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“Seems like a waste of a perfectly handsome elf.”
It seemed like only yesterday that he had choked out a laugh in response to her statement. Instead of questioning one another, Fenris found himself sitting dangerously close to the woman he now called his friend. Hawke took a swig of the wine they had been passing, a small amount trickling down the sides of her mouth. He restrained the urge to wipe it off for her.
They had managed to clear out a room of slavers earlier in the day alongside the dwarf and pirate. After hours of fighting, the group would have normally gone to the hanged man to celebrate, drinking until they wished they had died earlier. When Varric and Isabela announced they had previous arrangements, Fenris found himself disappointed. He had come to appreciate the company of Hawke’s group, though he would never admit it, and realized that he had been looking forward to drinking together.
Hawke seemed to see the disappointment in his face. After he had taken his armor off at home and switched to a loose cardigan and leggings, there was a knock on his door. Hawke walked in, not waiting for him to let her in, with bottles of wine in hand.
“We don’t need to have the gang here to celebrate,” she said with a devious grin, “It’ll be more fun without Isabela pressuring us to play strip poker.”
Fenris chuckled, taking the bottles from her grasp and leading her to his room. “On the contrary, I have the most fun when I get to play strip poker with you.”
“You know, that would have been a great line if I wasn’t a god at poker.”
He shrugged. “I’ll just need to find another way to get your clothes off.”
Her laughter shook the room, but he could see the heat in her cheeks building up. They ended up sitting by the fireplace, enjoying the warmth as they shared bottle after bottle. Though they started out on separate benches, their bodies migrated towards each other until his thigh was brushing hers. As he watched her drink, he took notice of her attire. It was rare to see her out of armor, and he enjoyed the robe that she had adorned. The belt accentuated her hips, which were already noticeable enough when they were in battle. Now, however, he could see exactly how her body curved, watch her muscles tensing, and memorize the rolls of her skin.
Piercing blue eyes looked at him, a twinkle of amusement making them dance. “It’s not polite to stare, you know,” she said, playfully brushing him with her arm. Fenris didn’t respond; with the warmth of both the fire and alcohol in his blood, he didn’t feel the need to look away. Hawke shook her head, smirking as she took another drink. She handed the bottle back to him, and their fingers brushed as he went to grab it.
They lapsed into a comfortable silence as the night continued. One of the things he most appreciated about Hawke was her ability to know when words weren’t necessary. While Isabela was fun to be around, she constantly probed Fenris about his life, what he was interested in. Varric would try to get fuel for his next novel from their conversation, and Merrill just babbled. Hawke could talk for hours with him, but she would also visit his mansion just to sit beside him. Her presence was comforting, and he wondered if she sensed how relaxed he was around her.
Hawke rested her head on his shoulder. It was a gentle movement, but it still made him flinch. When she went to straighten up, he pressed his cheek against her hair, allowing her to relax again. Fenris closed his eyes and breathed in her scent. Leandra must have been baking before she came over for her hair smelt of cookies mingled with the honeysuckle. With the now empty bottles discarded on the floor, he placed his arm around her, hand resting on her arm. She gave a contented sigh as his fingers brushed against her skin.
“Marian,” he started, his voice gravelly. Her head turns slightly so that she may look up at him.
“If you’re using my first name, I hope I’m not in trouble,” she jokes in a gentle tone.
Fenris tries to hide his smile in her hair. “I’m glad you came over tonight, Marian.”
“Me too, Fenris.”