Them's the Breaks
It was delicious, one of his favorite things, the way Fenris stretched over him with both of Aodhan's wrists held securely in one hand, pinning them over his head. The elf had caught him by surprise, sneaking in from the balcony while Hawke was undressing after one of those insufferable parties, as this game often went. His fine silk shirt was thrown open, his pants and underthings pushed down around his thighs to serve more as a shackle than anything resembling clothing, and the glare Fenris had him pinned with already had him half-hard. Aodhan hadn't been playing along, wasn't submitting tonight, and that glare was a promise-this wouldn't be gentle tonight.
"Be still," growled in that delectable voice, Aodhan could taste the agitation and the lust in those words on his own tongue, bitter and sweet, and Aodhan's jaw was already aching in anticipation, he wanted to take Fenris in his mouth tonight. So he disobeyed, arched up, acting like he was far overstimulated and seeking friction.
And suddenly he was curled up on his side, blinking away tears, his left shoulder agony incarnate-he'd only been in more pain twice. "Aodhan?" Gentle, frightened, concerned-Fenris laid a hand on Hawke's shoulder and the mage screamed through clenched teeth.
And then he started laughing through the tears, because this was such his luck. "You're too strong," he groaned.
"Dislocated my shoulder. Hang on." A wash of magic numbed it, but didn't fully fix it-he didn't want to use too much in such close proximity to Fenris, but it was enough that the pain no longer made him nauseous. He was still laughing, though. "Oh, that was... hah. I think we're done for the night. I need to find something I can freeze..."
The Only Way to Win...
After a certain amount of alcohol, it had seemed like a marvelous idea—to some of them. Fenris excused himself from the table, murmuring, "The only way to win is not to play." Anders made excuses about an early morning at the clinic. Aveline had yet to arrive, and Donnic didn't want to leave before she showed up.
Which explained very neatly why Merril was wearing nothing but her leggings, her scarf and a happy drunken smile, why Varric was shirtless and bootless, why Donnic was down to an oversized shirt, and why Isabela was wearing her boots and her underclothes and not a stitch else. And Aodhan suspected she'd spiked his drink at some point, because everything seemed much slower, much fuzzier than it should've.
Isabela won the next hand, and everyone had to take something off. Merril removed her scarf, and draped it over Isabela's head, giggling, which Varric protested. "No fair giving her more clothes! That's an advantage!"
Aodhan and Donnic exchanged a look of exacerbation, sighed resignedly when Isabela slammed her winning hand against the table and shouted, "OFF WITH IT!" They stood together, Donnic embarrassedly shucking off the shirt and flushing. "Oh, my." Wielding the hand of cards like a fan, Isabela covered her wide, cat-like grin. "Well no wonder Aveline is so pleased with you, big boy."
Donnic wasn't looking at Isabela's hungry eyes, though, but at Aveline, who was leaning against the back of Isabela's chair with one hand, face red with anger. "Would you care to repeat that, whore?"
Before anything could start between them Aodhan stepped up into his chair, nearly tipping over from intoxication, and shouted at the top of his lungs, gaining the attention of everyone in the tavern (except Fenris, who was in a corner and hiding his face in enough embarrassment for the both of them), "You want a show? Fine!" And shucked his underthings off.
Rolling on the floor in laughter, it turned out, was suitable distraction to keep the two ladies from fighting.
Close Enough to Perfect
The broken down little bed shoved into a far corner of the only room of the mansion Fenris really used was lumpy, soft in all the wrong places and hard in worse ones, the sheets threadbare and the room suffused with a damp chill as the fire burned down to embers. How Fenris remained so hale while living in such conditions was beyond Aodhan, and he made a mental note to bring over some better bedding, have something done about the leaky roof and the broken windows upstairs-maybe try to buy the place, even, to make Fenris' inhabitation legitimate and have workers come over to properly fix things?
Regardless of the conditions, Aodhan was more comfortable and happier than he'd been... well, he couldn't properly remember the last time things had felt so right. As if sensing the chill Fenris snuggled into him, leaning the back of his head into Aodhan's shoulder, the tattooed flesh of his lean body bare against Aodhan's own, the curve of his buttock shifted just so... Aodhan leaned forward, re-affirming his hold on the elf, nipped at the tip of one ear and ran his thumb along the tattoos across Fenris' chest. The elf didn't wake, didn't flinch away, simply nuzzled against him with an appreciative sound and drifted back into a deeper sleep.
These vulnerable moments meant even more than the words that had passed between them last night. It wasn't just idealistic sentiment on Fenris' part, it wasn't anything even the slightest bit untrue if Fenris was unconsciously behaving so against his programming. Laying here, able to hold Fenris, skin on skin, having spent at least some portion of the night sleeping peacefully together... Aodhan brushed a few stray strands of white hair away from Fenris' eyes. It wasn't everything he had ever hoped for, as so much of that was now beyond his reach, but it was certainly enough.
M!Hawke/Fenris - Blood magic mind control, H/C
I recall reading that one DA:O prompt of Zev being controlled by a blood mage and having to hurt the warden.
How about one with it happening to Fenris and he badly injures M!Hawke?
I don't mind if smut follows or if it doesn't happen at all. No class preference but I think a mage!Hawke would make it pretty ironic.
( Comfort )