So I wanted to mess with the genre-AU thing, but got too many ideas. Anyway, a series of F!Hawke/Fenris oneshots, each set in a different genre from the standard medieval fantasy of DA. All between 1000-2000 words.

First up is hard sci-fi; Kirkwall is a space station, the Deep Roads are uncharted space, and Tevinter is a society of genetic engineers on the far side of the region of the galaxy known as Thedas... Just before Act 3

warnings: truly obscene language, alcohol & tobacco use, implied drug use. Characters do not talk like medieval fantasy because they live about 3,000 years in the future and I don't predict a reversion to Ye Olde English happening in, well, ever.

Hawke still hangs out in Lowtown bars after people start calling her 'Champion.' She walks halfway around the Kirkwall station to drink, probably going out of her way to avoid the moving walkways and lifts available in favor of service ladders and restricted hallways. He finds her leaning with hunched shoulders at the bar, watching the walls replay archived footage of that spectacular gun battle against the Qunari after they attempted a hostile takeover of the station three years ago today.

Fenris slings a leg across the empty stool beside her and sits. He folds his hands together on top of the bar and waits for her to acknowledge him.

Her head slopes down as she turns to stare at him across an ashtray laden with cigarettes. "What do you want, Fenris?" she grumbles, and he realizes from her blurry eyes and the way she fumbles with the flint of her thumbband that she's drunk. Tanked.

"I want you to get your ass out of this bar," he answers in a calm voice, crossing his arms over the Kevlar body armor he wears on his chest. "You've been moping since you offed the Arishok." He jerks his head at the wall as the plasma display swirls and shifts to her latest public appearance this morning. "And now you're pissing off Commander Meredith. Are you trying to get us all vented out an airlock?"

She scowls at him just as her image scowls at Meredith on the wall. "Are you here to lecture me for being too open-minded? Shit, Fenris, you escaped Tevinter Genetics with a couple of interesting tricks, too." Smoke curls out of her mouth as she speaks.

He purses his lips and drums his fingers on the countertop, shoving away the old-fashioned touchscreen menu that appears at the contact. The force of his movement makes his GROM rocket launcher clatter against his shoulders. "You know that entire compartments of this station have been burned out by mages. Tevinter is run by mages and-"

"I know!" she cuts him off by making a chopping motion through the air with her hand. "They did really fucked-up shit to you and now you're all PTSD'd out. But just because a few mages in the corner of the galaxy are sociopaths doesn't mean that all mages are the same." She grits her teeth and he knows she's thinking about her mother, ripped open and remade by one of those insane sociopath mages. After a harsh drag on the filter of her cig, her voice softens sadly. "You know what it's like to have powers you didn't ask for."

Gritting his teeth against his initial response, he sighs. "I'm not having this argument here." He presses his palm flat against the counter to summon the menu back up and eyes her through bleached-white bangs. "So either come with me, or I'm shoving stims down your throat."

Hawke snorts and finishes her drink. "Not the only thing you wanna shove down my throat," she mutters into the glass, her eyes dodging away from his.

"Not having this argument, either," he snaps, glaring at her. But his thumb is making tiny circles over the menu like the ones he drew on her skin the night they hooked up. No, more than just a hookup. He snatches his hand up from the bar and crosses his arms again, slouching back against the stool even though it wedges the GROM between his shoulders in an uncomfortable way. The menu fades from sight. "Move it, Hawke."

"Fuck off," she says, glaring at him.

None of the patrons interfere in the brief scuffle that ensues. Fenris moves suddenly, gripping her arms in his hands and giving her a rough shake. She tries to twist away as he shifts her into the crook of one arm, hooking his elbow around her back to pinch the opposite hand at her waist and using his weight and chest to control her thrashing. Hawke's forehead smacks his chin as he palms the menu in an effort to order the precious pill that will shut off the alcohol receptors in her brain and liver. He tastes blood and pins her against the chair with his hips, trying not to think about how it feels to shove his hips against hers again. Even if they're both wearing body armor. Not entirely meaning to, as his hand flails across the pill section of the menu, his lips connect with hers.

The struggle changes. He releases her wrist in favor of clutching her waist. Her hand grips his hair as her neck arches to push their mouths together. Trembling with suppressed fury and longing, Fenris kisses her hard, his tongue demanding against hers as his bitten lip screams in agony. A hard, hungry kiss that lasts for several silent seconds before someone whistles and another catcalls and they break apart, still hanging onto one another's faces and hair and staring at each other with bright eyes and panting breath. Her mouth is red from his bleeding lip.

His chest throbs so hard he wonders if he's going to have a heart attack. "Come on," he growls, releasing her and taking a step back.

She yanks the ID tag from inside of her shirt and waves it over the touchscreen counter after a moment, watching him with hooded eyes. They walk out of the bar stiffly, their boots clumping along the scuffed metal tiles of Lowtown, neither talking nor touching as they make their way through the crowded corridors, past cargo bays and hangars and an array of crappy shops. All the way to the command decks of Hightown above the civilian residents of the station, where only wealthy or military personnel are allowed access to whole cells instead of the stacked bunks, even suites in some cases.

They stop in front of Hawke's cell and she hesitates with her hand over the entry keypad. Her eyes dart away from his and he realizes from the huff of air before she speaks that she's been trying to say this the whole walk. "You coming inside?"

Fenris smirks at the double-entendre, knowing she didn't mean it like that but amused anyway. He gives her a little push against the door and kisses her again. Not another wild kiss like the Hanged Man. Just short, sweet brushes of lips and tongue. His hand moves out of her hair so his palm presses against her cheek. "Not tonight," he answers, his thumb rubbing a circle over her bloodstained lips. "But after I kill Denarius, I'm gonna fuck your brains out."

He gives her a little shove as he steps back, as if to ensure she won't follow him. But she just stands there staring at him as he backs away and then turns to hurry back to his cell alone.

So next I'm going either Wild West or Victorian Vampires. Votes?