A/N: Once again, dedicated to Hatseput. Because her smut is so awesome, I will need lots of practice to be anywhere near as good as she is.

Bioware owns Dragon Age, I just play with it.

Fenris was still trying to decide if he should go through with their plans for tonight. Hawke had made a habit of coming over once a week for their lessons. When she had first offered to teach him how to read, he had almost rejected the idea, thinking she was motivated by nothing more than pity for a poor slave. When he'd balked, she had instead proposed they exchange knowledge. Mages use Arcanum to cast magic, but she only knew the few words needed for her spells. Fenris, on the other hand, spoke it better than some scholars. He could teach her more Arcanum, and in exchange, she would teach him to read. And so their weekly lessons had begun.

The lessons had certainly been enjoyable for several weeks. It was odd for Fenris to have Hawke's undivided attention. During the frequent jobs they undertook around Kirkwall, they were always surrounded by other members of their little group, and the constant danger kept him on edge and unable to relax. A quiet evening together in his home was an entirely new experience.

Unfortunately, the last session had not gone well. Fenris had trouble concentrating and became increasingly more frustrated. He eventually lost his temper entirely and told Hawke to leave. The brief look of hurt on her face made him feel guilty, which just upset him more, and he had stayed away from her for a short time. He didn't know why he had been in such a foul mood that night, but when he did rejoin the group a few days later, he took her aside and apologized. She hadn't said anything in response, simply gave him one of her frequent appraising looks and nodded. When their next job began, she treated him as though nothing had changed.

Perhaps she felt it was no longer worth it. Perhaps she wouldn't show up at all. He couldn't decide if that made him feel better or worse. Before his mind could circle round the subject again, Fenris heard a soft know at the door. She was here. For a moment, the knocking went silent, drowned out by the loud rush of his blood and the sudden pounding in his chest.

He raced to the front door, thankful that he had already disabled the trap on the stairs. He paused for a moment in the small entry room and took a couple of deep breaths, trying to settle his nerves. It took him a few moments of deep breathing before he calmed enough that he could reach for the door handle with a steady hand.

She stood on the doorstep, wrapped in a long, dark cloak, waiting patiently. The light from the fire upstairs was not enough to reach the front door, but the moon outside was nearly full and it cast her figure in shades of silver and grey. Unlike many of their companions, Hawke never simply walked into his home. She always waited for him to invite her in. He had suspected at first that she simply had no wish to enter the dilapidated mansion, but had realized later that it was actually a mark of her respect for him. Opening the door wider, he motioned for her to enter.

"Not sure if I would show up tonight?" she asked softly as he closed the door behind her. How could she know what I was thinking? Was she using magic against me?

She must have noticed the look of suspicion on his face, because she sighed and pointed to his hands.

"You normally take the gauntlets off before I arrive."

Fenris ducked his head, using the ivory strands of his hair to shield his eyes from her view. A hint of red crept along his high, chiseled cheekbones and slid partway up his ears. The first time they had tried a reading lesson, he was still wearing his gloves. The sharp metal points had sliced through the delicate pages, prompting him to immediately apologize and remove the offending armor.

The lingering embarrassment from that memory only enhanced his current mortification. She knew he still saw her, first and foremost, as a mage. And mages can never be trusted.

He heard her light steps heading towards the stairs in the Grand Hall and moved to follow. She had dropped the cloak from her shoulders and draped it over one arm. His breath rushed from his mouth as he got his first good look at what Hawke was wearing underneath. In the years that he had known her, Hawke had never worn traditional mage robes. Instead, she was often garbed in a pair of loose fitting pants and a long, heavy shirt. He guessed that her style of dress was likely a habit learned from her father to avoid templar attention, but this... this was something entirely different.

"What are you wearing?" The gravelly tone of his voice came out deeper than usual, an indication of how much the sight of her affected him.

She had just placed one foot on the bottom stair when she turned back to look at him. The position of her raised leg pulled the already tight material even tighter. There were laces running along the sides of her pants from mid-thigh to waist, allowing the garment to closely conform to her shape. Instead of her normal long-sleeved shirt, she wore only a sleeveless embroidered vest which matched the pants. The V-shaped neckline dipped low enough to show the swell of her breasts. The laces on the vest ran along the front; the small knot holding everything in place was poised just below her cleavage. The vest appeared to have been tailored to her exact measurements and it stopped a little above the top edge of the pants, leaving a narrow strip of bare skin visible. The curve of her backside, which had previously been covered, was now prominently displayed. In the darkness of the mansion, he couldn't tell exactly what the fabric was or the color, but it clung to her like a second skin. Her glance drifted down to her new attire and she smiled.

"Do you like it? Varric told me I should at least try to dress like a noble occasionally, so he and Isabela took me shopping. They recommended something that would allow a full range of movement for my spells. Isabela said this fabric is velvet and it's normally used in Orlais for noble clothes. I've never had anything like it." As she spoke, she placed one hand near her knee and slowly ran her fingers over the cloth, an expression of pure delight on her face.

Fenris stopped breathing for a moment as his mind considered what it would feel like to run his own hands along that fabric and cup those generous curves. He caught her looking at him expectantly and realized he hadn't answered her question.

"It is... very tight."

Hawke's laughter washed over him, heating his blood another notch.

"That's one way to put it. Isabela said the pants grab my ass like a drunken sailor. I don't want first-hand experience, so I won't be wearing this outfit to the Hanged Man."

Hawke's comment brought one corner of Fenris's mouth up. It was the closest he ever came to a real smile, but it had been happening with more frequency in the three years since she entered his life. He gestured to the top of the stairs and watched her head up to the main room. Once she was out of view, Fenris raced into the adjoining kitchen area, and began to strip his armor off. He kept only his tight leather pants and tunic on, leaving the shirt unfastened. The rest was thrown haphazardly in a pile on the table. He grabbed an unopened bottle of wine before heading upstairs to join her. He had the feeling he was going to need it to survive the next few hours without doing something one or both of them would regret.

After the first hour, Fenris was beginning to wonder if the wine had been a bad idea. He hadn't bothered with glasses, instead simply passing the bottle to Hawke for her to drink. He had never before noticed the fluttering of her throat when she swallowed, or the way the wine darkened the pink of her lips and made them glisten in the firelight. She had had to repeat several of her practice words already, as he found it almost impossible to concentrate on what she was saying. His unruly mind kept supplying him with erotic possibilities for those luscious lips that had nothing to do with learning Arcanum. Perhaps it might be better to move on to the reading lessons before he gave in to his impulse to lean over and find out if her lips tasted as good as they looked.

He stood up suddenly and began gathering the candles they would need. He hoped that Hawke didn't see him adjust the front of his pants, which had become uncomfortably tight. Once the candles were lit, she placed their current book on the table and they sat side-by-side on the bench to begin his lesson. As was their agreement, she did not interrupt, allowing him to work out the pronunciation on his own, only assisting him if he asked for her help. Sadly, even with her helping more than usual, they weren't making much progress. The letters on the page kept blurring before his eyes and he had re-read one line three times without realizing it.

He hadn't even reached the bottom of the first page, and already he was thinking of quitting for the night. His senses were being overwhelmed by the smallest things. She had leaned forward a moment ago to look at the page and he felt her breast pressed against the tense muscle of his bare arm. He now knew that the material of her new clothes was a deep burgundy color, and it felt warm, soft and slightly fuzzy. His mind had conjured up an image of himself sprawled naked across the table, while she rubbed herself against him like big cat. I have to get myself under control. Hawke is not mine. I must remember that. He leaned closer towards the page, hunching over the table to try and hide the evidence of his arousal. He was fighting his own instinct to wrap his arms around her and drag her onto his lap.

As he tried once more to focus on the letters, his hair again slipped down into his eyes. Before he could push it back into place, he felt Hawke's hand lift the wayward strands and gently tuck them behind his ear. He froze in place, afraid to move or even breath, lest she stop. Her delicate fingers slid along the upper edge of his ear towards the oh-so sensitive tip, then lingered there for moment before her hand dropped. The sensation was almost as erotic as if she had run her fingers over a different, more swollen part of his anatomy. He could not stop the tremble that ran through his body. He lifted his heated gaze to her face, and was amazed to see the smoldering passion in her eyes that mirrored his own. Both of them began to lean forward, their lips drawn irresistibly together.

Before they could actually touch, a loud noise from one of the downstairs rooms made them both freeze in place. They were so close their breaths mingled. He saw her pupils dilate, but it was a different kind of tension now reflected in her eyes.