Notes: I just got through like my millionth time through Dragon Age 2, this time in a rivalmance with Fenris. This idea came to me as a result. I hope it goes all the way! It starts in the middle of Act 2.

First chapter is smutty- ^_^

Fenris was scowling to himself. Why was he here? He was sitting in Hawke's house, on one of the benches near the door. His heart was racing; his palms were sweaty; his throat was dry. He growled into the silence presented to him. What in the Maker's name was wrong with him? What had she done to him?

He was here, trying to find some kind of…truce with the mage. Her ways were not his; she supported the mages without hesitation. Time and time again, they clashed on her decisions and each time his hatred for her grew ever stronger. Then why could he not stop thinking of her? Why did she haunt his dreams? Scratch that – why did she haunt his every waking moment?

By the time the door opened, Fenris had worked himself into a rage.

"Fenris?" His name was poised as a cautious question. Her voice made a delicious shiver run down his spine; it was sweet, and spicy given their relationship, seeming to float through the air only to wrap around him and cause him to burn hot with a passion he had never felt before.

He growled.

Before he even realized what he was doing, he was on his feet and stalking toward her. He stopped a mere foot away and found himself staring into endless pools of cerulean seas that threatened to drown him. When he spoke, his voice was much rougher than he intended it to be. "I have been thinking about you, in fact, I have been able to think of little else." He searched her eyes for some clue as to what she felt in this moment, but he felt that if he didn't go on, he would falter and leave, as he had every time before; indeed, this was not his first trip to her home. He had visited several times while she was out, with this same feeling, only to lose his nerve and disappear before she returned.

"Command me to go, and I shall."

Hawke's eyes widened a slight at those words and for a second, he was pleased. A smirk crawled across his lips and he set his hands on her shoulders a little more roughly than he wanted. At times, Fenris could have sworn he really was more of an animal than a man. Her lips parted and a shaky breath escaped. He expected her to pull away; he wouldn't blame her if she did. She would, if she had any good sense at all. She would tell him to get out, if she had any sense of self preservation.

"Fenris," she whispered his name and then gave a saucy little smirk that sent his mind reeling. "Shut up."

He swore he almost was floored at that moment, but he could not help himself after those words. Before he even knew what he was doing, the elf had grabbed the mage in his arms and brought her against his leather clad chest. His chest heaved and hers' did in return, their eyes consuming each other's faces with a raw intensity that made their souls burn as hot as any mage's fire. "Necroditei," he growled her name and crushed her more tightly in his arms as his lips descended fast and hard to claim hers' as his own. They came together again and again, for a very long time, and by the time he lifted his head, they were both panting, out of breathe. She smiled slyly and then, before he knew how it happened, she turned him and pressed him to the wall.

"Fenris," she whispered his name again and this time claimed him. Their lips mashed together as if they had always belonged that way. He was uncertain; he had always lacked control, but this – the way she had control over him – it was the most glorious feeling, like the sun burning hotly in his abdomen. He growled like the wolf he was named for, his gauntlet-clad hands sliding up to grasp her firmly in her auburn curls. She made a noise of pleasure and opened her lips, his tongue darting in to explore every inch of her, often, snippy mouth.

Things were spiraling out of control he knew, but Maker forgive him, he didn't think he could even stop. This…thing, whatever it was, this feeling – this ache – he had for her, it had to be quenched or he feared he would lose grip on reality and go insane.

His hands clenched in her hair and even though it was a tad painful, she did nothing but mew her pleasure into his mouth. It was intoxicating, this. He ravished her mouth, time and time again, turning his head this way and that, to eat at her from every possible angle – he couldn't get enough, no matter how many times their lips played off each other. "Perhaps," he pulled his lips away, only a slight, holding her hair firmly as he peered down into her deep eyes, "we should use a touch of discretion and take this to your bedchamber…if that is your wish."

"Andraste's flaming ass, of course it is." Her cursing had always been endearing to him; she was almost as bad as him. "Don't you dare stop now."

He couldn't help but chuckle, nipping her lower lip. She squirmed with what almost seemed to be a whimper; whatever that sound was, it was doing amazing things to him that he couldn't even begin to describe. "I am yours," he muttered hotly against her lips. She moaned and pressed herself against the length of his body, her fingers trailing over his pointed ears so softly his entire body shivered out of pleasure. Then they slid up into his amazingly white hair, clenching tight.

"Maker's breathe, Fenris, you better get me upstairs, now." She growled.

He shuddered. Sliding his hands down her body, he hooked his hands on her bottom and lifted her against him. She took the hint and set her legs astride his hips. Even as he began briskly stalking through her house – thanking the maker the entire way that it was empty – they continued to kiss and touch, moan and growl; keeping their hands off of each other seemed impossible.

His foot bare foot nudged the door to her bed chamber open, so that they could stumble inside, before he kicked it closed behind them. He made quick work of the distance between them and the bed, tossing her down on it. She squeaked and stared up at him with impossibly wide eyes. "We are just getting started," he assured her. She sat up on the edge of the bed and he proceeded to kneel on one knee before her. As he reached out his hands he faltered; just a moment, wondering if really this was what they should be doing. In the end, he realized it would be cruel to stop here and his hands continued on their mission to the ties of her robe.

Now, Fenris was beyond skilled in the use of his hands, but he was unfamiliar with the way mage's robes worked; he began to grow impatient when they could not part the clothe hiding her body from him. With a growl, he hooked the material in his gauntlets and simply tore the garment open. She squealed with surprise and he smoothed the material off of her, whispering elven words he dared not say in her language. She melted under his touch, paying no mind to her now torn robes.

Hawke blushed in a moment of shyness as the robes came away from her, leaving her on her bed in her under clothes; modest enough they were, a simple, yet sexy, breast encasing cloth of black, and small clothes that molded to her intimate parts like skin. Fenris' breath caught in his throat at the sight of her body in the low light of her bed chamber; she was ever so pale, as mage's tended to be, her skin alabaster and fragile in appearance. Her breasts were generous in size, milky crests swelling, threatening to spill over the confines that held her chest; limbs were long, impossibly so it seemed, thin but muscled; every part of her screamed delicate, but he knew she was far from.

"You're beautiful," he found himself muttering.

The compliment was unexpected, but she was pleased nonetheless. She smiled and cocked her head, her auburn curls spilling across her long, milky neck, and small, rounded shoulders. "Suave, but a little unfair," she stuck out her lip in a pout, "as I appear to be at a slight disadvantage."

"I see," he drawled the words and smirked. "Very well then. I suppose I should level the playing field." He stood from where he knelt on the floor and began the rather complicated process of removing his armor and clothes. This was something he'd never experienced, he realized; this mutual passion. Her eyes watched every moment he made, eagerly eating up every piece of his lyrium imbued skin. Every now and again, her fingers would twitch, before she finally clenched them in the bed covers; she ached to touch that body so, but she remained patient, swallowing when he was left in nothing more than his trousers.

"Fenris…" She groaned out his name and stood from her seated perch. Her hands were on him so fast, they were both surprised, and then their lips were once again playing on each other. She traced her hands over every inch of exposed skin, following the lyrium etched into his skin. He groaned and nipped her lip, the lyrium beginning to burn beneath his skin. The markings lit up faintly as the passion flared and when her nails dragged down his lean, but muscled chest, his tenacious control snapped.

"You will be the death of me," he swore as he pulled back, sweeping her up into his arms, only to again toss her gently to the bed. She laughed as she bounced softly. "We shall be even then," she mused amongst her mirth.

He chuckled and was quick to pull his trousers from his body, kicking them away, leaving him completely naked. She sat in awe at the sight of him; she had only once seen a man naked but the previous encounter could never compare to the present. He was large; not as if that should surprise her given the blade he carried around with him. Fenris was never just 'all talk'; she should have guessed he had nothing to compensate for.

He growled and knelt over her on the bed, crawling up her body, kissing every inch of her skin that he could. He kissed her breathless, before her head fell back in ecstasy, to which in response, he began to kiss and nip his way down the long column of her neck. His hands found her breasts and made quick work of her top, removing it swiftly. Those long, talented fingers were quick to make their way back, kneading her breasts and pinching at the pink tips; he delighted in every noise she made, but it wasn't long before he felt like snapping into pure and primal hunger.

His hands removed her smallclothes and she blushed hotly, her cheeks flaming pink in an endearing manner. "Don't fret," he chuckled and kissed her again, his fingers trailing up the inside of her thigh. Softly, they made their way to her center, where he was surprised to feel that she burned hot like the fire she so often used on their foes.

He groaned. His fingers touched at her gently, tracing her lips explicatively, before he dared to dip inside of her hot channel. She was wet, and hot, moaning beneath him as her walls clenched around his digits; her body was more than ready and eager to accept him. He pulled his hand from her and grasped her shapely hips, kissing her navel, her breasts, her nipples, her collarbone; all the way back to her lips where he made sure to use his own to drive her crazy with pleasure.

While he had her distracted with his talented lips, he positioned himself over her and in the cradle of her hips. The tip of him touched her briefly and they both jolted, moans spilling into the air around them. "Please, Fenris," she moaned, almost humbling him on the spot; never had he heard her beg for a single thing. His fingers tight on her hips, he kissed her hotly again before he thrust forward to bring himself home inside of her.

They started slow for only a moment, their bodies becoming comfortable with each other before they began to grow more frantic in their need for each other. She grasped his shoulders and hooked her thighs on his hips, her head dropping back with pleasure as he began to thrust hard and fast into her. He couldn't resist; things began to grow hazy and his lyrium brands burned hot all of a sudden, distant memories flashing in his mind. He could see a courtyard, a young girl with fire red hair, an elf, calling a name that he could not hear; before he could grasp on, suddenly it was gone.

He growled as he pushed her closer and closer to the edge, her body tight and hot around him in every sense of word. It wasn't long before the young mage cried out beneath him, her body rippling with pleasure at her release. It was too much for him to see her that way and he followed her, the fragile thread of his release snapping in half. He moaned into her neck and frantically thrust, spilling himself inside of her before slowing and simply resting against her.

Hawke was the first to move, mumbling tiredly about needing to readjust, her body not use to the amount of passion they'd shared. He smiled, slightly touched at that, and lay on his side as he watched she redressed herself in her smallclothes, before climbing beneath the covers and beginning to drift off to sleep. He wished he could do the same, just rest there beside her, but…those memories…they began to plague his mind. After a while, he gave up on resting and climbed up from the bed. He dressed himself and began to restlessly pace the confines of her room.

He contemplated leaving; could he do that to her? He frowned and paced to the fire, leaning against the hearth. He wasn't sure what to think, what to do, it was all too much. He had thought he'd wanted his memories back but now that he'd experienced them, he wasn't so certain. All the memories had brought him was pain, and longing for more, but they'd slipped out of his grasp like pale moonlight and he could not recall them. It was almost unbearable.

"Was it that bad?" Hawke's voice made him start and he turned to face her.

"I'm sorry," he gestured somewhat weakly, not sure what to say at first. "It's not…it was fine."

Hawke's expression fell and she avoided looking at him, her eyes dancing off to the side to look at something inconsequential. He shook his head and sighed, looking away; only to end up looking right back to find that she, too, was looking.

"No, that is…insufficient. It was better than anything I could have dreamed."

Hawke paused a moment before she spoke. "Your markings…they hurt, don't they?"

"It's not that." He looked down with a frown. "I began to remember," he started as he paced a little; Hawke too was sitting up and swinging her legs over to edge of the bed. "My life before. Just flashes…It's too much. This is too fast. I cannot…do this."

Hawke's eyes searched him restless. "We can work through this," she finally pleaded, allowing herself to look hopefully if only for a brief moment.

"I'm sorry. I feel like such a fool," he sighed and found that he had to look away from her if he did not want to fall prey to that look. Why did he suddenly regret this so? "This should never have happened in the first place." He finally said those words, feeling defeated. "Forgive me." He didn't hesitate a moment longer, fearing she would worm her way in and convince him to stay. He turned and, head hanging, he left.

Hawke's eyes lingered on the fire for a long time. She wondered, briefly, if she should cry; it wasn't as if she loved him, right? They didn't even get along. Every day they were at each other's throats about what to do with the mages. He wanted them gone, locked away, never to be free; how could she do that to her own people, when she did not even want it for herself?

Somewhere inside, it hurt. She knew that, and she couldn't deny it. Her eyes watered and with a sigh, she picked up her pillow and hugged it to her chest. Soft sobs wafted into the air and they didn't stop for a long time that night.

Fenris paced the inside of his manor restlessly, muttering every elven curse that came to mind. The night before was eating away at him; he felt guilty, which, quite honestly, was unpleasant. He had never experienced such an emotion before. He did not like it one bit. He slammed around objects, breaking things in his frustration. "I should go apologize," he finally growled, having entertained the idea since the moment he left. He wasn't sure what good it would do, but he just couldn't leave it like…this.

He made his way to her estate with haste, but paused at her door with weary indecision. Frowning, he let himself in and was surprised to find that manor was in, well, an uproar. Bodahn was talking anxiously with who he assumed was Hawke's mother; he couldn't make out what he was saying but he could hear that the woman was crying. Something in his gut twisted harshly.

"What is amiss?" He questioned as he came to stand in the doorway to the main room.

The older woman – whom he now realized Hawke resembled greatly – started at his voice and spun around to face him with a startled expression. Then it darkened. "You! This is all your fault!" She sobbed out, waving a piece of parchment around wildly.

"I beg your pardon?" He raised a brow and crossed his arms in defense, anger building beneath the surface at being accused for something of which he had no knowledge of.

"She's gone!"

"Leandra, calm down, it will be okay," Bodahn was saying – ah, so Leandra was her name. He made a mental note of that.

"Hawke?"

"Yes, Hawke!" Leandra snapped, stalking toward him angrily. "And it's all your fault! She left because of you! Because you…you broke her heart! She is so giving, so caring and you broke her!"

Fenris winced visibly. Ok…so what happened the previous night was apparently the talk of the town; but what…what did she mean that Hawke was gone? "What are you talking about?" He growled impatiently.

She thrust the parchment at him and gestured to the door. "Just take it and go! Get out!"

Frowning, he paused. After a long moment he took the parchment and muttered an elven curse. "I…I cannot read," he finally growled, thrusting the parchment back at her. She refused to take it back and simply glared at him though tear filled eyes.

"You want to know what it says?" She tore the note from him and read it aloud. Once she was done, she tore it to pieces. "Now get out!"

The woman's anger made him leave with haste, even as shock was settling into his entire being. Once he stood outside, he went over what the woman told him again. Her voice reading Hawke's delicate print; he heard her as he recalled those words, his chest tight.

Dear Fenris,

This night has meant more to me than I thought it ever could. I at last thought we had reached a place where our feelings were the same; I thought wrong. I realized after you left, in the aftermath of our passionate embraces, that what I felt for you was never hate, but a fevered passion; I realized I love you. I spent years denying it – after all, our views on the world are so different, how could we ever reach a compromise? Every day we were at each other's throats, but I never once stopped thinking about you.

When you left, something in me broke. You cannot do this? Neither can I, love. I am so tired of being the one relied on, making everyone else's lives bearable, where are my own is filled with only sadness and loneliness and pain. You broke my heart, Fenris.

I am leaving; I can no longer be the sole savior of this city. There must be a time when I have to look out for myself – that time is now. I won't ever forget you.

Yours in heartache,

Necroditei Hawke

Notes: Whew! Well. There is the first chapter to my new story idea. One to sort of work on when I am stuck on my main story. =) Leave a review! I'd love to hear from you all!