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Very Wicked Grace

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Very Wicked Grace
Title: Very Wicked Grace
Author: [info]the_con_cept
Pairing: m!Hawke/Fenris, Dragon Age II
Rating: NC-17
Word count: ~2640
Beta: [info]angela_snape
Contains(s): Public frottage, exhibitionism/voyeurism, mentions of crossdressing, humor.
Summary: Hawke is relaxing at the Hanged Man when Fenris shows up and excels at more than card games.

Very Wicked Grace

The Hanged Man was packed.

Hawke was glad he’d got there early, because this meant he’d been able to choose a chair against the wall. He’d seen enough barfights to want to know when things started flying.

“Another round?” Varric asked.

“Of ale or cards?” Hawke replied.

“Both, of course!”

“I’ll pass on the cards.” Hawke wasn’t much of a gambler; he’d mostly come to see Varric, and unless there was some chance of making some coin or shooting arrows through people, it was difficult to pry the dwarf out of his favorite pub. Luckily, Varric had the gift of talking while playing cards and, as he’d told Hawke in the past, he enjoyed the challenge of bullshitting while he tried to win at diamondback. He always said doing just one or the other was too easy.

“You’ll pass on the cards? You’re no fun,” Varric told him with a grin.

“Never mind that. Tell me about this Qunari who’s supposedly a blood mage,” Hawke said, getting down to brass tacks.

“Not much to tell,” Varric responded, dealing the cards. “Right now it’s just a shadowy rumor. I’d know more if I was the one who made it up,” he added.

“There’s a big reward for catching him,” Hawke noted. He’d like the reward—even more, he’d like the challenge. Qunari were tough, and a Qunari blood mage was unheard of. “It’s an even larger reward than usual. Let’s go after him,” he urged.

“Sure, sure. If we can figure out where to find him. Assuming he actually exists, of course,” Varric amended.

“Oh, Hawke, don’t you ever talk about anything except work? It’s so dull,” Isabela put in.

“Sure he does,” Varric responded. “He talks about Fenris. Pretty much constantly.”

Hawke reddened a little. He was fairly sure he didn’t do it constantly.

“Did I hear my name?” Fenris had appeared, wearing his characteristic ‘broody’ look. Hawke wondered if he practiced in a mirror to get it just right.

“You did. Hawke was just telling us about Lacy Knickers Night at the Hawke Household.”

“I was not,” Hawke protested quickly, not least because it was awfully close to what he’d done with Fenris last week. He didn’t want Fenris thinking he’d told Varric about how he had persuaded Fenris to wear a corset and stockings to bed.

Fenris merely rolled his eyes. “Don’t worry. I know he’s notorious for making things up.”

Varric continued to grin. “Which is why Hawke is notorious for everything else.”

“Is there room for me in the next hand?”

“Sorry, elf, there’s room in the hand, but there literally aren’t any seats left.”

“He can have mine,” Hawke said, making to stand.

“I don’t need your chivalry,” Fenris said, pushing him back down. “You needn’t give up your seat for me.”

“I wasn’t playing anyway,” Hawke protested.

“You don’t need to walk out the minute I walk in. Sit,” Fenris insisted with a bloody-minded look in his eye. Hawke understood Fenris well enough by now to know he meant I want to spend time with you, but I don’t want to sound sappy by saying so.

Hawke settled back with a smile.

“Well, you’re not getting my seat,” Anders said.

Isabela gave Anders a suspicious look. “I fold,” she said promptly. “And no, you can’t have my seat, either.”

“That’s fine. Everyone else has already had it, in any case,” Fenris teased. Isabela wrinkled her nose at him.

“You could sit on my lap,” Hawke suggested flippantly. He felt this was probably going to earn him a punch in the arm or at least a dirty look, but Fenris merely shrugged.

“Fine,” the elf replied, looking nonchalant.

Hawke gaped.

“That’s an attractive look for you,” Isabela remarked, her voice dry.

Hawke shut his mouth with a snap. He uncrossed his legs and Fenris settled into his lap like a king ascending the throne. “Deal me in,” he said, ignoring Hawke’s rather blissful expression.

Hawke was a little bit in shock. Fenris was no prude and generally didn’t care what the rest of the world thought of their relationship, but he was not given to public displays of affection and was not, on the whole, a cuddly sort of person. Of course, he wasn’t being especially cuddly at the moment anyway. It was obviously a matter of pragmatism. Anyway, it wouldn’t be fun for very long. Fenris was slender, but after ten minutes or it would probably be uncomfortable.

Then he leaned back against Hawke and . . . there was no other word for it: wiggled. Hawke must have made a noise, because the elf looked back at him archly. “Apologies. I was just trying to get comfortable.”

“Right,” Hawke said. “That was a move anyone at The Blooming Rose would be proud of, and you were ‘just trying to get comfortable.’ Of course.”

Fenris shot him a warning look, but Hawke thought there might be a hint of teasing as well in those glittering green eyes.

“So, Hawke,” Isabela said. “Tell me about these knickers.”


“These lacy knickers Varric mentioned. I assume Fenris was the one wearing them? Because you really haven’t the body to pull it off. But if it was you, I was going to recommend this darling little shop.”

“Shut up, Isabela,” Hawke said as coldly as he could manage. Which wasn’t very, because Fenris had shifted again, and The Hanged Man was feeling decidedly warm.

The back of Fenris’ neck was lovely. It was one small part of the elf unmarred by the lyrium markings, moon-pale and perfect. Not that Hawke really minded the appearance of the lyrium markings—in his opinion, they only made Fenris more attractive. Hawke watched as Fenris tucked a lock of hair behind his ear. He wondered idly what Fenris would do if he leaned forward and licked a hot, wet stripe up the back of the man’s neck.

“Raise,” Fenris said in a bland voice—his ‘card playing voice’. Nonetheless, it was Fenris’ voice, a sexy growl of a voice, and Hawke found his prick responding as though the word had been a command.

Fenris shifted a little and Hawke had to turn his moan into a cough.

“Problem?” Fenris asked.


“I’m not too heavy, am I? I’m . . .not making your legs sore?” Fenris queried all-too-innocently.

“No,” Hawke repeated curtly, scowling.

“Good.” Fenris twisted again.

“Shit. Fold,” Isabela said. She threw her cards down in a huff.

Anders’ brow wrinkled as the cards hit the table. “Really?”

“Fenris has a better hand,” Isabela said with a wink.

Hawke had to agree. Said hand was currently stroking his thigh.

“How do you know?”

“Look at his grin.”

Instantly, Fenris mastered himself and his face was blank again. “That wasn’t a grin,” Anders argued. “That was constipation. Fenris never grins.”

“And he is constantly constipated,” Varric joked.

“Very funny, little man,” Fenris said. “Are we playing diamondback or we discussing my bowels?”

“I’ll raise you,” Anders said, tossing a few coins into the pot. “I’m a gambling man.”

“Not a very good one,” Fenris said smugly under his breath.

Hawke smiled. He was beginning to enjoy himself. He really liked the way Fenris kept pushing back against him. Hawke wrapped his arms around the elf’s waist. “Is this all right?”

Fenris made a non-committal noise, but also shifted his hips a little, giving Hawke an incredible friction. Hawke groaned and gave up, burying his face against Fenris’ back. Fenris chuckled.

Varric rubbed his chin. “You’re bluffing, elf,” he said.

“Am I, now?” Another little hip wiggle. Hawke was ready to break. If this kept up, he was going to throw Fenris down on the table and fuck him right then and there, spectators be damned. Hell, the thought of people watching was kind of arousing.

“You all right over there, Hawke?” Isabela asked.

Of course, some spectators were more annoying than others. Leave it to Isabela to want to provide commentary. “Fine,” Hawke managed to gasp. Leaning forward, he could make out a slight smirk at the corner of Fenris’ mouth. Fenris’ perfect, pouty mouth. Fenris’ mouth that was made to be wrapped around Hawke’s throbbing prick. Fuck. Now he was really hard. He stared at Fenris’ profile, which always worth looking at. Classical nose, dark, broody eyebrows over limpid green eyes, high cheeks, the lyrium markings and, of course, those sensual, perfect lips. Hawke rutted surreptitiously against Fenris, who made a little noise between a growl and a purr.

Maker above.

Hawke half-listened in a daze as Anders, Varric and Fenris all continued to raise the stakes while Isabela blathered on about some supposedly hilarious thing that had once happened on her ship. The best Hawke could come up with was the occasional ‘uh-huh’ or a nod.

Fenris squirmed and ground himself against Hawke’s erection. Unfair. Well, at least Hawke could be sure Fenris really wasn’t doing it innocently. Which meant that, at some point or another, Hawke would feel fully justified enacting a bit of payback. So thinking, he raised one hand and stroked Fenris’ soft, silvery hair, drawing one finger straight down the elf’s spine.

Fenris gave a flagrant shiver. “Stop that; I’m trying to concentrate,” he said, but his voice was husky.

Hawke grinned. He looked over Fenris’ shoulder and saw Anders frowning at his cards. He wasn’t sure if Anders had a bad hand, was trying to concentrate, or was merely jealous. It was probably the latter; Anders didn’t make any secret of his infatuation with Hawke. It was unkind to do this sort of thing in front of him. Hawke straightened a little and tried to look interested in what Isabela was saying. “Which sailor was this again?” he asked, trying to steer this thoughts away from Fenris and his entirely-too-delectable ass.

“Bosco! He was the one with the wooden leg. And the wooden brain, too, I think,” Isabela said with a laugh. “It took me about a year to get him to pronounce ‘mizzen’ correctly.”

Fenris pushed back again, and Hawke’s brain went all fuzzy and out of focus. Dear Maker, he was going to embarrass himself. He put both hands on Fenris’ hips, stilling them. Fenris froze, his back straight. They’d been together long enough that Hawke could read the body language, and it said, ‘You have offended the touchy elf. Remunerations will be in order.’ Well, there wasn’t anything for it. If Fenris got up now and Hawke tried to leave, everyone would notice the erection he was sporting. Hawke was just going to have to bear it somehow.

Hawke kissed the back of Fenris’ neck, and the elf’s tight shoulders relaxed. Shifting a little, Hawke pulled Fenris back. He could feel the length of his cock fitting snugly against Fenris’ ass—right between his clothed ass-cheeks, in fact. Hawke grunted. He ached at the thought of getting Fenris home and fucking him properly

Chuckling a little, Fenris leaned back against him, lifting one hand to brush Hawke’s cheek. “If I lose this round, you’ll cover me?” he asked.

Hawke knew perfectly well that Fenris had enough money on him. They’d just caught a murderer in Lowtown last night and he had quite a heavy purse. But Fenris liked asking for more just because it amused him to see Hawke happily spend it on him.

“I’ll raise you,” Anders said, leaning forward. Perhaps asking if Hawke had money had just been part of Fenris’ diamondback strategy.

“So I told him, the expression isn’t ‘shiver me titties,’ Bosco! It’s ‘shiver me timbers!’” Isabela hooted with mirth.

Hawke blinked. He had only tuned in to the end of the joke, not that it made a difference when Isabela was the one doing the joking. He didn’t really share the pirate’s bawdy sense of humor. “Good one,” he said weakly.

Fenris moved again, just a little. Hawke was beginning to get over stimulated. With Fenris’ lean, hot, hard body resting flush against Hawke’s, Hawke felt he was right on the brink of climax.

Then Fenris reached down, under the table, and took one of Hawke’s hands. He turned his head just a little and gave Hawke a brief kiss. He slipped Hawke’s hand forward, across his thigh, and then—

As Fenris gave him one last, flirtatious little bump, Hawke stiffened as orgasm hit him hard. “Damn,” Hawke swore. He came in his trousers, feeling his cock pump wet semen against Fenris’ still-wiggling behind.

Fenris chuckled softly.

Hawke groaned, his head falling back. His face felt flushed—no doubt it was. Thinking about it only made him flush harder. There was going to be a wet spot on his trousers, as well. Suddenly it occurred to Hawke that the table was silent, and had been for a couple of minutes.

“Hello? Elf? You won the hand approximately five minutes ago,” Varric said, waving a hand in front of Fenris’ face.

Fenris started a little. “Um . . . what? Oh. Oh! So I did,” he said. He set his cards down on the table.

“My goodness, I think I did, too,” Isabela added. She fanned herself with one hand. “I think I’m going to have to step out and get some . . . air. Or something.”

Oh, Maker. Hawke was never going to live this one down. “I think I should go, too,” he said. “Coming, Fenris?” he added meaningfully. Fenris obliged by standing.

The elf gave him a wicked smile. “I’ll be along as soon as I’ve collected my winnings,” he said.

“Fine,” Hawke said with a sigh. “I’m going to grab a quick drink.”

As he headed to the bar, he heard Varric say, “Oooh, that one was good.

“Better than Lacy Knickers Night at the Hawke Household?” Fenris replied. “Because I thought that one rather good. Some of the details were wrong, though. I didn’t wear anything pink—it was all black lace.”

Anders made a disgusted noise. “Some people are trying to drown their sorrows and lose all their money in peace, you know. We don’t all want to hear about Fenris in ladies underclothes.”

The others ignored him. “Oh-ho, this was much better than Knickers Night! This is a guaranteed best-seller!” Varric exclaimed

“And I get a cut,” Fenris told him.

“Fifty-fifty,” Varric said generously.

“Seventy-thirty,” Fenris countered. “I did all the . . . hard work.” No wonder Fenris hadn’t been the least bit concerned about the possibility of Hawke telling Varric about Lacy Knickers Night. Oh, damn. Still, it could have been worse . . .

Fenris joined him at the bar a few moments later as Hawke slugged the rest of his whiskey back. A smile played on the edges of the elf’s mouth and there was a mischievous look in his eyes. “Ready to go?” he asked. He sounded very chipper and there was a warmth to his cheeks that was more than the inferior alcohol the Hanged Man served.

“More than ready,” Hawke said. He threw a few coins on the bar top and they headed for the door. As they left the pub and walked into the cold, Hawke turned up the collar of his coat. Great; his underpants would be freezing by the time they got home. He’d have to make Fenris warm him up all over again. “So,” he said casually. “Wicked Grace tomorrow night?”

“Never miss it,” Fenris said. “Maybe I’ll bring you along. You seem to be a bit of a good luck charm.”

“Oh, good,” Hawke replied. He turned and pinned Fenris with a pointed look, crossing his arms over his chest. “Sixty-forty.”


“You heard me. I did all the hard work.”

“Oh, very well,” Fenris said. He dug some coin out of his purse and handed it to Hawke. “You’ll only turn around and spend it on me, anyway.”

Hawke grinned and shrugged. “In the end, I usually break even.”