he thinks i bought him a new drinking bowl

anonymous asked:

Prompt suggestion: Fenris teaching Hawke something would be fun to read

“Don’t give me that look,” Fenris said, after he showed Hawke the shoes.

“Fenris.”

“I mean it.”

“Fenris. Tell me this is one of those shitty jokes that any other time I would love but right now I’m just too stressed to understand.”

“Sit,” Fenris ordered.

Hawke heaved a sigh. He sat. “Remind me why I’m doing this,” he said.

“Foot,” Fenris ordered, and Hawke lifted it obediently. His nose wrinkled as the elf began to slide the thick, dark hose over his toes. “You are going to this party,” Fenris said, “Because, since you refuse to marry into a prominent Kirkwall family, keeping on the good side of those prominent families is the only way to ensure you remain important enough to stay Meredith’s hand.”

“Well,” Hawke said, “I’m going to look ridiculous.”

“Granted, Orlesian spring fashion was likely not intended for men of your…build.” Fenris used little clasps on the ends of the short, voluminous, lilac colored pants Hawke wore to secure the hose in place, just over his knee. He reached for a shoe. It had a heel, a curling tongue that arched over the foot to latch at the pointed toe, and a very large bow. Little bells would sound Hawke’s every movement.

“I’m going to look like a fool,” Hawke said.

“Probably.”

“What’s wrong with my suit? I own a very nice suit.”

“The baron’s pretty new Orlesian wife isn’t going to be as charmed by a suit your mother bought you six years ago as you think she is.”

Hawke groaned.

“Foot,” Fenris said again. Hawke grumbled as he dropped the first and lifted the second. Fenris rolled his eyes up, watching him as he worked, and smirked privately to himself. “Shall we go over dinner etiquette again?”

“Don’t drink out of the soup bowl like a dog, keep my elbows off the table, don’t ask for the lamb to be cooked a little longer – Fenris, I’ve been to hundreds of these soirees by now. You would think I would know how to handle them.”

“You would think…”

Hawke sighed. Fenris slid the second shoe into place. “If a lady folds her napkin over her left arm, it’s a marriage proposal, not an invitation to duel,” he reminded him.

“I won’t make that mistake again.”

“And if she folds it over her right arm - ?”

“It means she is tired of the conversation and would like to politely decline further interaction.”

“Correct.” Fenris reached for his hands, helped pull him to his feet. Hawke wobbled a little, unsteady, scowling, till the elf pulled him down to himself for a quick kiss.

“Is it too late to change my mind?” Hawke asked. His fingers grazed the elf’s sides, feeling the silken fabric of his tunic slide over the firmness of his body. His kiss tasted like apples. “Forget this noble business. Let’s run away together. We could raise sheep.”

“I hate sheep,” Fenris said, pulling away. He handed him his mask.