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Saturday, March 26th, 2011 07:22 pm

Title: Holding Back the Darkness
Series: A Feeling of Something
Author:  [ profile] brytewolf
Beta: [ profile] avictoriangirl (a million thanks to her, as she beta'ed this without having any interest in the game)
Fandom: Dragon Age 2
Pairing: F!Hawke/Fenris
Rating: Hard R
Genre: Romance, Hurt/Comfort
Length: ~ 1,700
Disclaimer: Much as I love these characters, I do not own them. They belong to all the geniuses over at Bioware, may they always continue to make games that touch my heart.
Summary: She's wanted it for so long, but it has to be on his terms. She just never expected it to feel like this.

A/N 1: I was not satisfied with the setup to the first time that my f!Hawke and Fenris were together - it was far too abrupt, and didn't seem to flow with the steady respect that existed between the characters before and after. And so my plotbunny jumped in and made...adjustments :) This incorporates more into their first kiss, and fills in the "fade to black" before we find Hawke waking up on the bed later in the night.

A/N 2: For those of you on my friends' list who follow me for my Star Trek - I would highly recommend reading this if you're interested in het. I intentionally made it so that you don't have to know what's happening in the game to enjoy the fic. All you really need to know is that Fenris is broken, and bleeding, and angry (kinks of mine? OH YES!!!!).

Oh. And he looks like THIS:

 Bestill my beating heart XD

A/N 3: Apparently my plotbunny decided that what was supposed to be a short one-shot was going to develop into a SERIES of one shots. Each of them is stand alone, and can be read in any order. There are at least more tentatively in the works, but I have no idea where this is headed or why XD

Second entry in "A Feeling of Something" -- Trembling in the Aftermath
Third Entry in "A Feeling of Something" -- Fumbling Towards Hope

Holding Back the Darkness


When she sees him turn to leave, she could curse. She knows he's broken inside, bleeding from old wounds reopened – and she can't just let him walk away under some misconstrued assumption that he's burdening her. It's impulse that makes her grasp his arm, and the words "you don't need to leave," are past her lips before she truly thinks about them.

A flash of blue, and he has her pinned to the wall. The impulse, which originated solely from a desire to give comfort, is fed by his proximity. She leans forward, brushing her lips against his, and her heart gives a little flop when he returns the kiss. Always this tension has existed, reverberating between them, but beyond that once neither has mentioned it. She's told herself countless times that she won't push, can't push because his first experience needs to be on his terms. But feeling him respond cracks her self control and she flips them so he's against the wall, and she can feel the length of his hard, lean body as she presses against him. The kiss is fierce, a clash of teeth and tongue, and she can feel a rumble of a growl in his chest as his hands circle her waist.

With a gasp, the kiss ends, both of them panting as they cling to each other. He leans towards her, foreheads touching as they try to catch their breath. But what she feels through the contact, his skin against hers, gives her pause. He's trembling, so hard it feels as if he's going to fall apart in her arms.

Gently, she presses her lips against his, nuzzles against him. Her fingers turn from greedy – starving – to tender as they stroke against his sides. Wanting to help, but not quite knowing how, she whispers against his lips. "Fenris…do you want me to help you forget, at least for a little while?"

Silence between them, as heavy as the tension moments before. Then she hears him swallow before he lets loose a shuddering breath. And, slowly, he nods.

Taking one of his hands, she draws him away, leading him along. "Come," she whispers as his feet still momentarily before he follows her into the house and down the hall into her bedchamber. When he catches sight of the bed, he balks. Turning, she reads his face carefully. His eyes are wide with something akin to worry, but…they're also so full of want that she can't help but smile. Reaching up, she frames his face with her hands, stroking along the length of his delicate pointed ears with gentle fingertips.

"I just…" she begins, bringing his hand to her lips. "Fenris, I just want you to feel," and she pauses, kissing his palm before resting it against her cheek, "something besides the pain." The pain of the lyrium branded into his skin, a constant, and the pain of hope and hopelessness tangled irreversibly together.

She doesn't cling, like she wants to, doesn't hold him there. She doesn't want to force him, ever – not after all he'd been through as a slave. Catching and holding his eyes in hers, she tries to make that desire plain on her face – but also not hiding how much she wants this, wants him.

He cups her cheek, and seemingly making his choice he takes a step – closer to her, and she can feel his warmth as his other hand rests possessively on her hip. "I want," he whispers, as if it's a precious secret, "to touch you."

"You can," she replies, mesmerized by the emotions in those beautifully expressive eyes. "You always can."

His lips on hers again, only this time instead of demanding and hard, they are soft and reverent, unbelieving. She hums in pleasure as his tongue licks tentatively at her lips, asking entrance. And then a moan escapes as he thoroughly explores her mouth, his hands holding her to him so gentle.

Tantalizing hint of hard abs under her questing fingers, but there's too much leather, too much cloth and metal between his skin and her. And so carefully she peels away the layers, buckle by buckle, knowing full well that she's removing the layers protecting his heart as well as his body. He's told her he's never let anyone close, and as each piece falls away she caresses smooth flesh with touch and lips, until he's wearing nothing but his leather breeches.

He stands before her, exposed, his eyes shut, as she runs her fingertips down his chest, following the path of markings seared into his flesh, until she's just brushing the trail of hair leading down from his belly button.

"You're beautiful, you know that?" she says, unable to keep her eyes off the sight of him.

Fenris shifts before her, his shoulders tensing under the scrutiny. "The properties of the lyrium do lend a sense of –"

"Not the tattoos," she interrupts, laying her hand flat on his chest and splaying her fingers. "You, Fenris, are beautiful."

His head shakes back and forth, and she resists the urge to nip at his hipbone once again at his refusal. There will be time enough to show him, if they get the chance to do this again. So instead she sweeps her arms over the line of his shoulders and pulls him close for another kiss.

Calloused fingers explore as hers do, but his are fumbling, unsure, a thumb lingering under the curve of her breast as if he can't quite decide if he's allowed. Smiling, she whispers against his lips, "Yours to touch, yours to have…" unsaid, but bright in her mind is the word always.

Only then does his touch gain confidence, exploring her skin with such intensity she can feel it. It mesmerizes her, and she hardly notices she's bared to the skin, as is he, until he lays her back on the bed. Sighing happily, she watches his face as he looks down at her. There is such awe and amazement, plain to see, as his fingers linger over the fluttering beat of her heart – and, somehow, with each moment he indelibly imprints himself inside – before moving onward. With lips and tongue and fingertips, he worships every curve and dimple of her body until the need in her belly flares from a carefully banked fire to burn through every nerve.

"Fenris, please…" she begs, her hands cupping his ears and lifting him from where he's nuzzled against the swell of her breast.

But then that heart he's tangled himself in stutters and almost stops at the sight of his face. His eyes…so open, and relaxed, and joyful. It's the first time she's ever seen him without the pained, haunted look he always carries, and she has to struggle to hold back the prick of tears that threaten.

Slowly he travels up her body, teasing every inch of skin along the way until their mouths meet once again. The kiss is sweet, and deep, whispering of new promises and nothing of hunger or pain.

Her fingers skim down his sides, grazing a firm buttock before she finally takes him in hand. Breaking the kiss, she nuzzles along his jaw line as his eyes close and his hips jerk. There are so many things she wants to show him, to do to him, but not tonight. Hopefully, she'll get the chance but she knows that with the lives they lead that opportunity may never come. So she resolves to memorize these moments, the touch of his skin and the way he feels, and she knows he's doing the same.

She draws him to her entrance, relishing the feel of him in her hand until she's guided him inside, and he's filling her. His eyes fly open, wide and brighter than she's ever seen them as he holds himself above her, muscles trembling. He's surrounding her, inside her, and she can feel his breath in her hair, at her cheek, as he whispers in Elvish – words she doesn't know the meaning of but which touch her deep inside all the same.

Instead of the stuttered, hurried conclusion she'd half-expected due to his lack of any experience, he draws on his years of control to begin slowly moving his hips with an undercurrent of uncertainty that quickly disappears.

It's languid, building slowly between them, and they kiss as fingers form to skin, committing every plane and valley to memory. Then he shudders above her, hands tangled in her hair, as he finds release inside her. And carries her with him, clinging as she gasps.

She kisses the corner of his lips as his weight rests on her, comfortable and solid and warm, and their breathing slowly returns to normal. Running her hands through his hair, she waits for the moment when his eyes open once again.

Feels a sharp pierce of sorrow, for gone is the joy they held only moments before, and in its place is the familiar haunted expression. His muscles tense as if he's leaving, and she clings. She can't help it, desperate to hold onto him and what they had for as long as she can.

Kissing him again in entreaty, her arms circle his chest. "Stay, please," her voice is a whisper this time, and she lets what she's feeling show in her eyes.

His gaze upon her and it softens, a little bit of the awe coming back as he strokes her cheek with the lightest of touches. "That would…" and he pauses, before a half smile forms. "I would enjoy that greatly." His lips gently brush hers before he shifts so that not all of his weight is upon her.

Already feeling the gift she was given slipping away, she holds him to her tight, fingers impressing themselves into his skin as she wills herself to sleep. She's eased there by his hand smoothing through her hair and across her cheeks.

And his deep voice whispering his secrets to her in a tongue she'll never understand.



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