Archive of Our Own ^beta

Garrett Hawke was the newly-anointed Champion of Kirkwall and, by the Maker, he was going to throw the party to end all parties.

...Another time, perhaps. He’d invited all of his friends over with the promise of food, drink and entertainments (meaning him--what more entertainment did they need?), but they weren’t quite setting Hightown on fire. In fact, as he watched them settle in various parts of the house, drinks in hands, it occurred to him that the motley group of friends he’d acquired over the past few years were becoming a unit--one that was comfortable and at ease with one another, like an old leather chair with an arse-groove.

That thought made him happy. Scoundrels, misfits and weirdos his friends may have been, but they meant the world to him. Besides, who wanted ‘normal’ friends? They’d never have anything to talk about!

Varric was holding court as usual in the drawing room, thrilling the likes of Merrill and annoying the likes of Aveline with his ridiculous (but brilliant) stories. A competition had been devised between the two women, and the stakes? How many times Aveline called bullshit versus how many times Merrill cooed or squealed in delight.

They were currently neck and neck.

Isabela hadn’t yet shown up, assuming she’d show up at all, but Garrett had stashed some Rivaini honey rum for her in the event she deigned to put in an appearance. He’d also locked up the family silver… and placed an enchantment on the lock which would cause it to become superheated in the event it was touched by anyone but him.

Anders was skulking around somewhere in the cellar, checking the security arrangements in case of templar incursions (this was where Anders and Garrett differed: Anders called them inevitable incursions, while Garrett called them imaginary ones). Garrett had left him to it. At first he’d wondered if it was a good idea to invite Anders and Fenris, but not inviting one of them would have caused bigger problems. Thankfully, they’d stayed out of each other’s way for now.

Speaking of Fenris… where was he?

Garrett left his guests in the drawing room, citing a full belly and a need for a walk. In Garrett’s and Varric’s secret code this translated as, “I’m going for a shit,” but the dwarf was as discreet as ever.

Garrett, however, did not go for a shit but went in search of Fenris. Although they were no longer a couple (if they’d ever been a couple at all--they’d spent one night together and then things had got complicated), Garrett cared deeply about the elf, and entertained hopes that one day they’d be reunited.

To anyone else, they were woefully mismatched: Fenris was quiet, reclusive and cautious, while Garrett was the loudmouthed mage who could fart the Fereldan national anthem on demand. Some intangible force had brought them together once, though--maybe because they each possessed qualities the other lacked.

Fenris had been overwhelmed by the night they’d spent together and what it represented, but even though he’d walked away from that aspect of their relationship, he’d never left the mage’s side. He also wore Garrett’s favour, a clear declaration that he was ‘taken’, even if he didn’t yet feel capable of giving everything to the mage who’d stolen his heart.

Quite simply, Garrett loved Fenris, and would wait as long as was necessary until he was ready to resume. As far as Garrett was concerned, he and Fenris were a couple… only without the sex bit. Until the sex bit could happen again, though, Garrett’s right hand ably served as a kind of stale bread to Fenris’s luscious chocolate cake--either would sustain him, but there was absolutely no comparison between the two.

“There’s my luscious chocolate cake,” Garrett said quietly, sighing as he set eyes on Fenris, who was seated on a kitchen counter, bottle in hand, legs dangling over the edge.

As Garrett entered the kitchen, Fenris saw him and raised the bottle in a toast. “Garrett Hawke, Champion of Kirkwall. Propino tibi! Nunc est bibendum!” He threw back his head (which was barely supported by his wobbly neck) and proceeded to drain the remainder of the bottle’s contents.

With a half-smile, Garrett ventured closer, coming to stand between the elf’s spread legs, though a few feet away. “You’re really putting it away tonight, aren’t you? Everything all right?”

“Of course!” the elf slurred. “Everything is perfect. How could it not be? The Champion is with us!” He raised the bottle to his lips and then withdrew it, his forehead creasing when he realised it was, in fact, empty.

“Hey,” Garrett said, “that’s my good stuff you’re drinking! I put cheap plonk out for everyone! Where’d you find that?”

A low rumbling sound originated from Fenris’s chest and his head flopped to one side as a huge smirk lit up his face. “I know where you keep your reserves.”

“My secret stash in the cellar?”

“Mmm. Not so secret, alas. But fear not, I locked the door. No more thefts… ahem... alleged thefts of your finest reserves will occur this night.”

Garrett cocked an eyebrow and folded his arms. “Anders is down there, you know.”

A fierce frown took the elf’s features and he waved a chastising finger at Garrett. “What’s your point, mage?”

Garrett looked down, biting his lip to forbid a laugh from bursting out of him. Fenris was bloody adorable when his nose wrinkled like that. “If it were anyone else I’d sic Princess on them, run them off my property.”

Fenris’s pointed finger, along with his arm, flopped onto his thigh. “Princess is a wise beast, one who knows the shadows and stains on a man’s character by instinct.”

“Is that why she’s barking at the cellar door, then? She’s instinctively sniffed out Anders’s stains and shadows?”

Fenris pushed his head forward, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Indeed. As I said, a wise beast.”

“Hawke! Oy! Is anyone there? I’m locked in the cellar!” A series of loud bangs and rattles accompanied Anders’s muffled entreaty.

“Just looking for the key now, Anders!” Garrett called over his shoulder. “Running all the way,” he whispered, causing Fenris to snigger.

“That blasted elf locked me in here!” complained Anders. “I told you inviting him was a mistake! I don’t know why you hang around with him, I really don’t.”

“Just relax!” called Garrett. “I’ll be with you shortly! Now sod off!” he mouthed silently.

Fenris looked up at the mage, touched that Garrett had taken his side over Anders’s (as he always did), his eyes full of admiration and longing. “Thank you.”

Garrett frowned as he turned back to the elf. “What for? I—” He gulped as he met Fenris’s eyes, which were in full-on Puppy mode. “I, um, we’d better get you to bed. You’re staying here tonight, aren’t you?”

“A proposition?” Fenris’s mouth curved into a languorous smile, once again forcing Garrett to look away.

“No, not a proposition. I had one of the spare bedrooms made up for you in case we had a late night. Remember?”

“No.”

“You’re a filthy liar, Fenris.”

“And you are…” Fenris’s chest swelled and his gaze became more intense. “Everything.”

“Aaaaall right. I’m making you some food and then you’re going to bed.” Garrett began to move away, but stopped when Fenris grabbed one of his arms.

“Tell me, Hawke… do you regret anything?”

Garrett sighed. He didn’t want to have this conversation with Fenris because he knew where it might lead--so he gave a concise, if not altogether honest, answer. “No. Nothing.”

Fenris’s hand fell from Garrett’s arm, his head bowed. “How gratifying that must be… to regret nothing, to never have hurt those… the only ones who matter.” He looked up, pinning Garrett in place with the sadness in his gaze. “I know… I know how much I hurt you.”

Garrett’s stomach clenched as he averted his eyes. “Let’s not do this, Fen. We’ve already talked about this. You’re drunk. Alcohol’s notorious for making us feel melancholy. Come on. Sleep it off. You’ll feel better in the morning, I promise.”

“Hawke? I’m still down here, you know! The torches are about to go out!”

“Will you give it a fucking rest, Anders! I’m busy!” Garrett shouted, his heart racing, his jaw clenched. Fenris’s admission, never before explicitly spoken, had rattled him.

“Charming! Why don’t I just piss off back to Darktown, then? I’m sure the rats down here will show me the way!”

“Works for me!” Garrett’s shoulders slumped and he looked at Fenris. “I’m sorry.”

“I have caused you disquiet.” Full of concern, Fenris reached up, his hand about to brush Garrett’s face.

The mage leaned back, evading Fenris’s touch. “Don’t. Please.”

“I only want to…” Fenris scooted forward a little, increasing his reach, “...touch you. It’s been so long.” His hand made contact with Garrett’s cheek, a warm hum travelling through them both at the connection. He then raised his other hand… and this time Garrett didn’t move, music playing along his nerve endings as Fenris’s dainty fingers sifted through his beard.

“Fen, we… we can’t. Let’s stop this now before it becomes too difficult. For both of us.”

“Difficult? This is the easiest thing I’ve ever done. Knowing you… caring for you… you make it easy. You make it all so easy.” Fenris pulled Garrett closer, a matter of millimetres separating their lips. “If I could revisit that night… if I hadn’t acted so poorly…”

Garrett closed his eyes, allowing his nose to rest against Fenris’s. He knew he should be pulling away but blast it, he wanted this closeness, too. They hadn’t been this close for almost six months. Six months of illicit glances, accidental brushing of limbs, lonely nights yearning… six sodding months of miserably tugging his cock while dreaming about this beautiful, soulful elf whose body, voice and eyes were perfection.

He wanted Fenris so badly it made him ache. But deep down, Garrett Hawke, Champion of Kirkwall, knew nothing could happen between them. Because sober Fenris wasn’t ready for this yet, even if drunk Fenris thought he was.

For now, though, Garrett would take the small things.

He could feel soft, white hair tickling his cheeks, warm, wine-tinged breath against his mouth. He could smell Fenris, a whisper of castile soap with the crisp, ozonic tang of lyrium… irresistible to a mage, almost addictive. Garrett hadn’t forgotten how that scent had filled his nostrils that night, intensified by their body heat, their sweat, the tight vacuum that had formed between their skin when they came together.

Uh-oh, Garrett thought, feeling a twitch in his trousers. Deciding he needed to bring this meeting to a swift end, he placed a chaste kiss on the tip of Fenris’s nose. “Time for bed. To sleep.”

“Come with me,” Fenris rasped.

“You know I can’t.”

“Then…” the elf let out a shuddering breath. “Let me…” He sprang forward, pushing his lips against Garrett’s, his hands frantically sliding between and under the mage’s arms, searching out the back of his tunic.

“No.” Garrett moved back, but only far back enough for their lips--and not their noses--to part. “Fen, we can’t do this. I know you’re not ready.”

“I am ready. I’ve thought of nothing but being with you, of feeling your touch again.” Fenris glanced over Garrett’s shoulder at the large wooden kitchen table, imagining the plates and food atop it smashing to the floor as Garrett swept them aside… and then proceeded to fuck Fenris so hard he’d get splinters in his back.

“Fen, listen to me—”

“No. You don’t get to tell me what to do.” Fenris grabbed two handfuls of tunic and pulled Garrett hard against his body, their lips crashing together, a low moan leaving Fenris’s mouth when he felt Garrett’s cock press against his own.

Fenris is as hard as me! This thought broke through Garrett’s consciousness as a shard of heat ripped through his body. He could taste the lyrium, the wine, the slightly meaty flavour of Fenris’s velvet-like lips. How he’d missed that sensation, of being worshipped and of worshipping in return… being subservient yet supremely powerful all at once.

Garrett Hawke, mighty Champion of Kirkwall, had been enslaved, his powers stripped, his ego renounced. His was naked and helpless before this slightly-built elf with the shy smile, who’d finally gained dominion over the lanky, hairy human.

Dear Maker, I can’t… I can’t stay away from him.

There was nothing to do but surrender.

He slipped his large hands under Fenris’s thighs and pushed them up, feeling legs wrap around his back, as Fenris tugged at his lower lip with his teeth.

“Fen, we shouldn’t be doing this but I…”

“We should. We must.”

Fenris then gently sucked Garrett’s lower lip, taking the sting out of his soft bite, and gasped as the mage brought his weight forward and wrapped his arms tightly around Fenris’s waist, forcing the elf to arch his back in order to stay upright. Fenris’s breath was torn from his lungs by the force of Garrett’s kiss and he moved his hands down to the Champion’s firm, muscular buttocks, grinding against him. They were as close as they could possibly be bar clothing; breathless, intoxicated, euphoric, free… alive.

For the first time in six interminably dreary months, they were alive.

Desperate to taste Fenris’s body--that sweet, lyrium-imbued flesh--Garrett grabbed Fenris’s collar and yanked it down, his hungry lips finding the edges of the softly-glowing markings that trailed down his neck.

“Augh…” One of Fenris’s arms flew out, hitting the discarded wine bottle and sending it to the floor, where it shattered. His other hand grabbed a fistful of thick black hair, Fenris throwing his head back and mewling, his body shaking, as Garrett bit down and sucked hard on his shoulder. “T-take me upstairs. Garrett… if ever you do as I say, make it now. Take me.”

“Yes.” Panting, Garrett temporarily released Fenris’s mouth and carried him away from the broken glass, ensuring the elf’s bare feet were not injured. When he set him down, their eyes locked. “I love you,” Garrett said with fervour. “I want you to remember that.”

Wasting no time on words, Fenris seized one of Garrett’s wrists and dragged him past the door to the cellar (where Princess had curled up and fallen asleep), up the stairs and to Garrett’s bedchamber. After all, Fenris knew the way.

They fell onto the bed, Fenris beneath the mage, but Garrett got onto all fours, leaning down and bestowing a soft kiss to Fenris’s partially-exposed chest. “Get undressed,” he whispered. “I’ll be back in just a minute.”

“Don’t… don’t leave me,” pleaded Fenris, his hands clawing at Garrett’s arms. “I need you.”

“Just a minute, I swear. Get undressed.”

Fenris was already pulling his tunic over his head when Garrett stumbled out of the room and ducked behind the door, which was ajar. His head fell back against the wall as he fought for breath, as well as the fortitude to resist this heady onslaught. The sodding Arishok had been a piece of cake compared with this.

A minute passed by, then two… and still Garrett waited, shoving a hand down his trousers to adjust himself. He waited a little longer before slowly peering through the crack in the door.

Fenris was lightly snoring on the bed, his tunic half-off, one arm dangling limply off the side.

Garrett exhaled in relief, his eyes closing for a second, and then he remembered he had a problem. He strode down the corridor and entered one of the spare bedrooms, firmly closing the door and slumping against it.

“Why was I raised to be so honourable? Why? Thank you very much, Mother and Father!” He unbuckled his belt and fumbled with his trousers, finally freeing his burgeoning cock. “Oh, great, now I’m thinking about my deceased parents. Not the time, Garrett!”

He closed his eyes, remembering their encounter in the kitchen as he stroked himself, but after nearly five minutes (which was usually ample time) he knew memories were no longer sufficient: how could they be compared with the real thing?

He’d had Fenris--the real Fenris, not some fantasy he kept in his wank bank--on his bed, half-naked and willing!

“Which I could have had if I wasn’t such a blighted goody-two-shoes! Ugh!”

It was time to change tactics. Instead of recalling the memories, he was going to alter them before he spontaneously combusted.

He closed his eyes again.

Desperate to taste Fenris’s body--that sweet, lyrium-imbued flesh--Garrett bent at the waist, grabbed Fenris’s waistband and yanked it down, his hungry lips finding the elf’s twitching cock. Finally, he was reminded of that salty, ever-so-faintly mushroomy taste; the wretched, wretched need in Fenris’s ragged exhalations; the unbearable pressure and heat building behind his own balls.

Fenris cried out, his hands pulling at the mage’s hair. “The table! Garrett! If ever you do as I say, make it now! Take me!”

Garrett roughly grabbed Fenris around the waist and carried him across the room, holding the elf with one arm as he swept the contents of the table to the floor with the other. Fenris was already ripping his clothes off before Garrett had set him down, and in less than a minute, two piles of clothing littered the kitchen floor. Garrett then maneuvered Fenris onto his back, pushing the elf’s knees up to his chin.

“Hold on! I need—” Garrett bent down and picked up the butter dish from the floor which was largely intact, scooping a large blob of the oily yellow matter into his hands and warming it. While he did this, Fenris sat up and stared, panting, at Garrett’s cock, his expression like a blind man whose sight had been restored.

“Fuck me!” Fenris ordered, lying on his back again, moaning when Garrett’s large, hairy hands smeared softened butter across and inside his pristine pink star.

Garrett was then pulled down by grasping, desperate hands, Fenris’s kiss almost suffocating him but Maker, if this was what dying felt like, he didn’t want to breathe. He crushed Fenris to the table, slapping a hand against it to brace himself, so the momentum they'd created wouldn’t propel them to the floor.

Driven by a primal need to hear Fenris beg, Garrett wrestled the elf for his arms and leaned forward, pinning Fenris’s hands above his head, and drove himself into that majestic space, so tight… so fucking tight…

“Harder, Garrett! Don’t stop! Please, don’t stop!”

“Maker!”

Garrett slid down the bedroom door, landing softly on his bottom, the feeling in his legs gone. “Well,” he said to his right hand, “I think that’s the best we’ve ever had, wouldn’t you agree, Handers?” He chuckled to himself, wondering what the real Anders would make of his nickname for his wanking claw. He then remembered that the real Anders was still in the cellar. He also remembered he didn’t give a shit.

After a five-minute rest, Garrett hauled himself up, wiped his hands on something and made himself decent before leaving the room. On his way downstairs he checked on Fenris, his heart swelling at the innocent, soft expression on the slumbering elf’s face.

He tiptoed closer to the bed. “I do love you. And that’s why I’m so fucking honourable, damn me.” He pulled the coverlet over the elf’s semi-naked body, gently kissed his brow and watched him for a while. “Dulce somnii.”

Then it was time to go downstairs and see to his guests. They were still in the drawing room--very sleepy, very full and very quiet. “You can all stay here tonight if you want,” he said, receiving a few tired grunts in response. “Don’t go in my room, though--Fenris is asleep in there. I shan’t be pleased if he’s disturbed.”

“Where’s Blondie?” Varric asked from one of the plush armchairs, his stumpy legs up on an ottoman.

“Beats me.” Garrett threw himself onto an empty settee, kicked his boots off and folded his hands across his belly. “Night, all.”