In which there is dirty talk. *wiggles eyebrows salaciously*
This takes place immediately after Never Alone, i.e. the big Fenhawke reunion scene.

For @dadrunkwriting Friday! Read on AO3 here:
tinyurl.com/fenhawke5

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Hawke yawned loudly, then rolled toward Fenris and smoothed her palm over his chest. “Fenris, can you scratch my back?”

He hummed a lazy affirmative. Without opening his eyes, he drifted his fingers over her naked skin. “Where does it itch?”

“It doesn’t,” she replied.

His hand stilled. “Then why am I scratching your back, pray tell?” he drawled.

She wiggled against him and slid her bare leg between his equally naked thighs. “Because it feels nice. Come on, I’ll scratch yours if you scratch mine.”

He huffed. “I did not ask you to scratch my back,” he said, but began gently running his nails along her spine anyway.

“That’s just because you haven’t had anyone scratch your back before,” she said matter-of-factly. “You’ll see. You’ll like it.” She sighed happily, then twisted one shoulder. “Ahh, yes. That’s a good spot.”

He chuckled softly as he continued to scratch the indicated spot. “You’re spoiled.”

She shifted slightly higher on his body and traced the tip of his ear with her tongue. “And whose fault is that?” she whispered. Her voice was a warm breeze against his ear, and a ripple of heat ran down the back of his neck at the sultry tone of her voice.

He pretended to ignore the buzzing interest in his groin. “You’re right,” he said blandly. “I should stop, then. I would not want to spoil you further.” He let his hand fall limp beside her, even though he’d been enjoying the feel of her skin.

She tutted in annoyance, then poked him in the ribs. “Don’t be stingy with those talented fingers,” she scolded. “Come on, give a girl a scratch.”

He bit back a grin as he swatted her hand away. “Stop. You do not need to be scratched. You are not a mabari.”  

She tutted in mock offense. “You would rather scratch a mabari than scratch me?” she exclaimed. “Should I call Toby in here? See how much you like cuddling up to a big hairy hound instead of me? I’ll warn you, he’s a blanket hog. There’s a reason he’s not allowed on the bed.”

She rolled away from him and pushed herself upright, but Fenris grabbed her arm before she could leave the bed. “All right, no need to be hasty,” he grumbled. “I’ll scratch your damned back.”

She chuckled, then settled herself on his chest again. She rested her chin on her folded forearms and batted her eyelashes at him. “I knew you couldn’t resist my charms,” she purred.

He snorted and carefully ran his nails over her shoulder blade. “Charm. Is that what you call this?”

“I would, in fact,” she said pertly. “Why, what would you call it?”

He raised one eyebrow. “You don’t want to know what I would call it.” He slid his hand down her back and pinched her bum.

She squealed and poked him in the ribs in retaliation, and he flinched and grabbed her hand. “Don’t poke,” he warned. “Or I shall stop scratching.”

She groaned, then folded her arms under her chin again. “Unfair,” she announced.

“Says the woman who has me trapped while demanding to be petted,” he murmured. He closed his eyes contentedly as he ran his nails along her velvety back.

She chuckled softly, and her hair tickled his chest as she rested her ear against his chest. “Fine. I’ll keep my hands to myself. Are you happy?”

“Very,” he said, and he felt her cheek lifting in a smile against his chest.

They lay together in a warm silence, and Fenris simply enjoyed the comforting weight of her body as she breathed. A minute later, her sleepy voice reached his ears. “This is so nice.”

“Mm.” He smiled and drifted his fingers along the back of her neck. He’d been thinking the same thing. He and Hawke had spent the whole night trying to catch up on the years they’d lost, and they’d segued so swiftly into this comfortable cocoon of closeness that it almost seemed too good to be real. He had to keep reminding himself that the disaster with Varania had been just this morning.

He toyed idly with a strand of Hawke’s short dark hair. “It feels… strangely familiar,” he mused. “Being together like this. It is as though we have done this for years.”

“I know what you mean,” she murmured. “Maybe it’s because I spent so much time thinking about it. Now it’s like living in a dream.” She stretched happily against his body. “A perfect, sexy dream.”

“You spent a lot of time thinking about this, did you?” he teased gently. In truth, he was happy to hear her say it. Hawke had never hidden her feelings for him, but it was still nice to hear her confirmation that he hadn’t been pining alone.

She lifted herself slightly to look at him. “Of course I did!” she said. “I thought about this every single day. Didn’t you?” Fenris watched fondly as her cheeks began to pinken. “Oh balls,” she groaned, then buried her face in his chest. “Tell me I’m not the only one who fantasized about us being together.”

He grinned and stroked her hair. “So now it is not just thinking, but fantasizing?”

He snickered as she pinched his side. “Don’t make fun of me!” she complained. “I’m a desperate romantic, all right? And I was horny. All the time. Every time you were near.”

Fenris laughed harder at her bluntness, then tilted her chin up to face him. “I am not making fun,” he assured her. “In fact, I am glad you’ve said this. I fantasized about you too.”

Her bronze eyes were wide and endearingly hopeful. “You did?”

“Of course,” he said. He closed his eyes and folded his free arm behind his head as he resumed his lazy scratching of her back. “I carry many fond daydreams about you, Hawke.”

She was unusually quiet, and finally Fenris opened his eyes to find her looking at him with a very goofy grin. He tilted his head curiously. “What?”

She shook her head slightly. “It’s just, all the things you’re saying…” She shrugged helplessly, her face still wreathed in a smile. “I imagined a lot of things, but I didn’t imagine you talking like this. You’re usually… you don’t usually… I mean, I love it,” she blurted. “Drown me in praise and sweet words. I’ll happily take them.” She laughed nervously. “It really is like a dream or something. We should have an argument to prove this is real life.” She grinned and lowered her eyes shyly, her cheeks bright red with embarrassment.

Fenris’s amusement faded as he realized she was right. He had been painfully in love with her for years, but Hawke had no way of knowing that – not when he’d constantly been lashing out at her and letting his true feelings fester in the pile of scribbled pages under his bed.

He tenderly smoothed her spiky bangs back from her eye. “There are many things I would say to you, now that I am free to say them,” he told her softly. “Shall I tell you one of my daydreams?”

A slow smile lifted her lips. “Really? Is it story time with Fenris?”

He smirked. “If you insist on calling it that, then yes.” He tucked his arm behind his head again. “Well, to start, I would lay in my bed at night and imagine you lying here. I would imagine what it would be like to lie beside you as you fell asleep.”

She smiled. “Well, that’s a daydream we can make real,” she said softly. She rolled off of his chest and settled beside him on her back, tucking one of her arms under her head to mirror his relaxed pose.

He turned his head and gave her a sardonic look. “Will you be falling asleep on me now?”

“Not a chance,” she replied. She nudged him with her elbow. “Come on, smooth talker, tell me more of your daydreams.”

He huffed in amusement, then rolled onto his side to face her. “I didn’t know what you wore to sleep, so I always imagined you sleeping naked,” he said. He tilted his head. “Do you sleep naked?”

She shook her head. “Underpants,” she said. “Flannel breeches if it’s cold.”

Fenris nodded. “Ah. Well, I prefer my daydreams, then.”

She grinned and poked him again with her elbow. “Ooh, saucy. I like that,” she purred. She stretched slightly, arching her back and drawing his attention to her dusky nipples, then she relaxed into the sheets and threw him a cheeky smirk. “So I’m naked and lying in bed in this daydream of yours,” she prompted. “Then what?”

Fenris tore his eyes away from her breasts and back to her face. “Um,” he said distractedly. “I, um, I liked to think about you stretching. Like you did just now, but… more.”

She bit her lower lip coyly, then slowly raised both her arms overhead and stretched languorously. The slow, wavelike movement rippled across her body from fingertips to toes, and Fenris stared unabashedly at the lifting of her breasts and the undulating rise of her hips.

“Like this?” she asked.

He nodded eagerly, not bothering this time to tear his greedy gaze away from her naked body.

Hawke smiled. “Then what?” she whispered. “What did you think about next?”

Fenris returned his gaze to her face. Her bronze stare was bold and brazen, and his simmering lust trebled at the heated invitation in her face.

He placed his hand on her ribs just beneath her right breast, smiling as her breath hitched in her throat. “I thought about these lovely breasts,” he purred. “I would imagine burying my face between them…”

He trailed off as her palm slid over her left breast. She stroked her nipple with her thumb, bringing the dusky peak to a point. “And then?” she breathed. “What would you think about then?”

Fenris swallowed hard. He was jealous of her thumb. He wanted to be the one bringing her nipples to attention. He leaned toward her, eager to taste her tempting flesh, but she stopped him with her fingers on his chin.

“Wait,” she panted. “I want you to keep talking. Tell me… tell me more of your daydreams.”

He frowned at her in frustration, but her expression was so pleading that he finally relented, albeit gracelessly. “Your hand between your legs,” he said bluntly. “That is something I imagined with particular frequency.”

Hawke exhaled shakily, then slid her hand from her breast down over the bowl of her belly. She parted her knees, and Fenris stared shamelessly as she dipped two fingers into her slippery heat.

She released a needy little whimper and fisted her free hand in the pillow above her head. The stretch lifted her breasts, and Fenris swiftly took advantage by lowering his face and greedily tasting her nipple.

“Fenris,” she gasped, “please. Tell me – talk to me. Talk to me some more.”

He suckled her nipple for a moment more, then gently bit the tender little peak before reluctantly raising his face. “I liked to think about those fingers between your legs,” he growled. “I would think about you touching yourself, and I would imagine you thinking about me.”

She nodded her head furiously. Her hips rolled slowly against her own hand, her fingers becoming wet as she slid them smoothly between her slick folds. “Go on,” she panted.

He lowered his lips to her ear. “I liked to imagine you fantasizing about my head between your legs,” he murmured. “I remembered that was a favourite activity of yours.”

“Yes,” she gasped, and bucked her hips insistently against her stroking fingers. “Fuck, yes-”

She gasped more desperately still as Fenris placed one hand on the inside of her thigh: not quite close enough to touch her wetness, but close enough to tease. He nipped the edge of her ear before speaking again. “Did you think about me, Hawke?” he whispered. “Imagine my tongue on that sweet little clit of yours?”

“Yes!” she blurted. Her fingers were swirling more frantically between her legs now, and Fenris held his breath until she suddenly cried out. “Oh Maker, yes, yes-” She slammed her head back in the pillow in her climax, then viciously arched her back as Fenris slipped one finger inside of her.

“Fuck!” she gasped. She thrust her hips against his hand. “Oh fuck, Fenris, yes!”

He licked the taut tendon in her neck, then pressed his mouth to her ear again. “Is this what you imagined, Rynne?” he growled. “My fingers inside of you, feeling you and filling you up?”

“Yes, yes, every night!” she cried. She clasped the back of his neck and turned her face toward him.

Her lips were tempting, so fucking tempting and lush and red, and Fenris forced himself to lean away from their obvious invitation. She whimpered desperately as he pulled away, then released another ecstatic cry as he slid a second finger inside of her.

He curled the tips of his fingers gently, and she bucked her hips to take his fingers deeper. “Please!” she sobbed.

He bit his lip and forced himself to breathe. Hawke was absolutely breathtaking, her obvious need written in every tense line and curve of her body, and Fenris was torn; should he fulfill her plea and take what she was offering, or should he see how long he could draw this out?

He carefully pressed his fingers inside of her for a moment more, then pulled his fingers free and sat up on his knees. “Do you want to hear another fantasy I harboured?” he asked.

She mewled with distress at the abandonment of his fingers, then nodded her head. “Yes,” she whimpered. Her eyes fixed on the hard rise of his manhood, and she reached for him.

He grabbed her hand before she could touch his cock, then brought her fingers to his lips and kissed her knuckles. “I imagined you on your hands and knees for me,” he rasped. “Venhedis, did I imagine that often. I was obsessed by the thought of it: staring at you as you showed yourself to me…”

She pulled her hand from his grip, then rolled swiftly onto her hands and knees and looked at him over her shoulder. “Like this?” she asked.

Fenris released a hard exhale. She was so damned beautiful and open and trusting, and he wanted her so badly…  

He grasped his throbbing cock and slid his fist slowly along his length. “Lower,” he panted.

She lowered herself to her elbows, and Fenris stared at her ass with a nearly-painful surge of longing. “Lower,” he urged. “With your arms above your head.”

She followed his cue, stretching her arms out overhead and pressing her breasts against the bed, and Fenris gormlessly admired her beauty as he stroked himself. Her exposed back was a work of art, a play of golden skin and swirling black ink that spilled from her left shoulder to her lower ribs.

As Fenris watched, she deepened the arch of her back and spread her knees even wider. “Show me what you imagined next,” she demanded.

Her voice was strained with lust, and Fenris finally cracked. He slid up behind her, taking her hips in his hands and pressing the tip of his cock against her slick heat.

She suddenly bucked back against him, and Fenris cried out helplessly as she took his full length inside of her. She was tight, so tight and beautifully slick and perfect, and how was it that this felt just as good as the first time even though they’d done this multiple times tonight –

She reached back and grabbed his hand. “Fenris, please,” she begged. “Fuck me hard, please! I need you!”

He inhaled deeply, then tightened his grasp on her hips. “Like this?” he gritted, and slammed his cock into her.

She jolted forward with the impact and clenched her fingers in the sheets. “Oh fuck, yes!”

Fenris withdrew slowly, then ran one hand along her tattooed back. “Is this what you imagined while lying in your bed with your fingers between your legs?” he demanded. He slammed himself deep a second time.

Hawke pounded her fist against the mattress. “Yes, I did! Yes!” she screamed.

He pulled slowly out of her heat and thrust himself inside of her again, then leaned over her prone body and wrapped his arms around her. “So did I,” he confessed. Then he began to fuck her in earnest.

The sounds of their sex filled the air, harsh breathing and skin meeting skin, Hawke’s pleasured moans a perfect counterpoint for the guttural groans that Fenris couldn’t seem to keep contained in his throat. He pressed his mouth against her skin, inhaling her warm sandalwood scent as he drove himself deep inside of her. His every sense was filled with her – her salt on his tongue, her warm scent filling his lungs, the sound of her pleading cries and the sight of her rapture-filled face pressed against the mattress – and the feel of her, fasta vass, the feel of her…  

Hawke squeezed and surrounded him. She was tight and hot and dripping with desire, and as he thrust into her feverishly, he thought that he could happily drown himself in the blissful fucking feel of her. He shut his eyes tightly, his teeth grinding together as the storm of lust boiled below his belly, and when it erupted, the sudden burst of pleasure ratcheted through his limbs and up through his chest and forced a helpless cry from his throat.

He shuddered fitfully, then rested his sweaty cheek against Hawke’s back. He could feel the depth of her breathing through her ribs, and he closed his eyes and breathed with her until they were inhaling and exhaling in a slow and steady tandem.

Eventually she wiggled her hips, and Fenris carefully withdrew from her heat. He crawled up beside her and flopped onto his side in exhaustion, and Hawke slowly curled up on her side as well, her arm tucked under her cheek as she graced him with a slow smile.

She shuffled closer and tucked her leg between his thighs. “Such naughty fantasies, Fenris,” she purred. “I always knew you were just as dirty as me.”

Fenris returned her cheeky smile, then pulled her closer with his arm around her waist. “It’s your turn now,” he murmured. “Tell me something that you thought about.”

She smiled more widely, then lowered her eyes and shyly bit her lip, and Fenris watched her curiously. He’d fully expected a filthy joke; he’d never known Hawke to resist the opportunity for lewd humour, after all. But when she lifted her gaze to his face again, her eyes were soft.

“I thought about this,” she said. “Us lying together and you just… talking.” She shrugged casually. “You could be saying anything, I didn’t care. Sometimes I imagined you complaining about Merrill. Sometimes I imagined you reading a grocery list. It didn’t matter what it was, as long as it was your voice in my bed.”

Fenris swallowed hard. Her expression… It was soft and tender and so obviously loving, and there was nothing in the world he liked seeing more than that look on her face.

A hot wave of affection warmed the inside of his ribs. He shuffled closer to her, as close as he could possibly get. Without speaking, Fenris gently nuzzled her nose, then kissed the lushness of her lips.

Hawke pressed herself against him, and he revelled in the feel of her fingers in his hair as they shared this slow and sumptuous kiss. The torrid fantasies, the wistful daydreams and the wishful thoughts: all of it had been a placeholder, a paltry imitation of this.

This reality, the uninhibited press of her body and the loving press of her lips: no amount of fond imaginings would ever match up to this.