dalishstorm: (Fenris)
[personal profile] dalishstorm

Someone wanted Fenris being fascinated with and perhaps lusting after Hawke's beard.  I was morally obligated to fill this to the best of my abilities.

They don't see each other daily, and Aodhan only shaves when absolutely necessary, so Fenris doesn't think anything of it when Aodhan has a little more scruff on his chin during their weekly reading lessons. Beyond taking note as the thing gradually creeps longer, and mild disgust when he contemplates how unsanitary the thing must be as it grows scraggly, how coarse the hair looks, Fenris pays it little mind.

Isabela's snide comment as they're out on the coast one day that, "Hawke is insulting your dwarfliness with his very presence," draws a rare smirk, one properly hidden as he's trailing behind them a little.
Varric glances up to the mage, who's smirking behind the thing, blue eyes cast slyly down toward the dwarf. "So I should attach a bird's nest to my chin? No thanks." He runs his fingers down the lapels of his open coat. "I've got it where it counts."
The next time he sees Hawke is at their next reading lesson, and the beard is shorter, tamer, smooth and sleek but not oily, and Fenris finds himself distracted by it, stumbling over his words whenever he tries to catch a glimpse of it out of the corner of his eye. He wonders what it would feel like to comb his fingers through it, since its just long enough to hang under its own weight instead of curling back under Aodhan's chin, what it would feel like against his own face, against the skin of his thighs as Aodhan-
"Some days are just no good for this sort of thing," Aodhan says, voice gentle, pale blue eyes understanding, but betraying no hint that he's noticed Fenris' embarrassing arousal. Fenris manages to keep the book in place until he'd calmed himself, and they part ways for the day.
Winter comes in hard off the sea, their second winter apart-but-together, and the winter storms blow out more of the windows upstairs in Fenris' mansion, the howling winds and the icy rain finally drive him out one night when he's sure the building is going to rattle apart around him. He pushes against the wind through the empty streets to Hawke's mansion, where Bodahn sleepily answers the door after Fenris manages to shout down the howling wind. Aodhan is there almost as quickly, and while chiding gently he helps Fenris out of his soaked clothing, all of his touch disgustingly utilitarian, only friendly at most-Fenris almost hates himself for wanting more, for holding Aodhan back without meaning to.
Before long he's slipping into a bath Aodhan's used his magic to heat quickly (one good thing about being mage, Fenris grudgingly admits to himself) while Bodahn prepares the spare room originally meant for Carver. When Aodhan returns with an armful of clothing-a long shirt for tonight and a couple of things that will fit better and hold up against the chill a little surer in the morning-all Fenris can think about around his dumbly murmured, "Thank you," is that the beard is longer but still well kept, and it looks warm. He wants to curl up against Aodhan chest and nuzzle into the thing, and is suddenly thankful that the flush of heat disguises his flush of embarrassment.
Once he is alone the mansion is full of ghosts, memories of things Aodhan has lost, and Fenris wonders how the man deals with it. Of course, Fenris fits right in.
When winter is nearly over, and they stumble out of the Hanged Man after Fenris has had far too much to drink and Aodhan is much more sober than either of them would probably like, an evening fog has rolled in. They're both armored against the cold, Fenris with a coat that he insists is just 'borrowed' from Aodhan, ignoring the fact that it was bought for him and he 'borrows' it every winter, and its much too small for the other man. Mist collects in the mage's beard, which is a slightly lighter color than his auburn hair, catching lantern light and even the faint glow of Fenris' tattoos. Its like dew on a spiderweb, like a thousand minuscule pearls in a net.
They stop outside Fenris' door, because he's far more intoxicated, swaying when he stands still too long. "Will you be alright?" But Fenris isn't looking into Aodhan's eyes when the man speaks, or even at his lips.
He finally can't help himself, reaches out with both hands, runs his palms down the shorter curls on Aodhan's face, draws his fingers through the beard. The mist has made it exquisitely soft, not coarse as Fenris expected, and he tangles his fingers in it, delighting in the sensation. He leans in to a stock-still Hawke and rubs his cheek against the soft hair, accidentally nuzzling against Hawke's neck as he does so. It is warm. He wants to sleep like this, Aodhan's heartbeat in his ear and the beard tickling his skin, wants it more than anything right now.
"Fenris?" Aodhan's voice is soft, gone husky, and Fenris shushes him. After the chill begins to seep in and Fenris shows no sign of letting up, Aodhan leads him away to the house across the courtyard-his own house-and inside. Once divested of their coats they retire to Aodhan's room, where Fenris gets to nuzzle against the beard to his heart's desire, and he falls asleep that way, leaning against Aodhan in front of the fire, warm and happy.
He wakes in the spare room, alone in the large bed, and slips out before the embarrassment of his behavior can really sink in.
When Aodhan shaves the beard for the growing heat of summer, returns to his well-kept sideburns and never more than a few days' scruff, Fenris is devastated and relieved... and looking forward to the next winter.
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January 2013

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