Prompt fill - Stolen

[nightsfury]

Title: Stolen
Characters: m!Hawke/Fenris
Rating: T
Summary: "Make new memories…with me," Danal Hawke asks of Fenris on one dark and drizzly night. But even a past you can't remember can be hard to let go of.
Very minor spoilers.
Comments/random thoughts are welcome. Enjoy!

This story came about after my first run-through of DA2 in which my rogue Hawke romanced Fenris. I didn't much care for the notion of Hawke waiting three years between that first night and when the two resume their relationship. (Neither did he, it seems.) So, I shortened it to three months, and played with the timeline. Then, 'Stolen' was posted as the first monthly prompt, and with a bit of tweakng this story seemed to fit in with that pretty well.

 

Was he a fool? Slouched on the narrow wooden bench and staring out a window into the mist-shrouded night while he polished off a dusty bottle of aged wine, Fenris thought he might be. He took another long pull, then turned back to the fire, just a small one to ward off the mild chill of an early spring night. Still plenty of broken furniture to feed it after Danarius’ pets had torn threw the slave guards he’d left behind. The bodies were gone, but blood stains were hard to get out of wood, harder to get out of his soul.

Closing his eyes, Fenris leaned back against the cracked plaster wall, the wine warming his throat on the way down, then laying warm in his belly. As if it had happened last night and not months ago, he remembered the heat of Danal Hawke’s body and arms wrapped around him, the shiver of release through his lover’s arms and legs when passion had found fulfillment. One night. One night of pleasure. A few stolen hours of happiness. Had that been too much to ask of life?

He gulped down the rest of the wine, then flung the bottle against the wall. It shattered, dropping down to add more fragments to the small pile of green glass glittering in the soft firelight. He should sweep them up, right? Danarius, among his many faults, had possessed an almost obsessive need to tidy things up, to see the life around him ordered to his will. Pah, leave it, Fenris thought. He liked the symbolism of broken bottles. It suited his mood, suited his life at the moment.

Varric often accused him of brooding. Maybe he did. But Fenris didn’t know how to let go of the past when it wouldn’t let go of him. Every time he caught a glimpse of his reflection in a mirror or glanced down at his hands, he saw the past crawling over his skin in winding lines of searing power.

He grunted and reached for another bottle, unopened, then held it close to his chest, his hand curled around it as his thoughts strayed back to Hawke. The human had traced those lines with tongue and fingers, trying to drown remembered pain in the pleasure of a lover’s touch. Memory had stirred under those caresses, bright and scintillating, tiny jewels of a lost life gleaming at the edges of his mind. So close, so close. For brief, agonizing moments he’d tasted warm bread, smelled jasmine and lilac in a garden, saw a familiar face with eyes the same moss green as his own. Then…they were gone, melting away in the sweet aftermath of passion, leaving a cold hollow in the base of his soul.

The bottle slipped from his hand and landed with a dull thud on the thick carpet beneath the bench. He wanted the human, wanted to lose himself in that heat, again and again. But to have memory stir, then fade away like mist, again and again? Was he a coward as well as a fool?

A chime sounded in the entry way. Someone at the door, pulling on the blasted bell-rope. He thought about ignoring it, but the only ones who ever called with any regularity were Varric or Hawke and his sister, sometimes Aveline stopped by, and on rare occasions, Isabella or Anders. He shoved himself to his feet. He could always tell them to go away, he thought, as he padded to the front door, then opened it.

Danal Hawke stood there, his cloak hood pulled up against the evening chill, mist beading up in tiny drops on his shoulders.  He carried a small basket in his left hand, and a small smile that sent an unexpected pang of longing through Fenris’ heart. The elf moved aside and waved him in.

“What brings you out on a night like this?” Fenris asked, closing the door, then leaning back against it.

Danal held up the basket. “Bethany noticed your pantry seemed rather empty last time we were here and insisted I bring this over.”

“She did, did she?”

 “It’s just bread and cheese, strawberry preserves, a bit of butter. Some dried fruit.”

“Your sister is kind,” Fenris said, accepting the basket. As you are kind. He carried the basket into the receiving room, then set it on a side table.

“Re-decorating?” Danal said, grinning and motioning to the pile of glass shards on the floor under a painting of a noble with a pinched face, as if the man had sucked lemons while he sat for his portrait.

“Something like that.”

Fenris retrieved the bottle and thumbed off the cork, then held it out. The human slipped of his cloak, shaking it a bit then draping it over a chair, before accepting the wine and settling in a padded chair closer to the fire. Fenris slid into the seat opposite him. Danal took a swig then passed the bottle back to the elf.

The human gazed into the fire, his left arm resting on the small, round table between them.

“You don’t have to stay here,” he said, looking up. The flames flickered in the dark depths of his eyes.

“Oh? And where would you suggest I stay? The alienage holds no allure for me.”

Danal shrugged. “You could stay with me. Maker knows there’s enough room in that mansion.” He grinned. “And it’s not like you’d have to move very far, is it? Just around the corner.”

“I like it here.”

“It’s crumbling around you.” Danal picked up a piece of plaster that had fallen from the ceiling and turned it over to briefly examine before flipping it into the fire. “Besides, the seneschal is still making noises about you living in this place. I know Aveline’s persuaded him to leave it be for the present, but eventually he’ll stop listening to her.”

“Your mother still trying to marry you off?” Fenris took a long drink before setting the bottle between them.

With a sigh, Danal snagged the bottle. “Yes.”

“You could tell her the truth. That you prefer a man for a lover.”

“Maybe Bethany, Carver, and I grew up rough, but mother didn’t. She grew up noble.” He took a sip, a ruby drop leaking from the corner of his mouth. He licked it off his lip. “That means she thinks about bloodlines. Where she came from, and what comes after her. She wants grand-children. Someone to leave the estate to. Someone to carry on the Amell bloodline.” He waved the bottle. “No noble is going to marry Bethany. But me….:” Danal propped his chin on his hand and held out the bottle. “I’m her last hope for descendents.”

When Fenris took the wine, Danal’s hand curled around his wrist, rested there warm and light, an invitation in his eyes. Along the lyrium lines seared into his skin, the heat of desire traced its own path, twining around his nerves, pulling him closer to the human.

Such soft lips, tasting of wine and heat. Fenris remembered the feel of them, remembered the hunger in them as if three months of yesterdays between the night they had lain together and this one was only smoke on the wind. Fingers twisted in his hair, and Danal groaned in the back of his throat. Hard to pull away, but it was hard to take him to bed, too. Fear warred with need, a battle he couldn’t win with a blade. So he compromised, pulling back just far enough so he could look in Danal’s eyes.

“I don’t…Can you understand what it’s like? To be so close to remembering, only to have those memories snatched away?”

“Well, maybe if we keep at it, they’ll stay…like unwelcome guests.”

In spite of, or perhaps because of the flippant humor, Fenris smiled.

“Maybe those memories will never come back,” Danal said softly. “I can’t…to have a hole like that in your life, I can’t pretend to understand that.” He pushed back a soft wave of white hair that was always falling over Fenris’ left eye. “Make new memories…with me. Fill up the past with the present, and with what we can steal from the future.”

Fenris laughed. “You sound like a poet, my friend…or a philosopher.” Then his fingers traced the line of Danal’s jaw, while the lyrium brands hummed, glowing softly where the human’s fingers brushed over them.

“Oh, Maker, spare me the title of philosopher.”

“Court jester, then?”

“I could live with that.” He pressed the elf’s palm against his cheek. Overlying the curving tattoos on Danal’s face, Fenris saw the faint blue tracing of the marks on his palm when he pulled his hand away.

“They don’t hurt me, you know,” Danal said.

 “I know,” Fenris whispered. It hadn’t hurt to leave them there, either, not physically, anyway. The pain was something deeper, a ghost that lingered in his soul, as if his flesh were haunted.

He rose, intending to bid Danal good night, but the human’s fingers slipped between his and Fenris swallowed. In bright sunlight, Danal’s eyes were chestnut dark. In fire and lamplight, they gleamed warm and brilliant, tugging at his heart.

“If you don’t want to come with me, perhaps… I could stay here?”

Fenris pulled his hand back and folded his arms. “I’m not set up for guests.”

“Dammit, Fenris.” Danal rubbed his forehead. “I…oh, Maker’s balls, I…” He looked up. “I care about you…a great deal.”

Turning, Fenris stared into the fire. “It’s not that simple.”

“Of course it is.” He rose, and gripped the elf by the shoulders. “Look-” Fenris shoved him back, the tracings on his skin flaring blue. When he caught the flash of hurt in Danal’s eyes, he winced inside.

“No, my friend, it’s not. As his slave, Danarius…took everything from me. He-“

“You’re still letting him control you.”

Rage blossomed and Fenris’ eyes narrowed, the edges of his vision going hazy blue as his muscles tightened, and the lyrium lines flared over his skin. He surged forward, one strong hand closed over Danal’s throat, as he shoved him against the wall so hard a bit of plaster dropped from the ceiling. His right arm pulled back, his hand pulsed blue, phasing in and out of solid existence.

“Don’t let him,” Danal whispered, his eyes locked on the elf’s.

Fenris stared at him, then he twisted away, punching his now solid fist against the wall, cracking it, leaving a smear of blood across the dusty plaster.

“I think it best if you leave,” Fenris whispered, his hands closing into fists, blood dripping off his knuckles, sickened at the thought of what he’d almost done to this man who was more than friend.

“No,” Danal said, stepping forward.

“I almost killed you, Hawke.”

That lopsided grin Danal threw the world in the middle of every battle returned.

“But you didn’t.”

Fenris stared at him, then gathered and released a deep breath. “You are a very stubborn man.”

Danal shrugged, then reached for his bloody fist. Fenris resisted the impulse to jerk his hand away.  Though the small wounds were already starting to close along the lyrium lines, the human snagged the wine bottle from the table and washed off the blood with a splash of wine.

“A waste of good wine,” Fenris said.

“Not if it keeps your hand from getting infected.”

“So, I can’t convince you to leave?”

Danal shook his head, then grinned and lifted the bottle. “If you want to get drunk and go all broody, something this good should be shared, shouldn’t it?”

“I don’t brood.” Fenris snagged the bottle back, and took a swig, Danal still holding onto his hand.

“Like Varric said, you brood so much women would swoon as you pass them, and want to have your broody babies, or something like that.”

Fenris sighed and sank back onto the bench. Danal settled beside him and draped his arm around the elf’s shoulders. After a moment’s hesitation, Fenris leaned against him. His solid warmth was oddly comforting, and for a while they didn’t talk, just passed the bottle back and forth. Outside, the drizzle turned to a steady drumbeat against the roof, skittered against the windows.

He closed his eyes when Danal’s warm lips pressed against the side of his head. Fenris’ hand slipped down his leg and curved around the underside of his thigh, close to his knee. He remembered the silken feel of his skin, the way the muscles moved beneath it as if it were yesterday.

“So, does this mean I should stay?” Danal asked softly, close to his ear, his fingers tightening on the elf’s shoulder.

The human’s wine-scented breath ghosted against his cheek. His words, hesitant, hopeful, ghosted against Fenris’ heart. Danal would respect his wishes and leave if he insisted. But to what point? All those tomorrows stretching in front of him…why should they be as empty as the past he couldn’t remember?

 “Danarius stole my past. I’m not going to let him steal my future, as well.”

Halfway to drunk, he could pretend it was the wine that had made him relent. But he cared too much for Danal to put that lie between them.

He twisted around, sliding a leg across Danal’s lap till he straddled the man’s thighs. Tangling his hands in thick, dark hair, Fenris kissed him,  a hot, fierce press of need and hungry desire that the human returned in full. For the first time since the lyrium had been seared into his skin, Fenris discovered he wanted to be touched, ached for it.

Danal was wrong. What lay between them wasn’t simple, and never would be so long as the threat of Danarius’ tracking him down remained. Entangling his heart and his life with the human would only make things even more complicated. So be it, Fenris thought. Whatever the future held, there would be someone to walk beside him. No man could ask for more than that.