To kick off @dadrunkwriting​ Friday, I picked two prompts for myself: “How long did you think we could do this?” and “You’re so cute when you’re grumpy.” (The latter is sooOoOOoo Fenris.)

Read on AO3 instead. 

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“Yes,” Hawke whispered.

Fenris inhaled leisurely. Without opening his eyes, he murmured, “You can’t go on much longer.”

“I can,” she breathed. “Just… give me time… oh fuck.”

A soft clink of coins and a surprised mrow filtered into Fenris’s ears. He cracked open one eye just in time to see the stray cat roll onto its belly on the carpet, shedding the pile of coppers that Hawke had so painstakingly piled on its belly while it was sleeping.

The cat gave Hawke a deeply affronted look, then darted away up the stairs. Fenris smirked and closed his eyes again, then folded his arms behind his head. “How long did you think we could do this?”

“We?” she said archly. “There’s no ‘we’ about it. I made it to thirteen coppers without any help from you, thank you very much.”

“You’re right,” Fenris replied. “I don’t know why I would insert myself into such a foolish affair. This ridiculous excuse for a pastime was entirely your making.”

“Damn right,” she agreed cheerfully. “Now help me catch the cat before Anders gets here.”

“No,” Fenris replied. He flexed his toes; the warmth from the fire in Hawke’s study felt nice against his bare feet.

There was a brief silence, then Hawke tutted loudly. “You unhelpful lazy slob. Remind me why I let you in my house?”

“I can leave if you’d prefer,” he offered lazily.

“No no,” Hawke grumbled. “Make yourself comfortable. Lie there like a lump. See if I care.” She flicked his earlobe as she pushed herself to her feet.

“Ouch,” he mumbled, not bothering to open his eyes as she wandered away. Fenris listened with amusement as she alternately cursed and cajoled the cat, and eventually a peaceful silence fell.

Then something heavy and soft with four little feet landed on his chest.

He grunted with surprise, then opened his eyes and glared up at Hawke as the equally offended cat leapt off of his chest and took refuge on Hawke’s desk chair.

The cheeky mage stared down at him, a smirk on her face and her hands on her hips. Fenris scowled at her for a moment longer, then closed his eyes again. “You’re being particularly obnoxious tonight,” he remarked. “You must be bored.”

“Quite the contrary,” she said, her voice drawing close as she settled herself on the carpet beside him. “I’m vastly entertained by your crabbiness, as always. You’re so cute when you’re grumpy.”

He scowled more deeply. “Small children and nugs are considered cute. I am not cute.”

She chuckled. Her voice was even closer now, as though she was lounging beside him, and a tingle of warm contentment bloomed beneath his skin at her proximity.

“Now you’re just fishing for more compliments,” she said. “Fine, you’re a sexy specimen of a man, is that better?” She poked him in the ribs.

He swatted at her hand, then opened his eyes to look at her sternly. “Don’t.”

She rolled onto her side, propping herself up on her elbow to grin down at him. “Fenris, are you ticklish?”

He frowned at her. “I don’t know,” he said honestly. “But I don’t want – Hawke, don’t you dare-” He snatched her wrist as her mischievous finger made its way toward his ribs again.

“Oh my. I bet you are ticklish!” she crowed. But before she could do anything else, Fenris released her wrist and pinched her waist.

She squawked and twisted away from him as he rolled onto his side to face her. “Hey!”

“You might suspect that I’m ticklish, but I know that you are,” he drawled. “Don’t trifle with me.” He swiftly pinched the other side of her waist.

Hawke squeaked and then burst into laughter. She was so ridiculous, a grown woman lying on the floor with her knees pulled up to her chest and her dark hair spilling around her head like a chaotic halo while she laughed with utter abandon.

She was so damned lovely, and Fenris just stared at her for a moment with a helpless smile stretching across his face.

“Erm, I can come back later if you’d prefer some privacy…?”

The smile slid off of Fenris’s face at the sound of Anders’s voice. He pushed himself into a sitting position and jerked his chin at Anders in a passable imitation of a greeting.

Hawke, meanwhile, rolled leisurely onto her side to face them and propped her cheek on her fist. “Hello, Anders. No privacy needed. Or you could join us.” She wiggled her eyebrows salaciously and patted the carpet between herself and Fenris.

“No,” Anders and Fenris said, loudly and in tandem.

Hawke threw her head back in a throaty laugh, then lay back on the floor again and waved her hand vaguely toward her desk. “Your new furry friend is there. She’ll be heartbroken that you’re taking her away from Fenris, though. I think she likes him.” She tossed a cheeky smile at Fenris, who rolled his eyes.

“I’m sure she does,” Anders muttered, then hurried over to Hawke’s desk and tenderly lifted the cat. “Come here, sweetheart,” he crooned. “I’ll keep you safe.” He made his way back toward the door with the cat contentedly curled in his arms. “Thank you, Hawke. I’ll take good care of her. See you tomorrow, then?”

“Yep! See you,” she said with a lazy wave.

Anders smiled at her and gave Fenris a stiff nod of farewell, and then Fenris and Hawke were alone again.

She sighed happily, and Fenris slowly settled onto his back as well, his hands resting comfortably on his stomach. He gazed vacantly up at the ceiling in a sort of lazy reverie for a moment.

Then he snapped out his hand and grabbed Hawke’s wrist as she sneakily tried to poke him again. “Don’t. I will make you sorry,” he threatened.

She let out a light and sultry little laugh. “Ooh. Punish me, will you? That’s something I’d like to see.”

He released her wrist and snorted softly. “You’re absurd.”

She sighed happily and crossed her ankles, folding one arm comfortably behind her head. “So I’ve been told. Rynne ‘Absurd’ Hawke, that’s what they call me. I should make it my legal middle name. D’you think the Viscount would sign off on the paperwork?”

“Shut up, Hawke,” Fenris drawled.

She snickered, and they fell quiet again until the only sounds were the crackling of the fire and Toby’s snuffling canine snores from the main room.

Eventually she spoke into the cozy silence. “I’m waiting for your cue. Just so you know.”

His stomach gave a tiny flip of nervous excitement. He turned his head to look at her. Her eyes were closed, her lips curled in a little smile, and she looked utterly relaxed.

“I… appreciate your patience,” he said quietly. “As much as I am surprised by it.”

Her smile widened slightly at his dig, but she didn’t open her eyes. “Give me a bit of credit, Fenris. I can be patient when I try really hard.” She chuckled and stretched her arms leisurely, drawing his errant gaze to the subtle shifting lines of her body, then flopped her arms onto the carpet at her sides. “I like to think of this as foreplay.”

“Hmm,” Fenris murmured pointedly. Hawke grinned broadly at the heated implication in his tone, but she said nothing more, and eventually Fenris closed his eyes as well. But thoughts of Hawke continued to swim behind his eyelids.

Things had remained normal between them since he’d admitted that he wanted to sleep with her, their arguments and flirting continuing with their usual frequency. Fenris was grateful that nothing had changed, but at the same time, he was growing increasingly frustrated by the lack of change.

Frustrated at himself.

Hawke wanted him. He wanted Hawke. Both of them knew it. It should be simple. So why was he hesitating at moving their relationship into something more physical?

Before he’d told Hawke he wanted her, his fantasies of her had been torrid and uninhibited and easy. Now that he’d told her, his sensual imaginings were more heated than before, but somehow more nerve-wracking – probably because they could imminently come to life. But why did the idea of getting naked with Hawke make him feel like he’d be baring something more than just his sullied skin?

He sighed, actively pushing his disquiet aside. There was no rush. Besides, there was something undeniably enjoyable about the rising tension between the two of them. The anticipation, the heightened sense of possibility and his own heightened awareness of her body whenever she was close by: it was… pleasant to feel such happy anticipation for something. He couldn’t remember feeling this kind of eager wanting before.

Fenris felt good. Chasing Hawke in this quiet, subtle way felt fucking good, and feeling good was so novel to him. It was no great hardship to wait for the right time to make his move.

And yet, this moment now, lying in front of the fire with her…

This moment was pretty damned perfect. Hawke’s study was the one place in Kirkwall where Fenris felt the most at ease. And Hawke was stretched out beside him, firelight flickering over her bare legs and shadows highlighting the curves of her body, and her dark wavy hair spread across the carpet…

He inhaled slowly and calmly, suddenly conscious of the closeness of her hand resting between them on the carpet – and his own hand on the carpet as well, a mere finger-length from her own. All he had to do was reach for her. Slide his fingertips over her open palm, twine his fingers between hers, feel the softness of her palm against his own…

Would it be so bad, to make a move now? To hold her hand? To roll closer to her, maybe slide his other hand along the gentle arch of her neck, and then-

“Rynne, love? Can you give me a hand?”

Fenris jerked his hand back to his stomach at the distant sound of Leandra’s voice. Hawke sighed, then pushed herself into a sitting position. “Coming, Mother,” she called, and she trotted out of the room.

Fenris regretfully watched her go, then folded his arms behind his head. So much for the right moment, he thought ruefully. But he wasn’t entirely disappointed.

He’d waited for three years already. He could wait a little longer.