They always have a way of meeting in the middle. Hawke's emotions are kept cold and buried, Fenris' smoldering and incendiary, neither one finding effectiveness in words when processing them-- so they neglect them altogether, finding their language in their bodies instead, speaking volumes to one another.

Hawke recites ballads against Fenris' lips, presses him close with all the intensity of a crescendo, lifting him up off his feet in one swift movement. He tastes like the first drop of water in a cracked throat, and Hawke greedily drinks him down until he's alive again.

"Maker," he breathes between kisses. "Maker, Fen, I've missed you..."