making it fatal. Squeezing the slimy lump of meat, he tugged slightly, causing it to pound faster as the man gasped for breath on the end of Fenris's arm.
He felt almost detached about what he was doing. He'd done this so many times before, it was hardly interesting. It had taken practice, a lot of unintended deaths, as he'd learned a whole new set of rules regarding depth perception and anatomy.
It was so fragile, this thing that kept the mage alive. Pulling too much could snap any of the numerous and vital threads that held it in place, spreading life and blood throughout the stooping figure before him. It was like handling an overripe tomato, a little press of his thumb would leave a devastating impression.
The mage coughed, squealing in pain as he knelt in the dirt at their feet.
"I'm sorry! I lied!" he said pathetically.
Fenris released him, feeling his lip curl as the glowing blue of his skin calmed and faded. The mage, with his fancy hair and clothing, cowered in the mud. It was almost disappointing that he'd given in so easily.
"I knew Quentin all along," he gasped. "It was never about revenge." Hawke took a menacing step toward the shaking man, and his hands came up in a defensive gesture. "K-killing me won't bring your mother back," he stammered.
Hawke's black brows met over angry eyes. Fenris could sense the conflict within her. She strove, in all things, to do what she felt was "right". White teeth sank into her full lower lip and he knew what she was considering as she weighed the consequences, cause and effect, everything that had occurred and what could follow, pondering the risks.
Fenris wanted to intercede. He imagined saying, "Kill him, and have done with it." But this was something she needed to decide for herself.
She was too soft on people. But then, ever since Leandra's death, she hadn't been quite the same.
"No, it won't bring her back," she said with a steady voice. "But it will make me feel better."
"Please! I have money! I'll, I'll make it up to you, I swear!" he yelled in desperation, trembling all over.
Hawke shook her head. "This isn't something that you can make up for."
A flash as light glinted on the metal of the small blade she concealed within the folds of her robes, the one she brought out on special occasions. It was ornate and deadly, probably imbued with poison or enchanted. It took life at an amazing rate for something so small.
She knows just where to stick the knife. She's trained with it, learned how to bring a mercifully quick death to those who earned it. Hawke moved close to the man, almost embracing his right shoulder with her left hand. The mage struggled, cringing away as the blade slid into the sweet spot, low on his left side. Hawke used it quickly, pushing deep and twisting a bit to make sure the job was done.
It was over before the mage had time to react to the pain. He fell, soundless and final.
Hawke's expression remained stony, dispassionate. She leaned down, wiping the blood from her blade onto the dead man's shirt, then tucked it back inside her clothing, her movements clinical and efficient. Turning on her heel, she strode briskly away, leaving the body where it lay.
No one would care in these dark places.
Fenris followed at a respectful distance. They traveled a short while before she entered a deep bend in one of the walls, moving into a secluded alleyway. Fenris pursued, stopping when she turned on him abruptly.
Her face was stricken.
"I did the right thing," she said. She needed to reassure herself as well as him, he thought, which was unnecessary.
His eyes met hers, hoping to convey the truth of his words. "He was a blood mage. He needed to die." He should have just killed the man himself. He would have, and gladly, if only to spare her this pointless guilt.
"You don't agree with what I did. Before, I mean. When I let him use blood magic to help me find my mum."
She may have been looking to fight with him. He wondered if reassurance or honesty would be better here. "Why did you do it?" he asked. She was a mage, but he'd thought she was stronger than that. She'd never advocated such dark dealings before, indeed she'd been swift to voice her anger and dismay when they'd encountered displays of that nature. But maybe all mages were alike. The difference was only in what it would take.
She huffed, causing the hair that touched her face to flutter. "I didn't use blood magic. And he was already doing that sort of thing, anyway." Her cheeks pinkened, as if she knew how flimsy her reasoning was. "I needed to find her as quickly as possible." She met his gaze, her face setting with determination. "Look, I knew as I asked him to do it that it was hypocritical and wrong. But I didn't care."
Fenris shook his head. "That's how it always starts." Cynicism colored his voice. He moved closer to her in the shadows of the concealed alley. "And a lot of good it did, too."
Her eyes flashed at him, her mouth working as she struggled with her words. She was still mad at him, for things past. Disagreeing with her now only served to open old wounds. Bracing her legs apart, her palms came up, and resting them on his chestplate, she shoved. "Shut your blighted mouth," she sneered.
Fenris reacted. Before he knew what was happening, he had her pressed up against the cold wall, one strong thigh between her legs, lifting her from the ground as his arms held her immobile. He took a deep breath and the scent of her flooded his flaring nostrils, tendrils of sensation caressing his memories.
Things weren't settled between them. But maybe they didn't need to be.
Her eyes had grown hooded, passion clouding her face, just as he remembered.
"You are the most infuriating woman it has ever been my misfortune to know, Hawke." She seemed to delight in antagonizing him. There was simply no way for her to be pushing his buttons this much without trying.
Her breathing was ragged, her chest heaved as she clenched her teeth at him. "I don't care. The truth is, I don't regret it. And I'd do it again if it meant the chance to save someone I love." She took a deep breath, meeting his gaze with intensity. "I'd do it again for you."
He felt his teeth grind, anger flooding him in a quicksilver rush. She'd learned nothing from it. She'd danced around the Black City's seductive power, and in the end, courting such unimaginable danger hadn't made any difference. She was threatening to repeat her mistakes. For him. Never for him.
"Fasta vass," he swore, shaking her until her head snapped back.
Again, he moved without thinking. He didn't know what he was going to do, aside from try very hard not to kill her, as his head moved toward her.
He smashed his mouth against hers, pouring all of the frustration and guilt into a devastating kiss. He'd tried to comfort her back when it happened, he wanted to now. He needed to make her see reason, she had to accept how foolish she was being, about the blood magic and about him. But he didn't know how.
This couldn't continue. She couldn't be careless or self-destructive on behalf of him and what he couldn't give her.
She responded to him, her mouth hungry on his, pushing the softest parts of her against him. Her gloved hands clutched at his shoulders as she desperately tried to align their mouths.
Fenris swore again in Tevinter, wanting everything he couldn't have.
For just a moment more, he let the ache wash over him, pushing himself into her, grinding her softness into the wall.
His mouth broke free and he leaned his forehead against hers. They breathed deeply into each other's faces, trying to calm themselves.
He felt so much regret, clouding everything as he opened his eyes to look at her.
Fenris slowly eased his grip, allowing her feet to slide down to the ground, and let her stand on her own. Her face held a mixture of bitterness and reproach.
"That was a mistake. Accept my apologies," he said, determinedly meeting her eyes. He wanted to look away, and pain lanced him as she smiled sadly.
"If only you didn't think that was so."