Chapter One

Tantalizing Devil

How could one woman be so infuriating, maddening even, one moment, for the next to be so deliciously tempting and luring? It made no sense, but then again, when she was dancing those luscious wide hips in tight eights, and somehow manage to not falter in energy or balance, even after the sixth mug of ale, it didn't seem to matter. It made no sense, that after a day of slaying filthy slavers, or cleaning out a blood mage hideout, as soon as she set a foot inside the Hanged Man, or inside one of her misfit friend's home, even sometimes when she just stepped inside the city walls, she smiled and laughed and drank all her heart could carry with it. Or maybe it was just him that made no sense..

Fenris sat nursing a mug of would-be wine, the Hanged Man not ever being a winery, at the table in the corner, staring rather intently into the purple-ish slosh. He did not dare look up, of fear of not being able to look away again. To his right sat Varric, swinging his half-full pint of ale merrily to the beat of a bodhrán, played by one of the Dalish elves from the Alienage. It seemed Merrill was only one of many to leave the Dalish for the city-life, however Merrill's reasons seemed to be hers alone. She herself were playing the flute, and Fenris would never admit it openly, but she had quite a talent for it. Even though the two female elves were playing Dalish tunes, the man-child, who tried to woo Isabela every other night with bad limerick and awful poetry, was playing the fiddle rather impressively, and even when improvised to fit the Dalish folk music, it rang rather beautifully throughout the tavern.

But as if that wasn't enough as entertainment for the evening, all eyes were drawn to the center of the room, hypnotized being the word springing to mind. Men were leering, licking their lips, smirking at the scene before them, whilst the women of the tavern, patrons and wenches alike, were more in a love-hate situation.

Given her current status in Hightown and her well-known accomplishments, anyone would insist that Isabela was the one to drag her out and up on that table, possible under the influence of stale ale or whiskey. But truth be told, anyone who knew her, really knew her, knew that is was more likely the other way around. Never had Fenris met a person so full of life and joy and something he could only word as spirit, even when the word faded in comparison to what is was that she possessed. Not only was she a formidable warrior, no one even up to her socks when it came to dual-handed combat, but a woman with equal wit and passion had never seen the sun. And sex appeal, oh god, the sex appeal. One of the reasons Fenris still tried to stare intently into his drink, afraid that if he looked now, he'd never be able to look at anything else.

Varric laughed heartily, almost making him peek up. He huffed and turned his head left to avoid looking at the two dancing and twirling bodies being the center of attention. It wasn't the first time this had happened, it was actually becoming something of a happening at the Hanged Man, frequently drawing people from all over Kirkwall to the tavern a couple of nights a week now, both women never failed to satisfy the crowds.

As he turned his head, his gaze came upon Anders, who was also sipping a pint of ale. But unlike his own eyes, Anders' eyes were fixed on the two table dancers, and he smirked as he brought the mug to his lips. Fenris scowled briefly, Anders too transfixed to notice. Across from him sat Aveline and Sebastian, now with their sides turned, to watch and be amused. He noticed how neither of them bore any signs of disgust or displeasure in seeing their dear friend belly-dance her way around a dipping Isabela, amusement and goodhearted grins plastered on their faces as both took a sip of wine.

Anders sputtered and snickered, running the back of his hand over his mouth, wiping the ale that fell from it, and Fenris could not take it any longer. He slowly lifted his head, partially hiding behind his mug and finally laid eyes on the offending pair.

His eyes widened as his eyebrows disappeared into his ivory hair, and he nearly choked on a mouthful of wine.

By Andrastes dirty knickers..

Isabela and Hawke were rubbing against each other in a most seducing manner, and he was almost astounded that Hawkes bosom wasn't smothered by Isabelas impressive rack, making an equally arousing appearance smushed up against the pirate. They were so close, seemingly glued together by their cheeks, breasts and stomachs, whilst the inch shorter Hawke had a leg between Isabelas thighs for balance. Both were grabbing their counterparts ass and pouted their lips in a provocatively lustful way. They moved as one wave, with equal skill and precision, to the dark tones of the Dalish tune. The sweat glistened on their taut, flexing bodies and Fenris felt his mouth run dry. As the music moved towards the end, their movements slowed to a tantalizing slow rhythm and as Merrill gave the final notes with the flute, they dipped backwards to an impossible angel, clashing their hips together, both arms waving slowly over them as their hair touched the table.

The tavern exploded in cat-calls and wolf-whisles and clapping as the ladies held the pose for a good moment before returning upright with grins stretching across their faces. Hawke took Isabelas hand and they bowed twice before hopping off of the table. Fenris watched as Hawkes breasts bounced.

"I'm afraid that's all for the evening folks! Time to get me some ale! Corff, bring our table a pitcher of your finest!" Hawke hollered at the bartender with a wide smile over the last of the shouts from various satisfied patrons.

Isabela took her by the arm and pecked her on the cheek, "Sweetie, I love those hips of yours more and more by the day". They waltzed to the table. Isabela sat herself next to Varric and wiped her brow with her hand.

"Likewise Isabela, likewise. I'm enjoying this more than I ever should".

"Well, that can be said for most of us, my dearest Hawke, one way or another" Varric chirped in, smirking at her and gulped down the rest of his drink, "some more than others, eh elf?". He nudged Fenris with his elbow and burst out laughing when the elf huffed and looked down, sputtering something similar to "I don't know what you're on about" and cursing quietly in Tevinter. Truth be told, he hadn't been able to take his eyes off her until Varric had jabbed him.

He glanced briefly at her as she stretched beside Aveline, who were now facing the table again, sipping her wine.

She was wearing her favorite boots, the ones that were very similar to Isabelas. She had loved them since the day she had met the pirate queen, and not long after Fenris made her aquaintance, had she somehow acquired a pair of her own and had been wearing them ever since. With them going all the way up to her mid thigh, she had to wear something short as to not disturb the whole look. And she was. Wearing something short. Very short. Impossible short leather shorts to be exact. A soft light brown they were, matched with a wide belt with many pockets that Fenris only assumed were filled with poisons and smoke bombs. Her dagger holsters were empty, the deadly weapons being taken care of by the guard captain, so she didn't accidentally stab Isabela to death during their devilish devil dance. True to her apparent love of pirate fashion, she had on a plain white, bell-sleeved cotton top off her shoulders and a crimson corset, which complimented her heaving bosom quite a lot.

He carefully slid his eyes over her body, taking in the sight as a warmth settled in his belly. As his gaze lifted up her body he caught her eyes, smirking back at him, he quickly averted his stare down into the almost empty mug, embarressed for getting caught staring.

"Varric you dog!" she exclaimed with fake surprise. She slandered around the table and stood between Anders and himself. He froze, not able to comprehend her closeness at the moment, the warmth in his belly turning into a slow-burning fire. "Don' worry 'bout it, love", she bent down and purred in his ear, then licked his earlobe slowly. He flinched slightly, the sensation tingling down his spine and bringing memories of that faithful night they shared some months ago to mind. He ground his teeth as he also remembered how he had been a complete coward and left her in the dead of night.

She settled herself on Anders' lap and giggled as he made a remark about her smelling like the Blooming Rose, all sweat and alcohol. The rest of the table engaged in idle conversation, completely ignoring Hawkes flirty ways. Hell, they didn't even notice anymore, it came with being her friend. She wasn't one to shy away from the touch of a friend, no matter how intimate, more likely to enjoy and return it, as was in her nature. If she didn't approve, she'd let you know. Violently so.

A spark of jealousy and anger knotted in his chest as he heard her giggle and Anders chuckle, as she nuzzled her face into the crook of his neck. Excusing himself with the need of fresh air, he rose abrutly from his chair and stalked out the door. Aveline and Merrill bid him goodnight as the rest of the table were otherwise occupied.

Hawke relished in his warmth as she buried her face in his neck. He smelled of herbs and magic, the same way Bethany smelled of flowers and magic, and her father had smelled like freshly chopped wood and magic. It made her nose tingle when they were close.

"Mmmmh, you smell nice, you know that?" she murmured, the hums tickling his skin and he laughed.

"Yes, well, you did tell me the same thing yesterday. And the day before that. And the day before that. I think you get my drift" he smiled and brought his arms around her, hugging her tightly. He placed a kiss on top of her hair and proceeded scooted her off of his lap as the waitress, Norah, brought over a pitcher of ale. He filled her mug first, then his own. Grimacing after his first sip, he watched in almost disbelief as Hawke gulped down the lukewarm beverage in a few mouthfuls. When she had lapped the last drops in her, she stood, readjusted her belt and kissed Anders' cheek before sauntered towards the door.

"Temps! Don't forget these!" Aveline shouted, throwing the daggers she was care-taking towards the rogue's disappearing frame. Hawke expertly caught them and spun them into their holsters. "Although, I'm not sure what good they'll do you in your current condition", the red head smirked and earned a "Bahah, you're so funny!" in return, before turning back to her discussion with Sebastian.

She shut the door behind her and closed her eyes for a second, breathing in the chilly night air, only vaguely smelling the piss and dirt. Skimming the area, she saw a crouched figure a few yards away, back against the wall, scrapping a gauntlet finger in the dirt. She sighed and started towards him.

The cold air wasn't doing anything for his racing mind. He kept getting flashbacks of burgundy hair and pale, luscious lips, so fresh in his memory he could almost feel her soft skin against his. He closed his eyes and breathed sharply through his nose. The scent of sweet peaches, that somehow eminated from her skin, reached him and for a moment he thought he was dreaming again. Then he heard the Hanged Man's door shutting with a thud and he knew she was there. A few taps of her boots' heels and he felt her couch beside him. "Whatcha doin'?", she leaned in slightly, touching her arm to his.

He looked down in the dirt and saw that he had, absentmindedly, etched a crude outline of a long feather, thick stripes lined its sides.

"Nothing...", he muttered and slowly, as to not stir her, wiped dirt over the etching, hoping she hadn't seen it.

For a few seconds she didn't say anything, Fenris could hear her breathing slowly and deeply, somehow scooting closer and closer to him. "I didn't know you were an artist Fenris", she said finally, lightly pulling his hand away so she could see the etching, although is was almost gone in the dirt now. She leaned her head on his shoulder and out of the corner of his eye he could see her smiling. His cheeks flushed, and he hung his head, hoping she didn't notice that either.

"I'm not... it, its just something I taught myself when I was still in Danarius'... service". Many a nights when Danarius had had guests or simply had just left him alone, Fenris would picture himself the world, not as he saw it, but more like what he wanted to see. He had started small, drawing simple figures on the floor under the carpet where he slept, taking coal from the fireplace. Birds, fruit, nature. Things he had seen traveling with his former master. Steadily he became rather good. One day though, there hadn't been anymore hidden spaces he could draw on, so he dared to take piece of parchment when Danarius wasn't looking. But nothing escaped Danarius' dead bead eyes, and one day he found Fenris' drawings. But instead of punishing him, severely anyway, he had smiled, coldly, and instead allowed Fenris to keep a single pencil and provided him with parchment to draw on. He treated it as just another thing he could brag about to his magister "friends", but to the elf, who had not owned a single thing for at long as he could remember, not even the clothes on his back, it meant a great deal. It became his escape, something to keep him going.

"Do you draw much?" she asked, bringing him out of his thoughts. Her voice wasn't as slurred as one might think given her previous alcohol consumption, but he could hear the kindness in her voice.

"No, well.. sometimes. Not as much anymore. I don't have as much freetime now, with following you into certain danger all the time" he stated, finally gathering his wits and giving her a smug smirk.

She chuckled, "Yeah, well, you asked for it mister. Besides, we make a perfect team, you beheading and cutting villains in half while I prance around and stab them all in the back!". She made a couple of stab motions with her free hand and grinned back at him, "You know you love it".

He stood up and brushed off his knees, "Indeed, never did I think I'd be able to fight along side one as skilled as yourself, my lady". He offered her a hand and smiled at her. Her face lit up with a genuine smile and she took his hand, allowing him to drag her up standing again. But the devious alcohol chose that moment to react and trip Hawke, making her fall against his chest, pushing him up against the wall.

She groaned, "By the Maker, my head". She blinked a few times, trying to get the world to stop spinning, "Are you okay?". He looked into her honey colored eyes and his breath caught in his throat. She panted lightly, fanning his face with a warm, ale-smelly breeze.

"I'm.. fine...", he whispered, loosening his grip on her upper arms, not quite letting go, so she didn't tip over or something. She groggily smiled up at him and touched their nosed together. Learning forward, she pressed her body into his, resting her hands on his chest. Her lips brushed like a feather over his and they shared a breath.

"Hawke," he breathed, his eyelids halfway closed, "we shouldn't.. this is.. I'm-".

"Shh, Fenris", she purred his name in a sweet whisper.

She kissed him then, closed her eyes and pressed her lips delicately on his, waiting for him to respond.

Her warmth transferred to his own body, and the velvety touch of her lips were too much. His eyes slid closed as he moved his hands from her arms to her ribcage and kissed her back. She moaned into his mouth and slowly, but sensually slid her tongue into his mouth, challenging his. His own darted out to meet her and he pushed his face forward, pressing their lips tighter together.

Eventually they had to break apart for air, and panting, he leaned his forehead against hers.

"I, I thought that.. you and.. and.." he panted, feeling that ol' twitch of jealousy and confusion in the pit of his stomach just by thinking it.

"Anders? No... No, Fenris.. he just... he was there you know, when.. when", she started, licking her lips, "but, no. Just, no."

"I thought you hated me, or, at least had forgotten about that night. You never.. you never conveyed anything. You seemed.. Happy". He began to turn his head away, unable to look her in the eye, but she brought up her hand and forced him to. Her bright yellowy eyes were direct windows to her soul then, holding a deep affection and passion, one he hadn't been able to see since that night.

She smiled at him, "You know me Fenris, taking pleasure in the little things. But I never forgot you.. your touch... your eyes", she caressed his cheekbone and kissed him, "or your lips".

He savored the touch of her, savored the smell and the feel, not knowing when he'd come to experience it again. Clutching her close to his frame, he nuzzled his lips to her neck, breathing in the scent of her smooth hair. A faint scent of embrium, a soap she'd come to like, supplied by her favorite elven merchant in the Hightown markets.

"You deserve better Temperance, better than what I have to offer", he whispered, swallowing the lump in his throat.

"Why don't you let me decide whats best for me", she bit his bottom lip, "and you decide what you want from this. From me", she moved down, nudged his jaw up with her nose and harshly bit his neck. Pain turned to pleasure as she released his flesh and proceeded to lick and suckle on the tender spot. He groaned and shivered, and dug his gauntlets into her hips, grinding them against his. She let out a throaty moan, the sound driving him crazy. Licking a slick trail up his jugular, she traced his jaw before gently biting his earlobe.

Before he could comprehend what was happening, she pushed away from him, sliding her hand down his throat and chest as she walked away, "Decide what you want Fenris". She stopped, her hand on the door to the tavern, "you already know what I want". She sent him a gaze full of emotion, hurt, lust, desire, joy, amusement and love, a gaping chasm in her soul that she let no one else see, and he choked. Then she was gone. The door shut with a familiar thud, and it took him several minutes to gather his thoughts.

What did he want? Freedom? Peace?

Love?

He wanted her, that was one thing he could put a finger on. But for what? To quench his desires? To be with him forever? His body ached to feel her again, to move within her and hear her moan his name. Another part of him wanted to hold her close and whisper sweet nothings in her ear, shelter her from the unmerciful world, and be the one she'd confide in.

Tonight though, that wasn't about to happen. He held his head, feeling the beginning of a terrible headache, both from his conflicting feelings and the wine finally taking a toll on his body. He groaned, unsatisfied, starting the long stride home.

Makers breath... a cold bath it is.