Snowy Embrace

Ghosts

Three hours into the night and Fenris couldn't maintain trapping his body in one position on the illusion of sleep. It was a cursory dream anyway. As he stumbled towards the window, snowy light seeping in even through the drawn blinds, he thought of all the other holes he'd tried to sleep in over the years. Often with a knife under his pillow. Here was relatively safe and still he couldn't let go.

Hard to think of anyone challenging Hawke, not only because of his bulk but his overall Hawke-ness. He was the kind of man to scoop everyone up under his arms and drag them up to the bar to get over their problems. Was that the only reason he kept Fenris around? A problem to fix? A hobby?

It didn't make a lick of sense in any universe. Blue eyed, ebony-haired, all-American quarterback who damn near went pro befriends a brown skinned immigrant who's more likely to bite a helping hand than take it. A mirthless chuckle rolled through Fenris throat as he gazed upon the sea of white. No trucks moved through the blanketed streets to tarnish the pristine snow to a filthy grey. Even the stars themselves seemed more vibrant, radiating off the snow that homogenized the landscape. Filthy street, corn field, parking lot for exotic dancers — it was all the same under the wintery frost.

A grunt erupted from Hawke's bed, Fenris glancing over to make certain he was still asleep. The man whispered something incoherent to follow up the grunt, but didn't rise. Probably a dream.

Fenris resumed his vigil of the parking lot, when Hawke's grunts shifted to a breathy staccato. The pants grew in volume. As they began to increase in speed, Fenris' heart raced to keep the beat. Through the indigo shadows, Hawke's hand lashed into the air as if he was scraping at an invisible presence above him. Suddenly, a groan rose from the bottom of the man's...

Venheedis! A blush burned Fenris' cheeks as he realized what type of dream Hawke was in the middle of. He swallowed, eyes straining to focus on anything moving in the white world. But his ears, traitors as they were, honed in on the enticing pants that stirred his blood. They were back in full force, Hawke punctuating each one with a moan.

After overhearing this, how could Fenris face him in the morning? Could he ever look him in the eye again?

A flash of blue eyes glowing with a never-ending smile took over the fear at such a future and Fenris eased back. He could, no doubt. In time. Just...please don't say the abomination's name. Fenris could overcome much with regards to Hawke, but that would be a test to try and break him.

"No," Hawke moaned, whipping Fenris' frazzled state to stare at the man. He'd managed to twist in his sleep onto his back, both hands paddling in the air. No, they were clawing it, fingers locked like rigor mortis claimed them. And the man was babbling, shrieking under his breath as if he feared someone hearing him succumbed to his terror.

Dumbstruck, Fenris stumbled from the window towards the racked man. "Hawke?" he whispered, fingers raising as if to grab the man's. Suddenly, Hawke slammed both hands to his chest, the moans beginning again.

If this was a wet dream, it was the most disturbing one Fenris could imagine. As he drew closer, his jaw dropped from finding tears streaking down Hawke's icy cheeks. Still entombed in the throes of whatever tormented him, Hawke continued to writhe in place. The breaths Fenris misdiagnosed as sexual were building so fast he feared Hawke might hyperventilate.

Tumbling to a knee, Fenris reached a hand through the inky air towards Hawke. He'd aimed for the hands, but Hawke yanked one aside and Fenris' wayward palm wound up smoothing his cheek. It was so much softer than he'd imagined, the beard tickling instead of scratching.

"Hawke," he tried once more, the man's gush of tears striking at the dead buried in Fenris' heart.

With a jerk, Hawke sat upright. His eyes flew open and he shrieked, "No! Get off of her! I'll...!" A hand lashed out, fingers folded to a fist, but as reality shaped around him, Hawke's eyes darted to the man crumpled on a knee beside his bed.