AN: I haven't written anything in a while. I've lost my muse for my other FF. But since I bought DA2, I haven't been able to think of any thing else other than Fenris and those pretty eyes he has. 3

I've always kinda wondered 'why a red sash?' and this is my explanation. Reviews and Critique welcome!

The Sash

His bare feet sounded loud to his own ears as he crossed the threshold to meet the woman who had plagued his mind. Undeservedly so, she had only wanted to help him, he could see it now. After he'd ripped out that bitch's heart she had tried to comfort him and he had been so ungrateful.

Pulling himself back into reality he looked up at Hawke, a bewildered look on her face, concern in those odd-lyrium coloured eyes. He watched as her lips parted to speak, but close again. A strand of her strawberry blond locks falling in front of those eyes.

Resisting the urge to brush the strand away, Fenris spoke, "I took my anger out on you, Hawke, and you did not deserve such treatment." His voice rumbled in his chest, and he could not meet her eyes, and missed the small shiver than ran down her spine. A small sigh left his lips, "Command me to go, and I will."

He had not expected what had come next, a breathy sigh came from the woman in front of him, her soft face tilted as she offered him a smile, "I was worried about you..." Her face was filled with emotions and expressions he had never seen on her before. Before the other's she was the hardened woman who'd seen almost everything. She was decisive and strong, for everyone. But now, her face was open, vulnerable. Something in his chest tightened, this strange emotion rising as he noted mentally she only shared her vulnerability with him. Her voice was soft, timid almost, "Please don't go."

Fenris was unable to control his next movements, within seconds he was pressed against her. Lips greedily claiming her's. Her back was pressed roughly against the wall next to the door. He could feel the silky smooth feel of her dress tearing against his clawed gauntlets and he grasped her rear. A noise of pleasure rocked her body, sending a sensation he couldn't describe down to pool in his abdomen.

Finger tips touched the markings on his neck, and for once, he did not wince or cringe away from the contact. The feel of her touch nearly erased the memories of the magisters tearing his flesh to input the lyrium. He wished he could remember her soft, lingering touches instead.

His eyes snapped open as he felt her pull her lips away from his, and a cool feeling settled in on him, was she going to reject him? Throw him out for what he was? He felt his defences rising, but when his gaze focused it focused on her lips. Bruised from his assault and being run over by a tiny pink tongue.

She breathed his name softly as she ran her fingers through his hair, her eyes flickering across his features. "Should we... take this to my room?"

Though her voice was strong, he could still feel that timid tone she had spoken with earlier and he softened. His hands were still firmly planted on her rear and continued to be so as he lifted her from the ground, her surprised yelp making a smirk play across his face. He no longer could see the whole picture, as his vision tunnelled to her face. Cheeks pink, lips parted and panting, eyes half lidded with desire. Those piercing green eyes of his flicked over each freckle on her face as he felt her thighs go around his hips.

He barely knew he had carried her the whole way there until he felt her slide from his grasp and onto the plush bed. She bounced twine before resting still, hands reaching out, needy for him. Those delectable and dangerous digits of hers came around his arms, easing off his gauntlets with surprising knowledge.

Fenris soon found himself on his knees on her bed, hovered over her, her bare legs caught under his hips, her boots already been kicked off to join those claws of his. Hawke's breasts rose and fell quickly; her robe already loosened and parted slightly, the red sash from it in one of his tattooed hands. He met her smile with a small one of his own.

As her lips came back to his, his hands found the latches and hooks of his own armour, pulling off the chest-piece and tossing it off the bed with surprising little care. Her fingers were in his shirt before he knew what was happening. His breath hitched as her fingers found the markings easily. Touching them softly and tunnelling his thoughts onto her and her sensual touches.

He grew impatient quickly grasping her wrists with his hands and pinning her to her own bed. His face and inch from hers. Their noses touching and breath mingling. He could taste her on his tongue, smell her sweet scent – it reminded him of the ocean -, and hear her unstable intakes of air. "I've been thinking of you Hawke, I've been unable to think of much else..." He found himself spilling this to the panting woman below him.

Hawke flushed even deeper, but Fenris kept right on speaking, "I do not understand you, you are unlike any woman I've ever met, yet I couldn't have you any other way. You seem not to care that I was a slave, that I am marked—"

She cut him off with a swift kiss, arching herself under him, her hands still trapped. "I don't care that you were a slave, Fenris." She spoke rather strong, though she was obviously having a hard time breathing. "I want you for who you are, if you'll let me."

She wants me? His mental voice seemed amazed, but he was an elf, a former slave. Yet she said she didn't care. And those beautiful, vulnerable eyes could not lie to him. He felt himself smile before lowering his lips to hers. Their kiss started off soft, and then it began to grow in passion as her mouth formed against his, soft noises seeping into him, making him drunk on her.

He released her hands and grasped the sides of the partly open robes and pulled them back, hands moving to grasp the ivory breasts, flecked with permanent freckles. His fingers kneaded the soft skin as she arched against him, muttering his name. He could feel himself press against the tight leather of his trousers, and if he could, she could. Her hips firmly against his, rocking up to meet his.

A growl escaped his lips as he pulled the shirt her hands had once against found their way under, off, over his head. He felt her gasp against his lips, her lips pulled back and eyes opened, roving his chest and he paid homage to her breasts. Mouth licking, kissing and biting down to those breasts. A strangled moan left her at the unexpected sensation of him.

Hawke quickly made work of his pants, and once they were gone, she slipped herself out of the robe. In a way Fenris couldn't understand. She felt him then; every inch of his darker skin was pressed against her ivory form. She filled every nook and cranny in his body in the most natural way, her fingers caressing and digging into his back as he moved up on the bed, cradling her head in his hand before laying it on the pillows. Those strands of orange-yellow hair fanned out against the silk. She gave him a look, a look of complete and utter trust and he met the stare with his own. She smiled softly to him as her fingers dragged down his back to grasp his rear, her hips rising to meet his.

A hiss sounded from Fenris at the touch. It was... foreign, and beautiful, and everything he wanted to have. Possessively the elf grasped her hips and angled them just right against his, pushing himself into the surprisingly hot and wet core of her. Her gasps, whimpers and mantra's of his name were almost too much, too soon.

Though, before he knew it, he was deeply pressed into her, he felt whole, complete. Something else too, that he could not yet describe. Her body was shuddering under his, delightfully so, her lip bitten down on so hard he swore she was going to hurt herself. So he took her lips into his own. The kiss was jarringly more satisfying now that they were joined, he noted, somewhat incoherently. Soon, he was moving inside of her, and she against him. Their voices seemed to intermingle as they pushed against each other, craving each other's heat and desire, feeding off each other.

Hawke was the first to break, a sob of a moan escaped her, her back arching, pressing her breasts firmly against Fenris's chest. He felt it then, the clenching of her muscles against him and his hips pushed into her's. Those muscles of her's holding onto him, milking him as she moaned, his name nearly being screamed. His voice broke as he whispered into her ear, "Nn... say it... say it..."

"I w-want you! F-Fenris!" She screamed one last time as she felt her body come to a shuddering halt, lips parted in a silent scream of passion. Body clamped down tight around him.

He was soon to follow, broken phrases in both the common tongue and Tevinter spilled from his lips, terms of endearment flowed against her ears. As his body reacted in kind to hers until he collapsed on top of her.

Fenris slowly pulled from her, not wishing to be parted from her, but something was wrong. An ache began in his head and he felt odd. Rolling off of her, he watched as she offered him a last smile, muttering another, "I want you Fenris." Before sleep claimed her.

The escaped elf lay there for a long time, unable to find sleep like the object of his affection. He slowly rose from the bed, slipping back into his armour, he felt like a coward. He reached down for the red sash of her robe and fiddled with it as he stood before the fireplace. His forehead touched the cool stone as the ache expanded into thoughts, memories. A young elf girl, Varania. A competition.

These thoughts ran an unending circle in his mind before a voice woke him.

"Was it that bad?"

He nearly choked, bad? Anything but. "No... It was fine." He saw her eyes, still vulnerable, his words were hurting her. Those eyes roved his form, already dressed, shame built in him. "No, that is insufficient," He gave her a look trying to explain it all in that. "It was better than anything I could have dreamed..."

She smiled at him, a disarming smile as she sat up, her body was still bare and she knew it. Pulling the covers with her she wrapped herself in them, goose bumps from the cool air on her shoulders. He wanted to kiss them away. "Are your markings painful? I'm sorry, I should've been more careful—"

"No. It is not that. I... I remembered things, of my life before.. I'm so sorry; this is just too much... too fast."

He watched her lips open and close once, her eyes going downcast, sighing softly, "'It's not you, it's me?' Fenris... I care for you, I want to help—"

Once more he cut her off, with a quick shake of his head. His fingers curling around the red sash in his hand. "I... I have to go Hawke, I'm sorry."

He turned and left, exiting the room quickly and purposefully. After the door shut behind him he stood there, her sash in his fingers. He stared down at it thoughts racing of entering the room again and taking her twice more as he had. Ghostly memories of her fingers rained down on him, touching and caressing him—

His thoughts were cut off when he heard the strangled sob of the woman behind the door. He had never heard her cry, or even heard of her crying. His fists tightened, Hawke. How could he have made her cry?

Sash in hand, Fenris exited her home, wandering Hightown in the dark of the night. He barely realized he was back in his home till he collapsed on his bed. He laid there for hours, fiddling with the red sash, the only physical reminder he had from their love making, as she had been gentle enough not to leave marks. Finally, he tied it around his wrist and lay back. A silent and unspoken of tear ran down his cheek just as sleep claimed him.