"Amazing?" Hawke supplies, staring up at his bedroom ceiling. "Inspirational. Bloody tremendous."
Beside him, Fenris laughs. The bed dips when he climbs out to clean himself up, unashamedly naked, and Hawke's eyes linger on the swirls of lyrium as he commits as much of Fenris to memory as possible. He really hopes it isn't another three years before they do this again.
"That was very enjoyable," Fenris says.
When he glances back, it's as if seeking approval and Hawke props himself up on his elbow as he asks, "And your memories?"
"Better," Fenris says with more confidence. "Less unexpected."
"Does that mean you're not going to run away again?" Hawke asks hopefully. "There's only so much my fragile ego can take, after all."
Fenris laughs again. Hawke could definitely get used to that.
"I don't think anyone could rightly describe your ego as fragile," Fenris says, "but I will stay if you'll have me."
Hawke stretches out in bed with a yawn. "I don't know that I'll be capable of having you again for at least another hour," he teases, "but you're more than welcome to stay regardless."
He pats the bed and smiles when Fenris slips under the covers. He settles at the very edge of the bed, facing the wall with his back to Hawke, and Hawke sighs as he sprawls across the sheets. His arm flops across Fenris' body in a lazy embrace, his lips brushing the back of Fenris' neck, and he closes his eyes with a yawn.
He opens them again a moment later.
Fenris is tense against him, to the point that Hawke's not certain he's even still breathing, and his feet twitch against the mattress with unconscious nerves.
"Fenris?" Hawke props himself up on a elbow to get a better look at his face. "What's wrong?"
"I-" Fenris pauses but keeps his eyes on the wall as he says firmly, "I would prefer not to do anything more tonight."
"No problem?" Hawke says, lost. "I was mostly planning on going to sleep."
Fenris looks pointedly at the arm slung across his body. "Then why are you…"
Hawke frowns and wiggles his fingers. "What, this? Is it the lyrium? Do you not want me to touch you? Because spooning is entirely optional, I promise."
Fenris' brows knit together. "Spooning."
"That is the technical term," Hawke says sagely.
Fenris looks no less baffled. More than ready to crack a joke, Hawke stops himself as he winds his way back through Fenris' bed-sharing history.
Figuring that Danarius wasn't big on affectionate post-sex snuggling, Hawke moves closer, tucking his knees in behind Fenris' as he explains, "Sometimes when you're sharing a bed with someone, it's nice to be close to them even when you're not having sex. Think of it like cuddling a toy mabari."
"I've never cuddled a toy mabari."
"Well, that clearly needs to be rectified." Hawke plants a kiss behind his ear. "We'll go to the market first thing tomorrow and I'll buy you as many toy mabaris as you can carry. I know a guy."
"Please don't buy me any toy mabaris."
"Fenris, you wound me."
Fenris glances over his shoulder with a half-hearted scowl and Hawke gives him a kiss on the cheek. (He purposefully does not make any promises about future mabari acquisitions.)
"All right," Hawke says, lying back down, "since a toy mabari was a bad point of reference, try thinking of me as a blanket draped over you. A soft, warm, rakishly handsome blanket."
With his head on the pillow, he can't see Fenris' face but from his pleased hum, it's a safe bet that he's smiling when he says, "You are very warm."
"And very handsome," Hawke agrees.
Fenris laughs at that, the tension ebbing away as he links his fingers with Hawke's. "Is this all right?"
"Perfect," Hawke says, giving his hand a quick squeeze. Fenris is small against him, tucked easily into the curve of Hawke's body, and his hair tickles Hawke's nose when Hawke kisses the back of his neck.
"We don't have to do anything you don't want to," Hawke promises around a yawn. "No sex, no spooning, just say the word."
"Sleep," Fenris mumbles.
"Excellent choice of word," Hawke says. "Just-" Another yawn. "-stellar."
He's out before Fenris can reply.
When he wakes the next morning to find himself facing the opposite wall with Fenris slumbering peacefully at his back, Hawke decides that he can live with being the little spoon in this relationship.
"How do you feel about trying something different tonight?"
Across the room, Fenris is already down to his smallclothes. He doesn't look up from scrubbing the last of the day's blood off his feet when he says, "Isabela isn't allowed to watch us in bed."
"Honestly, that wasn't even in my top fifty suggestions," Hawke says, tossing his shirt into what he hopes is the laundry pile. "Besides, if we're ever looking for voyeurs, I think Varric has already called the first slot. To ensure 'literary accuracy'."
"That would be a first," Fenris mutters but Hawke doesn't miss the tiny smile on his face as he lobs his clothes onto their actual laundry pile.
"Either way, there are no third parties involved in today's plan," Hawke says, rummaging in the chest at the foot of the bed. "Tonight it's just you, me, and…" He holds up a short length of rope with a hopeful smile. "…maybe this?"
Fenris' expression turns icy faster than Hawke can blink. "No."
"I know," Hawke says, holding his hands up. Fenris steps back as he approaches, eyes on the rope, and Hawke sits down on the edge of the bed to give him space as he explains, "It's to use on me, not on you. I mean, if you ever want it one day, I will absolutely share but that's your call, not mine."
Fenris frowns. He still looks suspicious but less murderous, which is a definite step in the right direction.
"Why?" he asks. "Being bound and taken is…" He swallows, not meeting Hawke's eyes. "Why would you want this?"
Hawke hesitates. They've never discussed the more intimate details of Fenris' time as a slave, neither of them ready to reopen that wound just yet, but assuming the worst has proven itself to be a decent strategy so far.
"Because I like it," he says simply.
Hawke's smile is soft, even when met with Fenris' raised eyebrows, and he sets the rope aside as he says, "When you're with someone you trust, when you know they won't hurt you, it can be fun to let go for a while."
He holds his hand out and smiles wider when Fenris calms enough to take it.
Hawke tugs him in, until Fenris is standing between his spread knees, and he strokes his thumbs along Fenris' hipbones as he says, "We don't need to do it if you don't want to. The rope can go back in the box and I can spend the next hour seeing if I can get you to make that squeaky noise again when my beard tickles your thighs."
Fenris' markings flicker in anticipation. He cards his fingers through Hawke's hair, thumb brushing the crinkles at the corner of his eye as he asks, "Or?"
"Or you can tie me up and have your wicked way with me," Hawke says with a grin. "Up to you."
He's relieved to see that Fenris is smiling when he climbs up to straddle Hawke's lap. The hand in his hair is rougher now, pulling rather than petting, and Hawke yields when Fenris' lips brush his ear. "I don't think I need you tied up for that."
Hawke laughs. "Consider it an optional extra?"
He turns his head, kissing his way down the side of Fenris' throat, but slows when Fenris asks quietly, "What if I hurt you?"
"Then I say 'ow' and we readjust," Hawke says, coaxing him in for a kiss on the lips. "Fenris, I trust you. I'm fairly confident that you're not going to do anything to hurt me, especially not during sex."
Fenris raises his eyebrows as he reaches for the rope. "Fairly confident?"
"Very confident," Hawke amends. "If I were a betting man, I would definitely put money on you not hurting me."
"You are a betting man," Fenris points out, cinching the rope around his wrists. "I won eight sovereigns off you last night."
"Yes, but I never gamble when I'm naked," Hawke says. "I've learned from my very public, costly, and templar-adjacent mistake."
"Please never tell me that story."
"I already regret telling you this much," Hawke admits.
Still astride Hawke's lap, Fenris nudges him back onto the bed towards the headboard. The ropes are loose, with the knots far simpler than Fenris' usual ones, but Hawke doesn't question it as Fenris bats their toy mabari off the pillow and fastens Hawke's hands in place above his head.
He sits back on his heels to inspect his handiwork, lips pursed in very endearing concentration, and Hawke can't keep the grin off his face. "I love you."
His grin disappears when Fenris' eyes go very wide.
"Ah." He coughs awkwardly into his elbow as a blush rises in his cheeks. "I've never actually said that out loud before, have I?"
Fenris shakes his head.
Hawke frowns. "Not even when we had that fancy dinner in Starkhaven?"
"Or during that cave-in when I thought we were going to die?"
Yet another headshake.
"Or out on Sundermount that night when we-"
Fenris' lips are on his before he can get the rest of his sentence out. One hand slides around to cup the back of Hawke's head while the other rests on his chest, and Hawke tilts his chin up, pulling absently on the ropes as he pushes for a deeper, slower kiss.
He manages the 'deeper' part of that goal, letting Fenris' tongue curl against his as he leans up to meet his mouth, but there's no slowing it down as Fenris kisses him hard and desperate.
Fenris' fingers are under the waistband of Hawke's smallclothes by the time they break apart and Hawke lifts his hips to let him pull them off. He's breathing hard, cheeks flushed with more than just embarrassment as he says, "I wish I could tell you I'd planned to say that at a more romantic time but I honestly thought I'd already said it, so-"
Cupping his cheeks, Fenris presses another firm kiss to his lips before pulling back enough to rid himself of the last scrap of material between them.
"We can lose the rope?" Hawke offers. "We don't have to-"
"I know," Fenris says. He's breathless from the kiss when he settles back on Hawke's lap and Hawke groans at the pleasant friction. "I want to try."
"This isn't just because of what I said, is it?" Hawke asks. "Because I wasn't trying to-"
"Stop talking," Fenris orders, but he does a terrible job at keeping the smile off his face.
Hawke isn't sure whether it's the declaration of love that's made Fenris so happy or the fact that he has him tied to the bed at his mercy. Nonetheless, when his very contented boyfriend leans in for another very contented kiss, Hawke chalks it up as a success either way.
Fenris eyes the tray on Hawke's lap with sleepy distrust. "Why is there food?"
"Because otherwise everyone would die of starvation and there'd be no-one here to help the next time Kirkwall set itself on fire," Hawke says helpfully.
Burying his face in his pillow, Fenris smacks him hard on the thigh. "Why is there food here. In our bed."
"Because it's breakfast," Hawke says. "And because I don't think you know what half of this food is."
Evidently motivated by the challenge, Fenris lifts his head enough to peer at the tray on Hawke's lap for a long moment before admitting defeat. "I know porridge."
"Yes but I don't know if you actually like porridge," Hawke says. "I don't know if you like any of the food you eat."
Fenris' face returns to the pillow. "It's too early for riddles."
Setting the tray aside, Hawke burrows under the covers to flip Fenris over onto his back. He catches one of Fenris' wrists in each hand and pins them easily to the mattress as he leans down to kiss him on the lips. Fenris makes a pleased noise against his mouth, stretching happily beneath him, and Hawke lets the kiss continue for a few more moments before pulling back with a smile. "So. Food."
Fenris groans. "I eat! You're worse than Isabela."
"Ha!" Hawke says triumphantly. "So I'm not the only one who's noticed!"
"There's nothing to notice," Fenris says with a scowl. "I eat three meals a day. What more do I need?"
"You need good food," Hawke says, rolling off to lie next to Fenris. He traces along the markings on his stomach as he says, "You only eat to keep your body functioning. Which is fine, but it turns out there's food out there which keeps you alive and also tastes good." He grins and reaches for a plate. "Like this."
Fenris flinches when Hawke sets the cool plate on his stomach. "What-"
Pinching a raspberry between his finger and thumb, Hawke holds it over Fenris' mouth as he says, "Open up."
"I'm not a ch-"
Hawke drops it in at the first decent opening. Fenris glares but chews, and Hawke smirks at the way his nose crinkles at the sharp taste.
"Not a fan?" he asks as Fenris swallows it.
"No," Fenris says, betrayed. "I prefer porridge."
Hawke rolls his eyes. He selects a strawberry next, holding it up for inspection when Fenris shows interest. "I recognise that one. Danarius served them in summer."
"Did you ever try them?"
Fenris shakes his head. "They were for Danarius and his guests, not slaves."
"Well, score one for Hawke in that case."
"If you're comparing yourself to Danarius, I think your score is a lot higher than one," Fenris points out. He's smiling as he takes a bite but his smile only broadens as he finishes off the strawberry.
"Mmm," Fenris says, peering down at the plate on his stomach. "Are there more of those?"
"Patience," Hawke teases but he obliges anyway, holding a strawberry between his teeth and leaning down to press it to Fenris' mouth. Their lips brush as Fenris bites off his half of the strawberry, juice dripping down onto his chin when Hawke pulls back.
Hawke is there before Fenris can clean himself up, licking along the lyrium on his chin to catch every last drop, and Fenris' hand curls around his shoulder as he smiles. "You're going to make a mess."
"Me?" Hawke says with feigned offense. "I'm the one cleaning you up here."
He nuzzles under Fenris' jaw, letting his beard tickle the sensitive skin on his neck, and laughs when Fenris squirms. With the plate on his stomach, he tries and fails to wriggle away from Hawke's grasp but lets out a yelp when a cold slice of orange tumbles off the plate and onto his chest.
"See?" Hawke teases, laughing when Fenris gives him a shove. "So messy."
"I'm not a table," Fenris says. "You can't just-"
His words turn into a surprised whimper when Hawke moves down to eat the orange slice off his chest. His teeth scrape over Fenris' skin, lyrium humming beneath the surface, and he dips to catch the juice before it can trickle any further down Fenris' ribs.
Fenris' voice is shaky when he says, "You're aware I'm not a serving dish either?"
Hawke chuckles. "I'd offer to let you eat off me but well…" He gestures to his chest and the not-insubstantial amount of hair thereon. "I don't have that smooth elf thing going for me."
"True," Fenris says. "No-one could accuse you of being smooth."
A knowing little smirk accompanies the jibe and Hawke grins, still strangely proud of being able to get Fenris to crack jokes (even if they are at his own expense).
"Ouch," he teases. "And after I brought you breakfast in bed too."
Fenris remains unmoved. "Perhaps if you allowed me to eat some of it."
Sighing, Hawke backs off, settling on the pillows beside him as he says, "I suppose I can refrain from touching you for one meal. They don't call me the Champion of Kirkwall for nothing."
"I'm sure Kirkwall appreciates your restraint." It's said as he digs into a slice of melon and Hawke sits back to allow Fenris to sample the rest of his breakfast without interference.
While he manages to stop himself from kissing Fenris again, he can't resist snaking the occasional piece of fruit when Fenris seems unconvinced by Hawke's selections. Between the two of them, the plate is cleared in short order and Hawke sets it on the side table as he asks, "So? What's the verdict?"
"It was different," Fenris says, licking the last smudge of blueberry off his lips.
His fingers slide through Hawke's hair, petting absently, and Hawke rests his head on Fenris' stomach as he looks up at him. "Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"
"Good," Fenris decides. "It's… nice. To try new things." His hand moves down to Hawke's shoulder, tracing the line of his collarbone as he says, almost shyly, "I like eating what you eat."
However, any shyness vanishes when Fenris' stomach rumbles. Hawke raises his eyebrows but Fenris is unrepentent as he gives him a firm prod in the ribs. "But I still want porridge."
"Well, hello," Hawke says with a waggle of his eyebrows.
Fenris' eyebrows remain motionless. "Hello."
"What's a nice elf like you doing in a place like this?"
Fenris frowns. "How do you know I'm a nice elf?"
"I could be a blood mage," Fenris points out. "Or an abomination."
Hawke pinches the bridge of his nose. "It's just something people say when they're flirting."
"Oh." Fenris nods, apparently storing that nugget of information away for future use. "Continue."
Hawke squares his shoulders and tries again. "My horse went lame out in the woods," he says, trying to sound appropriately distressed. "Maybe you could help m-"
He doesn't get the rest of the sentence out before Fenris is kissing him, hands curled in Hawke's shirt to pull him in close. It's very hard to resist, to the extent that Hawke completely fails to resist for a few long moments, but eventually he pulls back, hands on his hips.
"I feel like you haven't really grasped the idea of roleplaying."
Fenris folds his arms with a scowl. "There's no point to it. Why are we pretending to be someone else just to bed each other?" He gestures to the sadly unrumpled bed beside them. "We're already a couple; we can bed each other whenever we want."
"I know," Hawke says, resting his hands on Fenris' hips. "Believe me when I say I am very happy with the current bedding situation. It's just sometimes it's fun to try something different. Like with the food. And the rope."
Fenris smiles at the memory and leans up to give Hawke another kiss. "I like the rope."
Hawke is a little embarrassed by how much those four simple words turn him on.
"Tomorrow," he promises. "Anyway, who knows, you might end up liking this as much as the rope. I mean, the 'lost human meeting a Dalish elf' is one of the classics."
Fenris looks perplexed and vaguely judgemental. "There are other classics?"
"Absolutely," Hawke says with possibly too much enthusiasm. "Mage and templar is always popular, then there's viscount and seneschal, Grey Warden and new recruit…" He skips over 'master and slave' and adds with a shrug, "…or qunari and pretty much anyone. A lot of people are really into qunari."
Fenris considers for a moment before accepting this conclusion and Hawke does his very best not to think about Fenris hooking up with a qunari.
"Okay," Hawke says, wiping his hands on his thighs. "Let's try again. I'm a charming yet lost adventurer. You be Dalish and whatever else you want."
Fenris purses his lips but dips his head in a nod of agreement as he says, "Ma nuvenin."
Hawke's mouth goes dry. "See, logically I know you're being sarcastic," he says, "but somehow I don't care."
Fenris rolls his eyes but there's a smile on his lips as he steps in closer. "Ma serannas," he says, voice lighter and lilting. "Dareth shiral. Elgar'nan, Mythal, Dirthamen, Andruil…"
The words start to sound familiar and Hawke frowns. "Wait, are you just listing Dalish gods?"
Fenris' scowl is back. "In case you weren't aware, I'm not Dalish," he mutters. "I don't know what they say."
"But you do know Merrill," Hawke points out. "Just use her as inspiration."
"Should I resort to blood magic or just stick to consorting with demons?"
Hawke sighs. "Okay, fine," he says, rolling his shoulders and regrouping. "Maybe Dalish wasn't the best suggestion. I'm sticking with my lost adventurer -- you pick something else that you want to be."
Fenris pauses to think for a moment.
The response comes surprisingly fast and Hawke blinks. "All right?"
"I'll be something else," Fenris agrees.
Half-expecting another round of persuasion, Hawke decides not to question a good thing. Stepping back, he closes his eyes, clears his throat and tries to get himself back into character as a dashing adventurer in search of lost treasure, who just happens to have run into trouble in a deep and mysterious forest.
When he opens his eyes again, it's to see Fenris watching him calmly and Hawke takes a step forward as he says, "Hey there! I'm glad I found another person all the way out here." He flashes Fenris a hopeful smile. "You see, I'm looking for the fabled treasure of Rupert Pentaghast but my horse, she went lame and I-"
He gets no further before Fenris launches himself at him with a growl. The kiss is near-feral, hard and hot and demanding, and Hawke groans against his mouth when Fenris' hands slide down to give his ass a firm squeeze.
His hands move lower, settling around the top of his thighs, and Hawke lets out an undignified squawk of surprise when he finds himself lifted up off the ground. "What-"
He breaks away from the kiss, legs kicking out on instinct, but Fenris just smirks. His markings flash blue as he kisses his way down to Hawke's collarbone before throwing Hawke onto the bed.
It's a throw in the most literal sense -- he'd forgotten just how strong Fenris was -- and Hawke bounces as he lands on his back, too stunned at being airborne to raise any kind of protest.
Fenris is on him in an instant, leaping onto the bed and pinning Hawke down, and any objection fades to a whimper of enjoyment as Fenris kisses him soundly.
It's rougher than usual, rougher than he's used to, but there's no hiding how much he's enjoying it when Fenris' teeth drag over his lower lip. He rolls his hips down to meet Hawke's helpless thrusts upwards, his feet hooked over Hawke's thighs to hold them apart, and it's all Hawke can do to keep breathing when he sees the predatory glint in Fenris' eyes.
"You-" He pulls in a breath, trying to think past the fog of arousal in his head. "What in the Maker's name was that?"
Fenris says it as though it's obvious, pulling back just far enough that Hawke can't kiss him. There's a wicked smile on his lips and his breath is hot against Hawke's skin when he says happily, "I'm a dragon."
By the time he returns home in the evening, Hawke is absolutely dying to get laid.
He's generally in favour of having sex at the best of times but after spending an hour fighting a very chatty desire demon, Hawke is even more desperate to make it up to bed for the night.
Fenris was still asleep when Hawke woke up that morning and so he'd rounded up Anders, Isabela, and Aveline instead to go exploring on the Wounded Coast. One thing led to another led to a cave led to a blood mage, and Hawke found himself in a fight with an opponent who seemed to enjoy providing lengthy and detailed suggestions as to all the things he and Fenris could do together.
(As distraction techniques went, it was honestly a pretty solid approach.)
Isabela was intrigued, Anders was aghast, and Aveline was the one to ultimately drive a sword through the demon's neck, bringing the suggestions to an end. Nevertheless they'd had the intended effect and Hawke's trousers had been uncomfortably tight during the whole walk back to Kirkwall, not aided by Isabela's running commentary on just how good Fenris would look in a blindfold and how lovely he would sound when a splash of hot wax landed on his hipbone.
Hawke is slightly terse when he says his goodbyes and makes a mental note to apologise in the morning, but he has more pressing matters on his mind as he takes the stairs to the bedroom two at a time.
The candles on the walls are flickering gently and Hawke clears his throat, trying to maintain some sense of decorum as he enters the bedroom with a smile. "So, funny story…"
He trails off when he sees Fenris.
He's curled up small in the sheets, their cuddly mabari tucked under his arm for comfort, and even from across the room, Hawke can make out the sickly sheen of sweat on his brow.
Fenris looks up at the noise. It's obviously an effort -- his arm shakes as he pushes himself up -- and Hawke's need for sex quietens at the sight of Fenris' glassy eyes and the spots of colour high on his cheeks.
"Hawke." His voice is more gravelly than usual but there's a tired smile on his lips. "How was the coast?"
"Still wounded," Hawke says, shrugging off his shirt and vest. "Still full of bandits and blood mages. The usual." He approaches the bed and cups Fenris' cheek as he says, "I think the more pressing question is how you're doing."
Fenris bats his hand away. "I'm fine."
"Well, I'm convinced," Hawke says. "I mean, you look like the offspring of a darkspawn and a soggy cat but now that you say you're fine…"
Fenris' eyes narrow and he smacks Hawke on the thigh. Hawke barely feels the contact.
"I am fine," Fenris insists. "It's just-" He sneezes. It's pretty endearing. "-a headache."
"Uh-huh," Hawke says, resting a hand on Fenris' too-warm forehead. "And I'm secretly a dragon."
"You can be," Fenris says sleepily. "I think it's your turn."
Sighing, Hawke kisses him on the forehead and accepts his fate. Even after the painful walk back to Kirkwall, it's far less difficult than he anticipated to say, "We're not doing that tonight. We're not doing anything tonight."
With a fond ruffle of Fenris' hair, he turns away to kick off his boots and change into his sleep pants. When he looks back, Fenris has managed to get to a sitting position but, if the dazed blinking is any indication, he still seems to be having trouble focusing. "I can-"
"You don't know what I was going to say," Fenris mutters.
"I can take a guess," Hawke says, "and the answer's still no. All we're doing tonight is going to sleep."
He crosses to the wash basin, cleaning the last of the day's grime off himself, and is about to make a beeline for the bed when Fenris asks, "Did I do something wrong?"
He sounds nervous, fingers hooked together in his lap, and Hawke frowns as he climbs in next to him. "What? No," he says, resting a hand on Fenris' shoulder. "What would you have done wrong?"
Fenris sneezes again and Hawke coaxes him back down to the pillow. "We usually…"
He gestures to the bed and Hawke sighs when realisation dawns. It's not the first time they've gone to bed together without having sex -- there have been plenty of nights where they've both been too combat-weary to get their clothes off, let alone to get it up -- but thinking back, Hawke can't remember a time when they've spent the day apart and not at least had a quick fumble in the evening.
He kisses him on the lips, smiling when Fenris reflexively shuffles in closer, and Hawke settles next to him on the pillows when he says, "You didn't do anything wrong. You're sick. You need to rest."
Fenris' head finds Hawke's shoulder and he says into his chest, "M'fine."
"You're a very bad liar." Fenris' glare is half-hearted at best and Hawke smirks as he kisses him on the forehead again. "Did you even make it downstairs today?"
Fenris' answer is unintelligible and Hawke smiles wider. "What was that?"
"No," Fenris admits. "The stairs kept moving."
Fenris laughs, calming as Hawke strokes his fingers through his hair. His breathing levels out, occasionally broken up by a weak cough, and Hawke says gently, "I promise, I have a whole list of inappropriate things I want us to do together but every single one can wait until you're feeling better."
Fenris' nose crinkles. "There's a list?"
"I'm very organised."
"You ran out of clean shirts three days ago."
"I'm selectively organised," Hawke amends. "When it comes to you and me, I have very detailed plans."
Fenris smiles and sniffles as his eyes fall closed. "I like plans."
"And I like you," Hawke says. "See, it all works out."
It's a testament to how sick Fenris is that he accepts that logic without question. He curls around him, leg slung across Hawke's thighs and arm wrapped around his chest, and Hawke runs his thumb over the soft skin behind Fenris' ear to draw a contented hum from his lips.
Barely awake, Fenris mumbles something in Tevene against Hawke's chest.
He's asleep before Hawke can ask for a translation. However, the correct response is clear enough and Hawke kisses the top of his head with a fond smile. "Love you too."