Fic: Regardless (m!mage!Hawke/ Anders) NSFW

[seven_corbies]

 Title: Regardless
Game: Dragon Age 2
Rating: R (adult themes, slash sexytimes, some possible cheesiness, some Varric aggravation)
Characters/Pairing: M!mage!Hawke/Anders
Summary: M!Mage!Hawke and Anders romance, from seed to fully flourishing.
Notes: This was a prompt on the ol' Kmeme (link within) that got way out of hand. It's been described as "cheesy" and "beautiful" (in the same comment, no less), so buyer beware. Toned down a bit from the version on the meme, but still adults only.  It's a long one. Hope y'all like.



Original Prompt/ fill: http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/6953.html?thread=24653097#t24653097

Regardless

 

In Anders’s mind, Elliot Hawke had gone through phases. 

First there was the Good-Looking Kid, the boisterous, brash boy who had crashed his clinic, his life, and later, his heart. Hawke had first approached Anders as if he were a dog gone feral, which he might well have seemed. There was care and consideration in those pretty eyes even then; a seedling of the man he would become, something stretched too tight, forced to grow a little too quickly. But Hawke was still young and set out to conquer his problems with a passion the very young possess, having no bloody clue about things like “gray areas” or “tact.”

            That day he listened to Anders’s problems, shooing his companions into a corner to give Anders a semblance of privacy. And when Karl… well, that didn’t bear thinking about. The Hawke brothers walked Anders back to his clinic after the disaster, Carver and their big black mabari, Scout, hovering uncomfortable at the edges of the group. The healer tried to thank Hawke for his help, but his voice broke and took the dam with it, tears flooding his eyes. The younger mage first squeezed Anders’s bicep, then took a chance and slipped his hand around to cradle the back of Anders’s neck. Hawke didn’t pull him into a hug, but the strange, sweet gesture made the offer. When he could, Anders swallowed his sobs and tried to pick up the shards of his dignity.

            Hawke watched the other mage for a long moment before asking, “Will you be alright for now?”

            Anders laughed mirthlessly. “For now,” he echoed. “Oh… the maps. I guess I owe you…”

            “No, Maker! Don’t worry about that right now. I’ll come back in the morning and we’ll talk about it then.” Hawke nodded, and stared until Anders nodded as well. “Okay, then.”

He started to walk away, joining up with his brother, but he turned around mid-stride to add, “And Anders… One apostate to another? Take care of yourself tonight. If you need anything, just get up and go to the Hanged Man in Lowtown. Varric, the dwarf we were with? Ask for him at the counter and he’ll tell you how to find me. Okay?”

Anders swallowed and nodded again, surprised. “Okay. Thanks.”

“No trouble. Mages have to hang together or we’ll all be hung separately, right?”

            After all that, and Anders shouldn’t have been taken aback when Hawke kept his word. He came alone at dawn, bringing food and staying for hours to talk with Anders between patients, flirting with him in that shy way of his because he thought it might cheer the healer. It did. Hawke came back at dusk the next day, Scout at his heel, the mabari delighting the Ferelden patients straggling out the door. When he asked Anders if he wanted to come up to Lowtown to the Hanged Man with some friends, Anders had put to him one rude, impatient question.

            “Why?”

            Elliot Hawk had blinked in surprise. “You seem lonely. I know what that’s like.”

            Dear Elliot, or “Hawke” to nearly everyone, or “El” if you knew him well, or “Darling” if his mother was fussing, or “Brother” if Carver was angry. So in those days Hawke was his first friend since he had left his old life, a little spark of warmth. Even if he flirted with Anders relentlessly, cracked bad jokes at inappropriate times, and started fist fights with his brother so intense that it got both boys, who possessed the bodies of farmhands and mouths of mercenaries, chucked bodily out the front door of the tavern.

            He couldn’t help but think that if they had met in the Circle, that Anders would have had that boy in his favorite corner of the library within their first week. If they had met at Amaranthine, Anders would have romanced him to bed within a month. Now, with Justice crowding his headspace, Anders was only cheating on his right hand with his left hand. That physical act, Justice allowed, just as he allowed eating, sleeping, or taking a piss. It was only when Hawke came to mind that Anders got scolded for “sullying the innocent.” Fine. Easy enough to turn his mind from olive skin, auburn hair, square shoulders, and full lips that just looked like they would taste like freedom.

            Of course, pun intended, it would get harder.

            Somehow, Hawke had gotten to Anders bad enough for the “ex” Grey Warden to actually volunteer for the Deep Roads. He just had to keep the damn boy safe. His own concern worried him, to be honest. His life left little room for other people.

            The line was crossed the night after their triumphant return when a drunken Hawke stumbled in to the clinic at closing. Anders smiled and shook his head, too fond to be really annoyed. Hawke was a friendly drunk, prone to fits of unmanly giggles that Isabela loved to provoke. But this was no celebration and he kept stumbling right into Anders arms. Carver had misunderstood his brother’s ache to protect him and had done the worst thing he possibly could to strike at his sibling.

            “He’s a templar now,” Hawke muttered against Anders’s chest. The young man was shaking in terror and it frightened Anders a bit in turn. It had seemed like nothing in the world intimidated the brash kid. The world backed down from Elliot, not the other way around. He stroked Hawke’s hair, resisting the urge to pull it out of its tidy braid as Hawke’s tremors increased and he whispered, “He did it because he hates me. He knows how scared I am and now he’s going to come to hurt me and make me Tranquil. I just wanted to make sure he was safe, I swear!”

            Anders tightened his embrace. “I know, Elliot. I think he does, too.”

            Hawke wasn’t listening. He cowered against Anders like a child. “I don’t wanna be Tranquil.”

When the mage in his arms choked on the word. Justice rolled over in his mind, snarling like a bear woken from hibernation. It was a combination of them both when Anders told Hawke unequivocally, “I will never let them take you, Elliot.”

            Elliot finally broke into great, wracking sobs that tore at Anders’s own composure. Elliot never noticed a few of Anders’s own tears slipping into the mix as he rocked the man like a child. Hours, days, years later, Elliot calmed, but would only fall asleep when Anders pulled up another cot along side his and lay with his hand on Elliot’s strong shoulder.

            Dear Elliot… Justice began to grumble less about his presence, especially after the free mage began to greet them both. “Hallo, Anders. Hallo, Justice.” He might even pull Anders into a hug with two halves, a greeting said on each side of his cheek. It was unbelievably thoughtful and Hawke’s acceptance made the bizarre situation seem almost normal. Before long, Justice would respond with a little surge of energy from wherever he lay dormant in Anders’s head.

            Thus began the second phase of Hawke: That Sweet Kid. Honestly, Anders was only six years older than Elliot, but in terms of experience, Anders felt aching and ancient. The flirting continued. Anders parried it with self-deprecating jokes, and Justice ignored or tolerated it. The spirit didn’t even have a comment for the ugly pang of jealousy he felt when Hawke mentioned getting drunk with that moody fuckin’ elf. For maybe six months, Hawke wasn’t around much and Anders had an easier time putting him out of his head. He only came by in the mornings to drop off food and stayed to make small talk and to be certain Anders actually ate.

            But then… One morning, he showed up with more than breakfast. “Here,” he said, grinning like he was going to outright earn his latest title, “a present for the clinic.”

            Anders frowned at the heavy pouch. When he opened it, he nearly dropped it. He had to try a couple times before he could gasp, “Elliot, this is… this is…”

            “Ten gold. Do you need more?”

            “I was trying to say that it’s too much!” Justice was chafing at his rejection of the offer and Hawke looked just as perplexed.

            “Anders, it’s fine.” He took the pouch from the healer and guided the stunned man to sit. “Look, I figured that I’ve done well for myself and I might as well pay it forward. I spoke with Mother. She thought it was a wonderful idea. She adores you, you know.”

            “Maker, Elliot, I… She likes me?”

            “Ha! Yes, she does. You remind her of Papa. Um, not in the marrying sort of way.”

            Anders chuckled and feigned disappointment, “Rats. There goes my plan to wed the widow Hawke and actually eat some real food.”

            “Really? You would eat?” Hawke raised an eyebrow.

            “Everyday. Maybe three times a day! With snacks!”

            “Well, then you should move in. The cellar backs up right to the clinic. We have spare bedrooms galore, so what’s one more apostate?”

            And that was the first time they had “The Discussion.” Hawke hated to see his best friend living in Darktown where the templars could grab him any day.  Anders argued that two apostates under one roof was dangerous, all the while marveling that someone not only cared for his safety, but considered him his best friend.

            It was also the first day Hawke stayed to tend patients in the clinic. He didn’t know but one weak healing spell, but he had patched up plenty of younger siblings on the fly so Anders put him to work with the minor injuries that piled up over the course of the day. During the next two and a half years, it would become as much Hawke’s clinic as Anders. In addition to working in the clinic, he funded the operation in its entirety. Hawke would still come by to drop off meals for Anders even if he couldn’t stay the day, arriving every morning at half-past dawn like clockwork, brightening the day for Anders and for any of the patients whom Hawke had treated.

Hawke had a way with children especially, and became the subject for many a puppy crush. And why not? Elliot had a gentle manor, a generous nature, an aptitude for bad jokes, slightly dusky olive skin with freckles sprinkled over the tight, bulging muscles of his shoulders, green eyes flecked with gold, a wistful, kind smile…

            Anders tried so hard to ignore his attraction, treating that once enormous part of himself as something that was firmly in the past and pining for Hawke was about as realistic as pining for his mother. But Elliot never tired of flirting. And he never flirted with anyone else in the same way. And he told Anders things that he didn’t share with anyone else.

And, and, and… Those thoughts disgusted Justice to a certain extent and, at first, made Anders unjustifiably upset. It was painful to be reminded how big a part of his life his sexuality had been. Elliot only accentuated the desolation, how empty Anders felt without companionship. Justice, above all else, was his friend. And thank goodness for that, because who else could Anders trust? Who could he tell about Justice? Who would even want to be let in once they knew the truth?

            Every morning as the dawn bells tolled, the answer came down from Hightown to smile and ask if he slept well. And so Anders’s own puppy crush had deepened day by day until it bordered on obsession. Justice began to snap at him if he wandered off watching Elliot humor a little elven girl by kissing her elbow better. Justice snarled about distractions if he began to draw vague portraits of Hawke in the margins of his manifesto. And he certainly had a few things to say if Anders’s hand wandered south of his belt while he held a picture of Elliot in his mind.

Fine. It wasn’t as if he actually stood a chance with the man. Hawke probably had a dozen men from noble families sniffing around his door. Men with the kind of money and connections to keep Elliot out of the Gallows even if he introduced himself to the Knight-Commander by ramming a finger up her dusty snatch and planting a magic ice dildo. Anders would only cause him more danger. If Elliot found out about the mage underground, it would be disastrous for everyone if he even accidentally let information slip. He wanted to trust his friend implicitly, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t afford to breach that buffer to pull Elliot closer no matter how much he wanted to.

And he so very, very much wanted to.

And so it went, Elliot Hawke, that Sweet Kid, working side by side with an abomination. When Anders collapsed one day, Hawke took over completely. By the time Anders woke up in Hawke’s guest suite (despite The Discussion), the kid had already managed to sweet talk Athenril into lending out her cadre’s healers, grumbling brother and sister apostates who barely spoke the common tongue. The language they used to constantly snipe at each other was anyone’s guess. Varric had even tracked down an elderly dwarven medic, the only dwarven woman in Kirkwall, she joked. Particularly useful on days the templars came.

“Just drink the sedative and don’t worry about a thing for the next few days, Anders,” Hawke had said. He smiled gently and pushed a lock of blonde hair back behind the ear of the exhausted healer. So reliable, so caring, so beautiful to drugged-up, blood-shot eyes.

At that instant, Elliot Hawke officially entered into his third phase: The Most Dangerous Kid in the World.

Anders wasn’t the only one who thought so. Justice began to fizzle with an odd energy now whenever Hawke flirted with him. With them. It tasted oddly like panic. He began to wonder what might happen if Justice and Hawke were to meet again. It was disconcerting enough that he reacted badly when Hawke asked him to follow his own advice in order to save a boy mage. “You’ll need someone who’s more experienced the Fade than you.”

Open mouth, insert foot. “So you’ll come?” Hawke asked hopefully. When he tried to recant his statement, the entire party stared at Anders incredulously.

Fenris was going. Fenris! What could Anders say that wouldn’t make him seem cowardly or give the elf more ammunition against him? I’m sorry, Elliot, but I don’t like being a passenger in my own head and my Fade spirit might rip you apart. “I fear what a trip to the Fade might bring out in me,” he muttered lamely.

Fenris snorted derisively. So in the end, male pride demanded that Anders go as well.

But as it turned out, Anders wasn’t the one who surrendered to a demon quicker than a dockside whore on payday.  It was a petty triumph considering he spent the trip in Justice’s usual position, but he still had a good laugh. And after Hawke predictably sent the boy packing to Tevinter for training, he turned and grabbed Justice by the arm.

Anders felt the spirit’s irritation, and he started screaming, [Don’t hurt him! If you harm him, I swear I’ll kill us both!] Justice frowned and shook him off, saying only, “Mortal?”

“Justice, please.” To their joint surprise, Hawke’s face twisted with sorrow and he began to beg. “I realize that a spirit wouldn’t know what a mortal needs from day to day, so there’s no way you would be acting maliciously, but please, please let Anders slow down. You’re killing him. He’s only a human, he needs rest, he needs…” Hawke trailed off helplessly. Around them, the dream was beginning to unravel. “Anders is one of the most important people in the world. If it helps, then take me instead.”

[NO!] Anders began to struggle hard enough to give Justice a headache.

“I cannot leave his body, mortal,” Justice said. Kindly. He touched Hawke’s shoulder. “You act selflessly. Perhaps I have been harsh in my judgment. I will attempt to consider Anders’s health.”

The healer bled back to the forefront as he woke. Varric was in the other room of the alienage hovel with the Keeper. Fenris, predictably, had already run away. Elliot Hawke lay beside him, still sleeping. With the greatest care, Anders leaned down to brush those full, barely-parted lips with his. Hawke tasted of honey mead and ozone and freedom. Anders had been right.

After a second, he rolled back over, careful not to be heard. He laid back and listened to Hawke breathing in the darkened room. Thank you for not hurting him, he thought to Justice.

             [I would not,] Justice replied, his voice in Anders’s head like the breeze in the eves of an abandoned house. [He is a distraction from your purpose, but he is a true ally.]

            Really? Anders thought, one eyebrow raised, Because I think that Hawke is one of those things that I need. Instead of an argument, he felt Justice’s vague confusion for a minute before the spirit showed him a mental picture of his old host, Kristoff and the man’s wife Aura kneeling in front of a Chantry altar. Exactly, Anders thought with a sigh.

            [Yes, I can understand how this relationship may be of great import,] Justice acknowledged, [but it does not change my opinion. I can feel what a distraction thoughts of Aura were to Kristoff.]

            Anders blinked disbelievingly at the darkened ceiling and closed his eyes as a hysterical little laugh tried to bubble up from his lips. You just don’t get it, Justice. I’m not fighting for you. I’m not fighting for me or for Karl or for any of the mages we’ve smuggled out of the Gallows.

            I’m doing it for him. Elliot Hawke is “the cause.”

            The man in question stretched out beside them on the pallet. He rolled over on his side and traced the contours of Anders’s cheekbones with the slightest touch before grasping his shoulder to shake the healer awake. As he sat, Anders could literally feel Justice lost for words. He pulled Hawke into a brief hug and thanked him for setting the half-elf mage free. At the same time, Justice muttered, [I will be… indisposed for a short while. There are many things I must consider.]

            Take your time, Anders thought, a sly smile curving his mouth.

             After that night, Anders had loosely planned to use Justice’s leave of absence to ramp up his responses to Hawke’s flirting. Nothing spectacular, just little responses here and there in order to feel normal again.  Maybe he could put Hawke on the spot for once. So it was with an evil little grin two mornings later that Anders struck. Elliot was scrubbing the last exam table and whistling to himself while the older mage finished breakfast. He never heard Anders rise from the desk chair and pad up behind him. Hawke may have been younger and a bit wider, but he was an inch or two shorter, so Anders had plenty of leverage to hug the other mage around the ribs from behind and kiss the base of his neck. He murmured against the suddenly tense skin, “Thanks for breakfast, El.”

            The man in his arms shivered and gasped, whining in his throat in a way that was no joke at all. Anders had expected to be teased again, or to be thrown off with a crude remark or some roughhousing. He was certainly not expecting full-blown arousal.

            The healer pulled back in surprise and Hawke half-turned, mere inches from being pressed completely against Anders. He was panting slightly, pupils huge and uncertain. An embarrassed flush had crept up from his chest to burn his entire face crimson. Anders knew that if he looked down slightly past Elliot’s waist, he would most likely see further evidence. He kept his eyes resolutely forward, showing his concern first and foremost. “El? Are you alright?” he asked softly, trying not to spook his friend any further.

            “I-I-I… Yes? I’m… I’m sorry.” He tried to look anywhere but at Anders.

            The healer shook his head and cupped Hawke’s cheeks in his hands, forcing him to look straight ahead. “No, I’m sorry. I had no idea...”

            “I, um,” Hawke grimaced and rolled his eyes to the side. “I… sort of… fancy you.”

            Anders froze with the understanding smile on his face. In his mind, he was already pushing Elliot back on the clean table, unlacing the sash that held his jacket closed. It was a second or two before Anders could keep his hands from following through. “Not wise,” he said with a tight laugh, “but damned if I’m not the luckiest man in the world. El, it’s too dangerous just being my friend. If Vengeance ever got out and hurt you, I’d…” He let himself choke up, hoping to frighten Elliot into agreeing.

            “He wouldn’t hurt me. I know he wouldn’t. Neither would you.” Anders started shaking his head, but Elliot pulled him into a hug, nearly panicked.

            There was a knock at the clinic’s bigger door and Eulie called, “Oi, youngin’! Ya got a crowd out here!”

            Hawke dropped his arms and let Anders head for the door before the dwarven woman could knock it down. Before the healer opened it, he heard Hawke say, “I’ll prove it to you. One of these days, I’ll prove it.”

            The day was long and awkward, for various reasons. But once the last patient teetered out the door, and Hawke had kissed his cheek goodbye, Anders wasted no time. His fingers were at the lacings of his trousers even as he was throwing the last bolt in place. He bit back curses as he tried to fumble himself out of the tangle of clothes before he reached his cot. As soon as his fingers closed around his poor, tormented member, Anders moaned loud enough to startle himself. In his mind, the events of that morning were playing out to what would have been their logical conclusion in a just world. Justice began to grumble, but Anders paused just long enough to warn the spirit that this was absolutely happening and if Justice wanted to understand the mechanics, he was more than welcome to find one of the darker corners of Anders’s mind to go fuck himself.

            Spooked and slightly insulted, Justice backed away and said nothing for nearly three days.

            It turned into an awkward month. Hawke came later and later in the mornings, and most of the time, he wouldn’t stay any longer than it took to shove the basket of food at Anders. The healer made note of the luggage under Hawke’s eyes, the way he looked ready to nod off on his feet. The friend in Anders saw the way that Elliot had withdrawn, the way the conversation seemed tense and never steered away from small talk. It was only the way that Hawke would hug Anders before he ran off elsewhere that kept the mage from getting paranoid. Despite the flirtation debacle, Hawke would sink into Anders’s arms as if they were the last refuge in Thedas.

            One day, Anders was fairly certain that he would tighten his arms and refuse to let the kid go. Something was keeping Hawke awake at night and whatever it was, it was troubling. Asking around earned Anders an “Ask Hawke” from Varric and Isabela, and worry from everyone else, Fenris included.  A visit to Hawke’s mother led nowhere except to a quiet afternoon tea and some embarrassing stories about Hawke and his sister. “Thick as thieves and always in trouble! El was seven when he first showed signs, and Bess could cast from the age of four. Four! By the time she was five, my hair was completely grey!” Leandra laughed and pushed the plate of finger sandwiches at Anders. He smiled and fell a little harder for Hawke.

            Two days later, Anders received a message that made his knees give way in the middle of the clinic. Hawke was putting in one of his currently rare appearances and moved to catch him but one of the twin mercenary healers grabbed him first. The pinch-faced Sergei lowered Anders into a chair asking carefully, “What wrong for you?”

            “It’s nothing,” he replied automatically. “Just the heat or something.” Sergei snorted and wandered back to a dockworker with a torn shoulder. His sister Yovanka barked something at her brother before grabbing Anders’s chin with spidery fingers and pursing her lips as she examined his eyes and flushed cheeks. “Is heat. Too many heat in filthy city. Drink water.” She shuffled away, clucking her tongue.

Hawke wasn’t fooled one bit. He folded his arms and leaned against a support beam, watching Anders with careful eyes. For a few moments, Anders debated trying to do this by himself. That thought lasted until he glimpsed the name on the sheet of paper again. Ser Alrik. The Ser Alrik. THAT Ser Alrik.

            He didn’t realize his hands were shaking until Hawke took hold of them and coaxed him gently to his feet. “Come on,” he said softly, “let’s you and I talk about this where it’s a tad more private.” Anders let himself be led back to a small cupboard. Hawke stiffened automatically, having hidden more than once with Anders in the scant space of the cupboard’s false back. Still, he instinctively slid a protective arm around Anders, keeping their backs to the patients. “Tell me what’s going on. When you’re able, that is.” Anders nodded and Elliot yawned, leaned against him the tiniest bit and rubbed Anders’s back in lazy circles.

            “You’re the Most Dangerous Kid in the World, El. I hope you know that.”

            “Kid?” Hawke yawned. “Why do the titles to the chapters of my life have to have the word ‘kid’ in them? I’m twenty-four. I feel sixty at the moment…”

            “And I’m thirty-one and I feel about a thousand.” Anders chuckled and realized that he had relaxed. Maker, he felt… comfortable. It took all of his willpower not to lean into Hawke and give the kid a lazy kiss. Lots of things Elliot-related seemed to require all of his willpower. “Anyway, I need your help.” Hawke turned his head, nonplussed. Oh, he really shouldn’t be getting Hawke tangled up in this morass. The man was an apostate in the public eye. If a templar survived and made his way back with Hawke’s description…

            [I will protect you both,] Justice chimed in.

            That’s what I’m afraid of, Anders thought back. With a heavy sigh, he continued. “I’ve been involved with a sort of mage underground, if you will. We do everything from running messages back and forth from mages to their families, to helping mages escape the Gallows. I received a note… There’s a templar named Ser Alrik. He’s an animal. He likes to push mages to see how soon they can break,” Anders spat. He was shivering again.

            “Have you had a run-in with this Ser Alrik?” Hawke’s tone was light, but there was a bare edge of fury riding the words. “If someone’s hurt you, swee- Anders…” Hawke cleared his throat.

            Ser Alrik. Just the name made him see the glint of the sword in his face, made him feel his own quaking hands unfastening the buttons on his robes. Fifteen fucking years ago, and he could still feel it! “No,” he lied. “There’s a rumor that this bastard son of a shipyard whore has been shopping around his ‘Tranquil Solution.’ Make a mage Tranquil, and they’ll never say no.”

            “Maker,” Hawke breathed. “Anders, promise me if I ever… That you’ll…”

            “I promise, El. Promise me the same.” Hawke nodded and pulled Anders close, burying his face in the older mage’s neck and inhaling deeply as if the scent of Anders would make his troubles disappear. The plan, Anders, stick to the plan. Urgent tasks and such. “There’s a trap set for him tonight in the tunnels. I need your help, but it will mean killing templars outright. Are you okay with that?”

            “Oh, Maker… Carver…”

            Anders was already shaking his head before the statement passed Elliot’s lips. “Not a chance. I know you don’t like to talk about him, but I hear Carver’s gotten himself a reputation as a sympathizer. He’s been passed over for promotion twice for reporting abuses. Maybe he doesn’t hate you, mageling.”

            “Mageling?”

            Oops. “I… sorry, Hawke. Silly pet name. I’m tired, it just slipped out.”

            “It’s fine, Anders. Just… not yet, okay?” Anders nodded without really knowing what he was agreeing to. He might have asked, but Hawke smiled sheepishly and said, “I suppose I can let my secret out of the bag. I’ve been up all hours lately running errands for the underground.”

            “You what?” Anders exclaimed loud enough to make a couple of patients’ heads turn.

            “They approached me and asked if I would help. One of the Starkhaven mages gave them my name. And this is exactly why I haven’t told you.”

            “I’m not angry, just irritated. You put yourself in too much danger as it is!” Anders crossed his arms and tried his best scowl. Hawke actually looked at the floor and shuffled his feet. “If something happened to you, Elliot… Maker, I don’t want to think about what Justice would do, because believe me, I would turn him loose. I would drown us both in a river of blood to keep you safe.”

            Hawke snatched Anders back up into a hug, kissing both cheeks wordlessly. “I’m going to go get some sleep. I’ll be back at dusk. Let’s bag this worthless nug-fucker, and then we can discuss you being all weirdly romantic.”

            Anders watched him go with the world’s sappiest smile on his face. The tension in his gut was at odds with the liquid warmth pooling in his joints. Not yet? That implied that there would soon be an appropriate time for pet names, right? Did Hawke truly want more than friendship from him?

            [Distractions,] Justice muttered.

            Fuck off, Anders thought. He whistled to himself the rest of the day.

            Night came on and the last patient was gone. The lassitude that had sustained Anders all afternoon began to slowly freeze, fear chilling the mage every moment he was left alone. He’d soaped the same table twice by the time Varric’s knock on his door scared him out of his skin. “Yoooo-hooo! Maid service!” Anders chuckled despite his nerves and opened the door. Hawke came in behind Varric and Isabela.

He was back in his father’s traveling robes, the coat and chainmail that looked like light armor if he was carrying a bladed staff. Tonight he was carrying his father’s staff, a labor of love, with a nude portrait of Leandra Hawke gracing one end. Hawke joked that he tried not to think too hard about it, especially when the portrait end rested near his head when it wasn’t in use.

“So, Blondie, I hear we’re hunting moldy alley-found scumbags tonight.”

“Oh, ew!” Hawke was laughing despite the queasy look on his face. “Varric, that was disgusting!”

The dwarf raised his eyebrows and smiled airily. “Oh, Maker! I hath offended thine pretty little ears. Your little virgin ears.” He turned his head toward Anders and pinned him with a look that was pregnant with meaning. A meaning that sailed right over Anders’s tired, nervous head.

“Come on, my darlings!” Isabela snuck under Hawke’s arm and tried to wear him like a cheap coat. The broad young man stumbled along behind her, laughing, trying not to trip them both. “I have all this strange energy, and I either need to kill a man, or fuck one. Maybe both.”

“Just… reverse the order there,” Hawke asked. “For my peace of mind.”

“Ha! I promise nothing.”

Anders bent and turned down the last lit lamp in the clinic. A solid hand clapped him in the middle of the back. Varric smiled up at him. “Come on, Anders. Let’s get this out of the way, okay?”

He nodded and blew out breath. “Okay.”

The next time Anders saw that oil lamp, he was dashing past it so fast that he nearly knocked it over. He stopped still in the middle of the room, looking this way and that, listening as if he were being pursued. The frightened man was about to gibber any one of a thousand things at the end of his tongue, but Justice interrupted.

[CALM YOURSELF!]

Anders actually sank to one knee, clutching his temples in pain at the voice and tugging at the hair there as if to pull the spirit out. “Calm myself? How the fuck do you propose I do that? Are you even Justice now, or are you still Vengeance? Are you going to punish me now for disobeying?” He staggered to his feet and managed to make it over to his cot. He whipped the thin blanket off the bed and laid it out, setting the crate full of his meager belongings on top of it.

[You are acting irrationally. Calm yourself.] Gentle this time.

The mage laughed, high and hysterical. He realized that he was crying and wiped his streaming nose on the back of his sleeve. “Irrational? You nearly – WE nearly killed a little girl! We could have hurt the wrong people. We could have hurt—” He let the end of that statement go, Elliot’s name frozen in his throat.

[The child was a mistake. I understand where I went wrong and it will not happen again. I told you once before that would never have hurt the other mage.]

“No! No! You do not get to sound insulted!” Justice grumbled, but Anders attempted to think over him by saying aloud, “Keep. Trash. Trash. Keep. Trash. Keep,” as he ruthlessly poked through the crate.

[Anders.]

“NO! We’re finished here. That’s it!” He shook his crowded head. “We’re leaving.”

“Anders?” The gentle hand on his shoulders stopped time. The voice behind him sounded uncharacteristically thin and breathy. “Please don’t leave?”

The healer slumped, nearly falling into the crate. “Elliot, I nearly—”

“I saw what you nearly did. But you didn’t. You held back.”

“You held us back! What if you aren’t there next time?”

Familiar arms slid around Anders, pinning his own arms to his side. Hawke rested his forehead against Anders’s shoulder. “Then I’ll have to be there as often as I can.”

Anders tried to turn and was allowed, Elliot holding him out at arm’s length after handing him a clean handkerchief. “Don’t give up.”

“How can I say that mages deserve freedom when I’m proof of everything they fear?” He stared miserably at Elliot.

The younger mage smiled. “You aren’t. I know you’re frightened, but please don’t lose sight of who you are.”

“Who am I, then?” Anders muttered, wishing he could take his eyes away from Elliot’s He didn’t deserve to see the light there. He didn’t deserve that devotion.

“You’re a great man, and a great mage. I know that no matter what happens, you have great things ahead of you. More than a mage, you are the man we need. And I’ll be there behind you every step of the way, even if you just need a pair of adorable green eyes to gaze at you worshipfully.” Both of his calloused hands came up to cradle Anders’s head and Hawke drew him down to kiss his forehead. “I have faith in you, my dearest friend, and I always will.”

Anders cried himself to sleep against Hawke’s chest. When he awoke, he was lying on the examination table with the thin blanket and the much thicker Elliot Hawke wrapped around him. The box of keepsakes had been repacked and set out at the foot of the cot. Carefully, Anders snuggled in closer. Elliot frowned and pulled him in until Anders settled.

Is this still an unwelcome distraction? he thought to the monster in his head.

[No. He is helping. For the moment.]

So glad you approve.

Five, ten minutes later, Hawke stirred and opened his eyes. For the briefest second, he looked surprised, but then he was kissing Anders on the forehead and smiling like every good dream had come true. “Good morning,” he murmured before sitting up to stretch.

Anders stretched out his own limbs a little, finding his back a little stiff from sleeping on the table. Hawke had already jumped up and was pulling on his boots. “I’ll be right back,” he said. “I’m going to grab breakfast, but I’ll be cutting through Lowtown. Varric and Bela were supposed to come with Merrill and I to look for a few things for Sandal’s enchantments.”

Anders laughed a little. “Salamanders again?”

“Bewm!” said Elliot, doing a fairly good impression of the dwarven boy. “Anyway, I want you to come along. We’ll be out on the coast most of the afternoon. Some fresh air and some time away from this accursed city will do you good.”

“I… Yes. You’re absolutely right.” Justice was muttering and Anders sent him a little warning wave of anger. “I could use a distraction.” Take that, he thought.

“Good,” Hawke said as he bounced up. He leaned over to squeeze Anders’s hand. “Do not open this door for anyone but me, our friends, or the volunteers. Got it?”

“Yes, ser.” Anders saluted Hawke, who rolled his eyes as he slipped out the door.  

As soon as Hawke gone, Anders was up, stripping down to bathe as quickly as possible. He wanted this morning every morning. Maker, his hands were shaking with the want of it, at just this taste of the humanity he left behind. Certainly, he could take Hawke up on his offer of a spare bedroom. Maybe from there, things would progress. Hawke seemed interested and Anders had already wasted so much time.

[It is too dangerous,] Justice reminded him. The voice in his mind was soft, the energy soothing. [You do not believe it to be fair to the other mage. You think our path leads where he must not follow.]

The healer choked back a sob.

[I do not think this to be true,] Justice tried. [He has demonstrated his willingness to assist you in any way that he can. Elliot can also make his own decisions.]

“I’m a Grey Warden. I don’t have much time…” He blinked and then frowned slightly. “Wait, were you just defending Elliot? What happened to distractions?”

[I do not approve. But you are both mortal. I am willing to concede that perhaps this is one of the necessary things that the other mage spoke of which I fail to understand.]

            That was almost as good as permission, Anders thought as he redressed, finally smiling to himself. “Can I have a cat?”

            [Distractions.]

            “Bugger distractions. A cat practically takes care of itself.” An idea struck him and he went to find an unused bowl. When Hawke finally returned, he found Anders on his knees in front of a bowl full of water, making kissing noises at the air.

            “What are you doing?” he asked with an amused smile.

            Anders grinned back up at him and said, “Trying to attract wildlife. I miss having a cat around.”

            They walked inside and shut the door behind them, Hawke going to a table and setting his basket down. “Varric and Merrill will be by shortly. They were already eating breakfast with Bela. You know, I don’t think I’ve seen any stray cats in Darktown.”

            “I’m afraid the refugees might have scared them off… or eaten them.” Anders pulled a face and Elliot chuckled. This right here was the perfect time to ask Hawke if the offer of a spare room was still open. “So… I’ve had the templars sniffing around here more often.”

            The expression on the other mage’s face made him regret his opening line. “Maker’s mercy, Anders! Don’t tell me things like that. I have nightmares enough as it is. Are they hunting you specifically?”

            “No. They hear rumors of mages in Darktown and the recruits go insane trying to round us up like cattle for their own prestige. One of the dunces even had the nerve to harass Eulie until his superior cuffed him across the ear. I wish I’d seen it.”

            Elliot was about to bite into a frosted scone when he made a noise and abandoned it in order to rummage through his pockets. “Here,” he said, offering a folder note. “I found this on Alrik last night. Well, on what was left of him.” Anders tried not to laugh at the look of bloodthirsty satisfaction in the man’s eyes.

            Anders read until his legs gave. Hawke helped him sit. Anders stammered, “There’s no Tranquil Solution? Everyone he showed it to rejected it! Maybe I’ve been wrong, maybe these people can be reasoned with if I can present a good enough argument.” He stood, starting to pace slightly. Elliot stood with him and watched with a half-smile on his face. “I have to rethink my approach.”

            “That’s the spirit! Get it? Get it? ‘The spirit?’” Hawke prodded him with his elbow until Anders snorted and bounced the crumpled note off his head. Elliot growled and lunged for the other man, catching him in a bear hug around the torso that pinned his arms in place. Anders’s laughter died down and Hawk released him, pausing to squeeze once and say, hot breath warming Anders’s ear and making his eyes slide shut. “Just remember that you aren’t alone. I would never let you face this by yourself, sweetheart. I’m here for anything you need.”

            It took a few tries and a couple of audible swallows before Anders could rasp, “Sweetheart?”

            “Oh,” Hawke replied, immediately backing away. “It’s just, um… you know. A slip. Sorry. Um. Guess we’re even now.” The younger mage gave a shaky laugh and unhitched his staff to lean it against the wall near Anders’s. He watched the object of his obsession in profile, the crimson of the embarrassed flush that covered his beautiful face. 

            Funny, but he hadn’t expected to actually feel it, physically feel it, like a blow to the gut. This was it. The last line had been crossed and Anders could mentally, emotionally and physically, take no more.

            This was it.

            He put his face in his hands and groaned loudly in frustration. The broad, thin-fingered hands left his face and slid up to clutch the blonde rat’s nest that was his hair at the moment. Elliot Hawke looked downright terrified. “Hawke! I can’t do this anymore! Three years of you flirting and touching and… ARRRGH! You said it yourself, I’m a mage, but I’m still a man. You can’t keep teasing me like this!”

            The two mages stood, regarding each other with trepidation for a minute. Suddenly, Elliot’s face went from astonished to irate. “Teasing? Who in damnation is teasing? I thought I was being fairly straightforward. I love you, you idiot!”

            Two things happened. First, Elliot slumped again miserably as if expecting more awkward silence. Second, Anders, who was puking sick of awkward silences, was on him as if he were fired from a ballista, grabbing the younger mage by the shoulder and neck and driving him back against the wall with the force of his kiss.

            Three long years of agony was poured into maybe twenty seconds worth of a possessive flurry of teeth and tongue and needy little noises. When Anders drew back, Hawke whimpered and followed, pressing them together for a few more precious seconds. Anders made himself step away from Hawke and hold out his arm to keep them apart. “I though this part of me was dead and gone,” he muttered, feeling genuinely surprised. “This is absolutely insane, but I can’t live without it. Without you.”

            Hawke gulped and held out a shaking hand, which Anders took loosely. The man’s eyes slid around for a moment before coming to rest on their shoes. “I… want you… I…” He shook his head.

            The fact that Anders had one of the most beautiful men he had ever seen, the breezy, cocksure Elliot Hawke, worked up into a stammering mess… It worked on more than just Anders’s male pride and he adjusted himself discreetly before he could carry on. “All right, El.”

            The kid – the man – looked up with the strangest mix of fear and excitement Anders had ever seen. He held up a finger and added, “I’m going to tell you one last time, this is not a good idea. But I’ll give you a couple of hours after we get back tonight, until after dark. If you’re door’s open, I’ll come in. If not…” he exhaled sharply at the possibility. “If not, I’ll take it that you finally listened to my warning.”

            Hawke shook his head emphatically. “It will be open,” he said, his voice almost a whisper. He tried to haul Anders to him by the hand. “I love you. I have for years. I love you.”

            Anders squeezed his eyes shut when he realized that he was already well and truly conquered and started to turn toward the other mage, but someone, somewhere, cleared their throat. His eyes snapped open to see Eulie standing in the doorway, spinning the key ring on her finger, smirking like the cat who had swallowed the whole damn chicken coop. Behind her, Varric was giving Anders the hairy eyeball. It was a terrifying sight, broken only by Merrill skipping in with Scout bounding around her. She took one look at the mages trying their best to act casual and cocked her little head. “Am I missing something? Varric, am I missing something?”

            The dwarf turned and grinned at her. “Well, let’s help these boys eat their pastries and I’ll explain it on the way.”

            Hawke’s eyes had been anxious a moment before, but now he was watching Varric with an expression that was worried and frightened. Anders reached out to squeeze his shoulder, a common enough gesture, but this time, Elliot leaned almost imperceptibly into his touch, warming more than his heart.

            In several ways, this was going to be the most painful afternoon in history.

            Somehow, the situation was made slightly better by Hawke dancing around, excited as a little child on his nameday. Anytime Anders started getting lost in self-doubt, Merrill would squeal and dart in front of him as Hawke chased her, or Scout would run to him with a slobbery stick and big soulful eyes, or Varric would chide, “All right, children! Watch out for those who aren’t as tall as you, Daisy.”

            Elliot whooped as he caught the elf and carried her along like a basket of groceries, his arm looped around her waist. It reminded him of his oldest friend, his elven Warden Commander and how the sad, serious woman had turned into a squeaky, giggling girl the instant her husband Alistair had come back from Highever. “El—Hawke. I’ve been meaning to thank you,” he called.

            The other mage turned toward him, Merrill automatically turning with him. He smiled at Anders with a light that nearly made Anders delirious. Alistair used to look at the Commander exactly in that manner, leaving everyone around them jealous. To have that love directed at him was unfathomable. Please, El, he prayed, leave your door open. “I was… Um, I was wanting to say that you making a name for yourself has done wonders for other apostates. You’re exactly the kind of leader we need.”

            The younger man mulled it over incredulously before shaking his head. “Me? No, I don’t think so. You’re the hero around here, not me.”

            That stopped Anders short. “Me? How exactly am I hero material?”

            “Oh, I dunno… Let’s see. You’re selfless, you’re driven, you served under the Hero of Ferelden…”

             “You have no idea how much she hates that moniker, by the way,” Anders commented, trying to distract from his blushing while Hawke listed off the qualities he perceived. “Nothing about how charming I am?”

            “You know you’re charming, so I’m not feeding your ego.” Elliot ducked his head a little, a small smile letting Anders know that was exactly what he was trying to do. “Besides, just yesterday you were acting as if twenty-four meant I was just out of nappies.”

            Merrill folder her arms as archly as being carried along under Hawke’s arm would allow. “I’m older than the both of you.”

            “No you’re not,” Hawke cried. He threw her up in the air once and caught her.

            “Hawke! I’m not a child. Put me down!”

            Elliot complied with a wink to Anders. “You’re right. I’m sorry,” he sighed. “I guess this means that there are no little malificarum who want to ride the piggy.”

            That made Merrill hesitate. She touched Hawke’s shoulder and said hurriedly, “Oh now, Hawke. I said I was an adult. I didn’t ever say I was too big to ride the piggy.”

            “Right then. Up you go!” He took her hands and swung her up to his back, running ahead of the group, oinking and snorting like a hog.

            Anders chuckled as Scout took off after them. Varric cleared his throat and said, “So, I gather you two were finally snogging?”

            “I ah, wha?” Anders said eloquently

            “So he told you? Aaaand… by that look I can see that he didn’t.” Varric sighed. “Great. Knowing him, the moron was going to bluff and posture until you figured it out for yourself.”

            “Varric, what exactly are you talking about? He told me he loved me, so if that’s what you’re fishing for…”

            “Nope. Wasn’t thinking of that so much. He would be comfortable saying that. And I know, yes, you want me to get to the good part, but I’d rather see the little blighter out himself. Watch this.” He grinned at Anders until the mage was mirroring his expression and then called, “Hey, Daisy! Come here.”

            The two mages ahead slowed, with Hawke walking in front, Merrill walking at Varric’s side, and Anders making a joke to Justice about taking up the rear with a big black dog. Wisely, Justice didn’t answer.

            At length, Varric said, “So Daisy… how is your mystery man treating you?”

            She giggled and blushed a little. “Varric, you know I can’t talk about him.”

            “Wait. Wait wait wait… You have a suitor?” Hawke grinned at the elf.

            “She’s been sworn to secrecy,” Varric confirmed, his tone teasingly low and conspiratorial. “I have my suspicions. If I’m right, it’ll make one damn good novel someday. Sell a forest worth of books.”

            Sworn to secrecy was right, to judge by Hawke’s surprise. But her happiness meant that even Anders, who tried his best to dislike the little blood mage (and failed), caught her infectious grin. Hawke chortled in delight. “Merrill, you sly vixen! I had no idea! Come on, you can tell us who he is. Just between friends, right?”

            She smiled back lazily at him, smug in her secret knowledge. “I can’t, Hawke. I promised and I really do love him. But I will say that I think you and he would be friends if you sat down and talked to each other.”

            “Maybe someday, eh?” Elliot reached out and took Merrill’s tiny hand in his. There were a few moments of silent camaraderie that, while nice, had Anders frowning impatiently at the back of Varric’s head.

            He didn’t have long to wait. “Daisy, I’m happy for you,” Varric said, making the elven mage run up and hug him. “Just be careful. You don’t want to catch any diseases, beware of getting pregnant before you’re damn good and ready, and if you need advice on any of the physical stuff, do not, I repeat, do NOT go to Isabela. Nor Fenris or Aveline. One is cranky all the time and the other is tightly wound, so I don’t think they’ve had any recent experience to impart. You should come to Anders or me. We’re friends, we don’t judge.”

            Merrill was giggling behind her hand and blushing beet red. “Varric!” she chided. “I told you, I’m an adult. I know how everything works! And why did you leave Hawke out of the list?”

            “Yes,” Anders echoed, “why did you leave out Hawke?” Elliot gave him a strange grin with too many teeth.

            And Varric laughed at their brave leader’s discomfort. “I don’t think you really want sex advice from a virgin.”

            Wait, Anders thought, what the…?

            [You did not realize this?]

            Don’t pretend you did, you smarmy bastard.

            Hawke was grinning at the group. Through clenched teeth, he managed to say, “Virgin? Me? I’m not a virgin, not by a long shot. What are you talking about, Varric?” The dwarf’s name emerged sounding like a curse.

“I’m talking about you getting so drunk that you told Isabela about your romantic encounter in the barn when you were sixteen. Sound familiar?”

“Well sure, but…” Elliot waved his hands about, “you know, I mean I didn’t tell Bela every little detail about the all the things we did. Um, sex stuff and the like.” His eyes flicked briefly to Anders, who could only stand there, still a bit astounded. How in the name of the Maker’s giant hairy danglers did a man as gorgeous and kind as Elliot Hawke make it to his age without being chased by half of Kirkwall?

Varric nodded smoothly. “Actually, you told her about getting to a little buttoned-up dry humping before your father caught you and read you the riot act.”

Merrill frowned. “Riot act?”

“Something they use in Ferelden cities to keep crowds from getting too rowdy,” Hawke muttered. “We were in a passionate embrace! It counts.”

“No it doesn’t,” Anders answered.

“Nope,” said Varric.

“Not at all,” said Merrill.

Elliot stopped and folded his arms, broadcasting his embarrassment. He stared at Scout as if the dog was about to betray him as well. “There was also Tomwise,” he admitted with some reluctance.

“Tomwise as in Darktown’s Tomwise?” Anders tried to suppress a smile, resulting in a weird twisting to his lips. Poor Hawke’s expression grew darker. “I was wondering why it was always so awkward when you two talk.”

“Yes, Tomwise,” Varric drawled. “You told Isabela about that, too.”

“Did not.”

“Two kisses and a drunken grope before moonshine and nerves made you puke on his shoes?”

Hawke blinked, color draining from his face. He took one look at Anders and (almost literally) ran away.

As soon as Hawke was a few good paces up the road, Varric said quietly, “There you have it. Hawke’s dire secrets revealed.”

Merrill pouted a bit. “You two are very mean sometimes.” She started running ahead, shouting, “Hawke, come back! I think it’s cute that you’re a twenty-four-year-old virgin! Hawke!”

 Anders shook his head. “I would have had no idea.”

“Well, now you do. So if you’re going to rectify the situation soon, take whatever measures you can to make it easy for him, okay? I’m not sure if you noticed, but whatever his father said to him scared him shitless.”

“I’m not surprised. Malcolm Hawke was a hard man, El’s said as much. We had… plans for later tonight,” Anders confessed sheepishly. “It’s just that he’s seemed so happy this morning, I didn’t think this might be difficult for him.”

“Little blighter seems excited. Which, by the way, is the only reason we didn’t have this conversation with Bianca cocked inches from your nose.”

The healer laughed and clapped Varric on the shoulder that Bianca occupied, careful not to actually touch the crossbow, or even look at it too much. The dwarf might get angry with him for smearing her with eye tracks. “Varric, if you don’t mind, I could use your help wrangling a few things when we get back to town.”

Varric laughed, and Anders began to plot. When he himself lost his virginity to Karl, he hadn’t been half so frightened. As a matter of fact, Karl had made Anders feel as if he were the one doing the seducing. Looking back now, the set-up was endearingly silly. A private study session in Karl’s chambers? Sorry about all the candles, I’m out of lamp oil? Want to sip a little wine, it helps the memory? Their relationship didn’t – and couldn’t – turn to love and there were some uncomfortable bits, but it was still a wonderful deflowering and a treasured memory. Ignoring a muttering Justice, Anders occupied his mind with ideas as he walked along.

The early part of the morning was a nice reprieve from the press of the city. The wind was blowing along the costal road, and here and there one mage or another would wander off the track to mill around in a patch of wild herbs. Of course, Anders might have been the only person who wasn’t on edge for once. When an attempt was made to speak with Hawke, Merrill had gotten an “I don’t want to talk about it,” Varric had received a hard-eyed “You… just… you…” and Anders got only a half-second’s worth of guilt and embarrassment in those lovely green eyes.

Now awkward silence reigned undisputed and Hawke walked through the rocks and weeds to the side of or slightly above the rest of the group. Increasingly, they lost sight of him until Varric finally let out an exasperated sigh. “Blondie, you’re the only person he’s not pouting at right now. Can you go talk him out of his tree?”

Anders laughed. “Give me the tall orders, why don’t you. Okay, but if I come back without a head, make up something good for my dying declaration?”

“It’s a deal.”

He set off in the direction he had last seen Hawke heading. It wasn’t very far before Anders found Hawke kneeling in a patch of weeds between boulders. “El?” he called softly.

            The auburn head jerked up, startled. The shame in Elliot’s eyes broke Anders’s heart. “Um, Anders. Could you help me with this spindleweed?” His tone was thick with false cheer.

            “Elliot, stand up please. Come on.” Anders bent and tugged the other man upright by the elbow. He still wouldn’t look Anders in the eye. The healer kept his voice gentle, soothing. “Why are you so upset? Were you afraid that I somehow think you less desirable if I knew you were a virgin?” He trailed his fingers through the wisps of hair that escaped Hawke’s braid before sliding lower to cup the elegant line of his jaw. He might have missed the nod had his hand not been there.

            “You’re more… worldly. Anders the renowned lover, the notorious escapist, the Grey Warden, the selfless healer, the revolutionary, the visionary! You do good deeds every day of your life. So many people love you, look up to you. For fuck’s sake, you’re my hero! I can’t possibly keep up with that.” Hawk pulled away from Anders and stepped back to lean against a rock outcropping. “I thought if you knew how backward I was, you’d laugh in my face when I said I… you know. Everything.”

            “Elliot, I…” A gobsmacked Anders swallowed a few times and tried to find his voice. “Elliot, how could you think…?” The younger mage shrugged and shook his head at the ground. “Elliot, who brought me breakfast everyday for four years? Who hides with me when the templars come around? Who helps me out-cheat Isabela? Who treats me as if I’m just another normal man?”

            [He truly loves you.]

            Yes, Justice, I get it. Thanks.

            Two steps took Anders over to Elliot. Anders decided to take a chance and leaned in to whisper next to his ear, “I’m glad I know. That way, I can make your first time something special instead of dropping to my knees right here and sucking you down so hard, you’ll be staggering about for the next hour.” Anders pressed his chest to Elliot’s slightly, pushing him further into the rock wall. Hawke’s breathing quickened and Anders’s lips split in a sly grin. “It’s tempting, I’ll admit. I’ll bet that your spunk tastes better than the best stout ale I’ve ever had. Do you know how you taste? Have you tasted your issue and pretended it was mine?”

            The answer was yes to judge by the desperate little moan. Anders lost the fight and stretched out flush against the other mage, firmly wedging a leg between Elliot’s thighs and bracing his hands on the rough rock behind them. Hawke’s hand found Anders’s waist and pulled him a little tighter and it struck him again that it was actually happening. Justice was not about to lecture him on the power of imagination, no patient knocking at the door was going to wake him, this was actually happening and happening exactly as Anders had prayed. Maybe the Maker would spare a mage a miracle or two. “Your first embrace,” Anders whispered hoarsely. “Your first kiss in your father’s barn. Did he hold you like this?” He punctuated his question by slowly rolling his hips against Hawke.

            Elliot’s breath sobbed out next to Anders’s ear as he said quietly, “Yes, like this, but…” He gasped and threw his head back against the wall when Anders slid his hand down Hawke’s torso to gently brush his knuckles up and down over the younger man’s covered arousal.

            “Like this, but…?”

            “But not as good. Oh Maker, not as good. Anders…”

            “Hmm. What about Tomwise? He seems like a decent man.”

            “It was nothing like this. I love you. Anders, I love you so much.” Anders noticed that the little thrusts Hawke made had sped up slightly, but he was too busy with his face buried in Hawke’s shoulder, clenching teeth and eyes against the sudden storm of tears about to overtake him. It helped when Hawke added desperately, “Take me here. Just turn me around and take me. I want you so badly.” 

            [You promised that you would give him a choice while his head was clear,] Justice pointed out without heat.

            That I did, Anders answered, his grin turning decidedly evil. He pulled Hawke’s hands off of him and, displaying the willpower of a god, untangled their legs. He tried not to laugh at the look of utter disappointment on Elliot’s face as he said, “Not here, mageling. Later, when I find your door open or shut.” He smiled gently and stepped back a few feet before walking back to Varric and Merrill. A small smile and slightly puffy lips were the only outward signs of what had transpired. Thank the Maker for long jackets that hid things like, say, a boner that could knock the Gallows over.

            He had promised to leave the choice up to Hawke. He didn’t promise that he wouldn’t try to influence that decision. Hawke’s three companions waited a moment for their leader to come back over the hill, shuffling their feet and trying not to look like an expecting audience. Hawke tried to play it off, triumphantly presenting Merrill with a handful of gnarly spindleweed. Anders watched Elliot’s strong fingers roll and package up the herb in waxed papers for storage. Merrill bound them from her famous ball of twine. Her eye’s kept flickering up to the healer and back down until she muttered giddily to Hawke, “Oh! He can’t keep his eyes off you!”

            Hawke rolled his eyes and sent Merrill back to Varric with a shooing motion. He blushed and smiled at his shoes when Anders fell in beside him and said softly, “She’s right, you know.” Anders studied him openly as they walked. Hawke looked like his mother around the eyes and had her skin tone, and Carver had a less elegant version of Elliot’s nose, but the jasper-green eyes were a mystery. After a couple of trips off the side of the trail to gather elfroot, Anders asked, “Did your eyes come from your father?”

            Hawke looked startled for a moment before he laughed. “Yes, along with this red-brown-whatever-you-want-to-call-it mess on my head.” He pulled out a stray strand to examine it idly. “I’m not sure if the magic came from Papa. My mother’s family is notorious for its mages, such as that Amell cousin of mine you mentioned. Scandalous!” Anders shook his head and tucked the stray hairs back behind Hawke’s ear. “Let’s see,” Elliot said with an adorable squeak in his voice at the contact, “the hair, the eyes, I think the voice. I’m not sure. He died so long ago. And the practicality. That was definitely Malcolm.” Hawke glanced ahead to the others, who were giving the mage and his suitor a wide berth. “So what about Anders, hmm? Where does all this blond loveliness come from?”

            “The Anderfels, naturally,” Anders preened a little under Hawke’s appreciative eyes. “The people have to blend in with all the snow. Matches the general temperament.”

            Elliot grinned, “It works for you. I’ve never kissed a blond before.”

            “Hmm? And how was it?” Anders deliberately put a little purr into his voice, at the same time drawing a single finger down the back of the man’s neck. He shivered and looked a little startled, moving slowly back into unfamiliar territory. The reawakening predator in Anders thrilled to the sight and pressed his quarry. “Look at you, so nervous. So worried that I’m not going to appreciate the honor that it is –” Anders’s hand roamed across Elliot’s back and snaked down to lift the hem of his coat until he could deliver a solid pinch “– to taste of your innocence.” 

Hawke gasped and Anders chuckled darkly. Justice grumbled that this wasn’t fair, and Anders honestly agreed, but he couldn’t help thinking of being the first to ever… No, no, no. Picturing it was so not a good idea at the moment.    But then Elliot was pulling away, getting himself out of reach of Anders’s admittedly grabby hands. “I… El?” he stammered, his stomach twisting. “Is something wrong? I’m only playing, I’m sorry if I’m being a bit presumptuous.”

“No. I’m sorry,” Hawke sighed, moving closer once more. “I just wasn’t expecting… this.” He wagged his hands in front of him. “This reaction to me confessing that I’m in love with you. It’s sort of strange to have our relationship change in the course of just hours.”

“Maker, is that understandable. It feels really odd for me as well. I never let myself hope that you would return my feelings.” That was as close as Anders would let himself get to saying the “L” word just yet. And Elliot was thinking he was the one having a hard time adjusting. “What I do know,” he continued, watching Elliot’s face, “is that I’ve had these feelings for a very long time. How about you?”

Hawke nodded, beginning to see the point. “For an Age, I think. When I came to you because Carver joined the templars and Mother threw me out. I woke up on that cot with your arm slung over me and I thought, ‘I’m in love. Damn it!’” Both men laughed easily and Varric glanced over this shoulder with a satisfied look.

“And all that time, we’ve been good friends, right?”

Hawke reached out and brushed Anders’s knuckles with his own. “The very best.”

“So really, what’s changing? We’re just going off in a new direction. Together. Sounds less uncertain when you put it like that, doesn’t it?” The healer raised a hand to stifle a chuckle. “Holy shit… I think I managed to calm myself down for once.”

They strolled along the seaside until maybe one in the afternoon, stopping at a grassy little knoll ringed in by boulders and sheltered from the sun and wind, and declared it their destination. They spread out a blanket, inventoried their bounty, and shared around a lunch of bread, cold meat and thick hunks of cheese. Merrill suddenly disappeared in mid-ramble at one point, only to return with a triumphant cry of “Strawberries!” and a double handful of the wild fruits. Anders spent the afternoon wondering if he was dreaming.

Eventually, they put up their supplies, Merrill letting out an undignified belch and a laugh. “What? I’ll have you know that my suitor finds that hysterical.”

Anders laughed at that one. “Takes all kinds, I guess. Good on you, Merrill.”

“Oh, Anders, you’re so nice today!” Merrill clapped her hands at Anders’s seated half-bow. “Varric said that you would be nicer once you got ‘some.’ I assume that ‘some’ means Hawke?”

Hawke sputtered water down his chin. “Alright! I’m going to go… over there. Do the necessary.”

“Right behind you,” Anders added, following Elliot’s hasty retreat from Merrill, the Demon of Awkward.

True to form, she asked innocently, “Is that how men do it, Varric? I’ve been wondering where the penis goes.” Varric squawked and the two male mages sped up ever so slightly.  

They retired to separate corners to make water, and Anders tried to mind his own business, but being a man made of flesh and bone, found himself wondering about the size of Hawke’s… business. He couldn’t tell through Hawke’s trousers, only that Elliot was aroused. It probably wouldn’t be the rumored size of the Warden Commander’s husband (of which Anders once received drunken, giggly confirmation, Maker only knew how the tiny elven Warden managed the behemoth), but it also didn’t seem small. Not that it mattered. Anders had been with diminutive men before and found that the majority made up for it in hands and mouth.

… Elliot on his knees with that lush, wisecracking mouth wrapped around…

[Distractions.]

I’ll agree on that one.

He was tucking himself away when Hawke stepped up close to wrap his arms around Anders. “Mmm,” Elliot hummed into his ear, “love my healer and love my spirit.”

The surge of emotion with which Justice flooded Anders’s system, could best be called astonishment.

Hawke stepped back and started walking toward the others, but Anders touched his shoulder to stop him. “Wait. What do you mean? You… have feelings for Justice?”

A shrug. “You said you don’t know where you end and Justice begins? If that’s true, then he’s just another facet of you, the real you, the ultimate combination of all… this.” He waved a hand up and down at Anders. “So, of course I’m in love both halves of you. I love everything you are. Sounds silly, but I know Justice likes to be acknowledged separately. Or am I completely wrong?”

[He feels love for me?] Oh great. The unbound spirit of Vengeance in his head was making invisible puppy eyes at Elliot. Justice became adorably over-defensive at that observation. [We agree that I have been corrupted by your emotions. Is it so difficult to believe that I might be intrigued to experience such a thing as love?]

“What?” Hawke folded his arms and narrowed his eyes. “Don’t think for one second that I can’t tell when you two are having a conversation.”

[Tell him that I find his feelings acceptable.]  Anders closed his eyes and sighed. [Tell him that I wish to explore the potential of… No, don’t tell him that. Tell him—]

“No, it’s fine. Justice says that he appreciates the sentiment. And so do I.”

The other mage looked relieved. As they turned, Hawke glanced about for their companions and asked bashfully, “Just one more thing and I won’t bother you until tonight? Hmm, tonight. Heh. Can I have another… kiss? Just once if you don’t mind. I need it or I might die soon, I think.”

“Well, a good healer can’t let that happen. Close your eyes.” Hawke nodded and obeyed, tensing up as if bracing for impact. Was their first kiss really that hard? Poor guy. Anders caressed Elliot’s chin, his thumb brushing the softness of the lower lip, pulling the mouth slightly open. He wet his lips and pressed them against those of his would-be lover, just a subtle press and the barest flick of a teasing tongue. Elliot’s breath rushed out, warm, and Anders caught it, pulling it in. He leaned in, exerting a small amount of force to great results. Hawke eased into it, cradling the older mage’s head between warm palms and drawing Anders ever closer, deepening it by the second until it was almost as passionate as the first time.

The heat was unbearable, building in Anders until he was ready to pull Hawke down on top of him in the grass. For one of them, it had been far too long since he had any sort of intimacy and the other one was handicapped by inexperience and poor self-control. They were both as hard as diamond, grinding artlessly against each other whenever one or the other found momentary friction. Maybe this was special enough. They could get the blanket and send the others on ahead of them.

“Varric! I think Anders is going to be in a good mood for a long while!”

The men broke from the kiss with twin groans of frustration. Hawke dropped his head to the feathers of Anders’s mantle and shook it side to side. “Merrill,” he muttered, “you are not an elf. You are some sort of evil, dwarven-built cock-blocking construct.”

The creature in question wasn’t bothering to suppress her lunatic giggles, but she did leave off and drop her hands from her mouth to her hips in sudden confusion. “I’m not evil, silly. And what’s cock-blocking?”

Anders waved a hand in a sweeping gesture indicating the two flushed and panting mages. “This. This is lesson-book cock-blocking.”

“Oh, okay. I see what you’re talking about. I take it that it’s generally frowned upon?”

“Generally,” Varric answered from a few feet behind her, “but this time, I think I want to get home before dark. So good job, Daisy.”

The walk back was a bit more subdued, Elliot occasionally catching Anders’s eye and smiling nervously, or Anders’s taking his hand and squeezing it reassuringly. After the jovial mood of the morning, Anders was a bit worried at Hawke’s sudden case of nerves. With a partner who had been around the Tower as many times as Anders, tonight was supposed to be about love and lust and mutual pleasure. What exactly had his father said? Malcolm Hawke had loved his wife and children, Anders was sure, but sometimes he would hear a tale that had him wishing for a spell allowing one to bitch-slap the dead. Tonight would probably be one of those occasions.

It was late afternoon by the time they got back into town, but the merchants in Lowtown were still open another hour or so. Perfect for Anders’s master plan. They dispersed in front of the Hanged Man, Merrill hugging everyone of them around the ribs before scampering off, including Scout. To Elliot, she tugged at his shirt until he bent so she could whisper something in his ear. He immediately colored and swatted at her giggling, retreating behind. Varric look a question at him, but all Hawke said was, “She just had some suggestions.”

“So… all right,” Anders said nervously. Okay, get it under control. “I was going to get Varric’s help with some shopping, and I guess I’ll, um, see you later…?”

Hawke licked his lips and nodded, stammering slightly, “Ah, yeah. I should go get some things… done… for Mother and, um, the uh, short man who lives with us… Bodhan! Heh, right, Bodhan.”

“Bodhan, right.” Anders nodded his agreement and cleared his throat.

“Right. Bodhan. Fuck.” Varric mimicked, covered his eyes with his palm and rubbed his forehead. “When I’m writing this part, don’t be insulted when I take a few liberties. Hawke, say, ‘I’ll see you tonight, Anders.’”

Elliot laughed and some of the tension eased. “I’ll see you tonight, Anders,” he repeated obediently. Anders was in the process of saying something back, but Elliot Hawke, in the middle of the Lowtown Market, in front of Kirkwall, a couple of guardsmen, a beggar or two and the world and the Maker, pulled Anders into a very sweet, very sensual goodbye kiss. “I’ll see you. C’mon, Scout.”

Anders could feel people staring, and he could feel the breeze hitting his teeth while his jaw was dropped, but he couldn’t be bothered to care. Beside him, Varric crowed with laughter and said, “And Hawke improvises for the win! Awesome! Come on, Blondie, let’s get your love affair off on the right foot.”

Instead of heading straight for the market, Anders followed Varric into the Hanged Man. He didn’t think anything of it at first, Varric lived in the tavern, after all. But they came to a stop at the bar. In front of Isabela. This, Anders thought, resigned. This I did not need.

[For once, we are in complete agreement.]

Isabela smiled at them and opened her mouth, but Varric preempted her greeting. “Hey, Rivanni, pay up.”

She looked shocked, so that was at least something Anders could take from this encounter. “What? Did those two finally fuck?”

“Not ‘till tonight, but it’s inevitable. So pay up.”

Isabela grumbled in her native tongue as she dug through her purse. “I suppose that’ll teach me not to bet on the dark horse. Here, you smirking shitheel.” She handed an admittedly smug Varric five sovereigns. They both ignored Anders’s outraged sputtering at the invasion of privacy.

Varric pocketed three of the coins and offered two back to the pirate. “Here. You’re taking the bride-to-be to the market and getting him all gussied up. He wants to do this by the storybook.” Varric clapped him on the hip. “Get whatever he wants. If you go over two gold, let me know. I’ll pay you back.” He pinned Anders with a stern look before he could voice a protest. “Before you get in a huff, it’s not charity. It’s a gift. Take it.”

Anders ducked his head. “In that case, thank you.”

The dark-skinned woman threw back the last of her ale and gave Anders a long, measuring look. Finally, she was smiling again and she slid her arm into Anders’s.

“I need some good wine, first thing,” Anders said, thinking back to Karl’s predatory smile and the way the candlelight played off wineglass as young Anders sipped.

“I know where to get the best. No, Corff, he said good wine.” She and the bartender stared at each other for a second before the man shrugged in acquiescence. “Come on, darling.”

It became immediately apparent that Isabela might have been the wiser choice for the task. She seemed to take the mission with an unusual seriousness, either out of concern for Hawke or in appreciation for the opportunity to use her expertise. Yes, this wine was perfect. Yes, a dozen red roses were sweet, but three-dozen was even sweeter and the florist will even throw in some clay vases. And candles, yes, but the white beeswax, don’t even look at the yellow tallow ones again. She insisted that he get a new shirt and oh, these green leather breeches, aren’t they soft? They were also criminally tight and Isabela only suggested them after he explained that he never really wore smallclothes.

Three crown and sixteen silver later, Anders had a carefully covered crate that Isabela took from him and shoved him into Varric’s suite for a bath. And so he sat alone in a tub of lukewarm water, wriggling his toes absently in the depths and contemplating his evening.

Elliot Hawke wanted him. Loved him. Loved him even with Justice involved.

He was loved. Loved.

He hadn’t dreamed it. No one was coming to his solitary cell in the hell of the Tower to wake him from cruel dreams of heaven. Templars would not take this from him. A Blight would not part them. He would never fight alone again. Never again.

He was loved

They were loved.

[I will… retreat for the evening. Later, I will wish to speak with Elliot directly. But for now…]

I know. I appreciate it. Thank you.

[Tell Elliot that he is loved in turn.]

“I will,” Anders said aloud. Outside the small window set high in the wall, the sky was growing darker. The mage rose from his bath, butterflies careening in his stomach. He dressed carefully, making certain that everything was buttoned and laced and tucked into the proper places. He was almost loath to put on his stained old coat over his new clean clothes. He frowned, glancing around, feeling that he was forgetting something. Spying a couple of empty sheets of paper, he thought to write out a message for Varric to pass along to the clinic volunteers and set some of his own silver on the top. Just in case Elliot would let him occupy his next few days, and no, that thought didn’t make him over-excited, not at all. Anders was spending an inordinate amount of concentration on buckling the last straps on his jacket and hitching up his staff when Isabela slipped into the room.

“Oh, now why did you have to put on that ratty old thing?” She clucked her tongue and offered a stoppered red bottle to him.

“This coat was a present from the Hero of Ferelden. Not that it looks it anymore.” Anders took the bottle and sniffed at the cork. “What’s this?”

“That would be my favorite massage oil. It’s made with roses and it’s rather… slippery.” Anders shook his head and Isabella grinned. “Stick-in-the-mud that you’ve become, you probably prefer getting buggered with some medicinal-smelling balm. Yuck. And also, what in damnation caused that face?”

What face did he make? Shit! “I, um, don’t like to… not on the receiving end…  Some… unfortunate instances in the Tower…”

Isabela’s smile faltered for just a second. She waved her hand. “Bah! Say no more. I always figured you for a top anyway. Well, then let’s use this to make it more comfortable for our baby mage. He loves roses, but I think you knew that.”

Anders frowned at his crate. “Do you think it’s a bit much?”

“For Hawke? Not at all.” She tucked the bottle into the crate and held it out to Anders. “Let’s go, lover boy.” She walked him to Hightown, distracting him from his nerves by getting on his nerves, musing irreverently on what she would do in Anders’s place.

“That is completely none of your business!” Anders interrupted when he could take no more. “If Elliot even wants to do that, ever, it’s certainly none of your affair.”

Isabela shrugged, grinning, entirely too pleased with herself. “All I’m saying, sweetie, is that if he does, then I know where to buy fresh potatoes of that particular shape. I left him a little book on the subject. I’ve also left him several volumes of my own work for research purposes. My dialog’s weak, but I’m big on action. Rawr.”

The mage snorted and hefted his crate. Frowning at Isabela, he said, “At least you’ve never made an honest pass at him.”

Her grin grew impossibly wide. “Oh, but I did. In his own home and everything.”

“You did? And he turned you down?”

“Aw, isn’t that sweet of you! I’m surprised he could resist me as well, but he explained to me that I was sporting the wrong equipment for the job. It didn’t take long to figure out that he had his eye on you for the position.”

There was a moment or two of silence while Anders mulled that over. Something troubled him about the statement. “Wait. You knew and you bet against me? What did you mean you shouldn’t have bet on the ‘dark horse?’ Who else has been making overtures toward Elliot?”

When Isabela laughed at the jealousy in Anders’s voice, she either didn’t catch, or more likely, chose to ignore the dangerous blue spark of anger in his eyes. “Who would be the last person you would think of?” she asked.

Good question. With her mystery man, Merrill was right out and Varric would have said something long ago… “Sebastian? No…” Isabela lifted an eyebrow and the only possible name burned a black little pit in his gut. He snarled, “Fenris.”

“All right, yes, but relax! Maker!” She stopped them under the eaves of mansion, just out of the light of the street lamp. “Fenris and I have a little fun together now and then. He’s not in love with Elliot, just a little fixated. Hawke was the first person to treat him with respect and kindness and he doesn’t know what to do with those emotions. Do you think for a moment that Hawke would return his feelings? That’s right. No.”

She sighed and reached out to straighten the hairs around Anders’s forehead. “Besides, if I thought Fenris stood a chance of replacing you in Hawke’s affections, do you honestly think I would have given Varric one red copper?”

They both laughed at that and Anders tried to relax a little, pressing the crate against the wall for a moment to rest his cramping arms. He sighed and said, “I know. I’m just…”

“Insecure?”

“Ha! Yes, I guess I am.” He leaned over to kiss her on the cheek as they started moving again. “You know, you may be a dirty scoundrel, but at least you’re not afraid to call it as you see it.”

“I try my best, sweetie. Those aren’t the kind of games I have time for.” As she abandoned him on Hawke’s doorstep, she kissed his cheek and grabbed a handful of ass through his coat. “Go get him.”

Anders swallowed around the boulder in his throat and said, “Thanks, Bela.” She had already vanished into the shadows beyond the street lamps. With a hand that only shook a tiny bit, he knocked at the door.

Maybe three or four hundred years later, Orana opened the door. “Oh! Master Anders,” she said brightly. “Come in, please! Master Elliot is expecting you. He gave me the evening off after I had instructed you to find him in his private chambers.” She ushered him inside primly, making Anders smile. Both mages had asked, begged even, for the girl to call them by their given names, but Orana insisted on a “proper” household and called them both Master. It seemed to be something she took great pride in, so no one had the heart to dissuade her. 

“Well, then I’m sorry to be keeping you from your evening.”

“It’s no trouble, Master. Mistress Leandra only retired this last half hour.” Predictably, Orana then preformed what she considered to be her second most important duty. “Master Anders, have you eaten today?”

He laughed a little when she put her hands on her hips. “Yes, I’ve eaten recently.” At the top of the stairs, a door creaked open and both healer and maid looked up to see Elliot’s pale face disappearing as it closed again. “I better get going. Good night, Orana.”

“Master.” She dropped a curtsey and was gone. Anders sped up as he approached the stairs, taking them two at a time as he reached the top. He didn’t knock, reaching out instead to turn the knob, his heart singing when the door opened. He entered, set the box down on a nearby table, and shut out the world behind him.

Elliot was wearing his lounging suit, soft slippers, expensive linen trousers and smoking jacket embroidered with the family crest. His hair was damp but rebraided and his clothes clung to odd patches of moisture in some places. Anders watched him for a moment as he paced in a tight circle. “I was afraid you wouldn’t come. I thought… Maker, I felt like such an idiot earlier… I was worried—”

Anders laughed softly and took hold of Hawke’s broad shoulders, interrupting his babbling with a soft kiss. “I’m here. I wouldn’t be anywhere else for any prize in the world. You know that Justice keeps calling you a distraction? It’s one of the things on which we disagree.”

Damnit! He intended that to be a joke! Anders winced inwardly as Elliot’s face fell. “Justice dislikes me?”

“Oh, El,” he chuckled, taking Elliot’s hand gently, “don’t let that upset you at all. He likes you. I think he likes you better than me. Distraction is his favorite word, he’s like a two-year-old who’s just learned to say ‘No.’” The younger mage laughed, a little relieved, a little nervously. Anders slid his hands up the strong, muscular arms veiled by fine linen sleeves and squeezed as much of the biceps as would fit in his hands. “No Circle mage I’ve ever known as dared to fall in love. It would give others too much power over you. But I want you to have power over me. I want you to know how firmly you hold my heart. And besides, I love breaking the rules.”

He pecked again at Elliot’s smiling lips, and again as Elliot took up his hand and pulled him toward the bed. Fully clothed, he followed Hawke onto the mattress and spread out on top of him as they happily kissed each other into oblivion. He might have forgotten all about his plans if Elliot hadn’t suddenly started to shove at him. Anders rolled to the side to let the panicked young man escape to the edge of the bed. “Too fast,” he panted, then looked at Anders and put his face in his hands.

Anders stood and walked around to the other mage. He cracked his knuckles and started trying to rub the kinks out of Hawke’s shoulders. He cast a minor cantrip to spread heat through the dense muscle mass and Hawke flinched a little. “Please don’t use magic in bed,” he whispered, afraid.

“Elliot,” Anders said mildly, “could you tell me exactly what your father said to you when he caught you in the barn? Please?”

            Hawke took a shuddering breath, touched Anders’s hand with his fingertips and craned around to look him. “Malcolm Hawke’s first rule was ‘Never Trust Yourself.’ Unless I could prove that I had absolutely and utterly mastered my power, I couldn’t let anyone close. I have to be on guard every second, otherwise… What if I hurt you by accident? What if I lose control and set the bed on fire?”

            Anders was trying to keep the anger out of his face, he really was, but dull rage washed over him at the sight of Elliot’s anguish. “It’s not like that, El, I promise. The only mage I’ve ever heard of losing control of his magic when he came was this doofus named Godwin. He used to accidentally conjure vinegar when he jerked off.”

“Vinegar,” Hawke echoed incredulously. His smile was faint, but it was there.

“Vinegar, I shit you not. So picture twenty boys in a room trying to see to their own business as quietly as possible, when suddenly, a hoarse cry and the reek of vinegar permeate the darkness. We used to call the guy Pickle-knickers.” Anders leaned over and sniffed at Hawke’s sheets. “Nope. Pickle free. Besides, you know for a fact that I can take care of any magical accidents that might happen.”

“I just don’t think I’m comfortable using it in bed.”

“You don’t have to, but I’d like to teach you at some point.” Anders tried not to scold himself for implying that this would happen more than once. Now was not the time for insecurity. He rubbed tiny circles across Elliot’s back. “And I would like to show you a bit. Nothing fancy or surprising, I promise.”

“I… guess it would be fine. I’ll admit to being curious.”

“You’re twenty-four! I’ll say you’ve earned a right to be damned curious.” 

Hawke laughed a little and still wore a smile, but it took on a bitter, rueful edge. “Well, the second great rule was ‘Outsiders can’t be trusted.’ All it takes is one bad break up and one person going to the templars out of spite. I was the oldest boy and a mage, I had a duty to look after the family above my own needs. And I’ve thoroughly failed on that front.”

“El, don’t –”

“But then he asked me if I knew what some templars liked to do to men who preferred other men.” He paled, swallowing hard. “They rape them like women. Tell me it isn’t true.” Saying no would be a lie, so he just took Hawke’s hand instead and pressed a kiss into his palm. “I hated him for all of two days before I apologized. Of course he was right. I needed to keep my priorities straight and my preferences hidden. Just in case.”

As much as he wanted to be angry with Malcolm Hawke, Anders couldn’t deny that the man’s harsh measures had worked, keeping the family safe all those years. To hear the rumors from the Gallows, Carver had developed a reputation among the mages for his kindness and protectiveness, especially toward young girls and the Tranquil. Malcolm had managed to raise two fine men, who had been wounded in the war for their freedom. Now it was Anders’s job to try and heal the damage, at least for Elliot.

“El, I want you to do something for me. Could you go into the bathroom and not come out until I knock? I have a surprise to set up for you.” Hawke nodded up at him. If he felt any curiosity, it didn’t manage to chase the sadness from his eyes. When he walked to the bathroom and shut the door, his posture spoke of defeat. Anders covered his own sadness by setting to work.

He poured a little water into the clay vases as well as a couple of vases he found unused in the dusty corners of the large bedroom. He scattered the flowers around various surfaces, and even contemplated scattering rose petals on the bed, but then thought better of it when he pictured them sticking to skin. He lit one tall white candle from the fireplace and used it to ignite the others, seven in all, placing them just as carefully where they wouldn’t be knocked over. In addition to the fire, they brightened the room nicely.

… Elliot Hawke sweating and gasping, skin glistening in the candlelight…

This time, Anders didn’t chase away the image. He held onto it, undoing his jacket and tossing it on a chair when he started to sweat. After a moment’s thought, boots and tunic joined the coat, leaving Anders in just the new clothing. The discomfort of the new breeches was keeping Anders half-hard, but they still showed a definite outline. The healer laughed at himself as he uncorked and poured the wine into a single glass. Taking a cue from Karl, he filled his own glass with no more than a swallow or two, just enough to give the impression of drinking. The rose-scented oil, he tucked behind the leg of the bedside table. He took the glass in hand and went to knock on the bathroom door. “El, love, it’s okay to come out now.”

The door opened and Hawke emerged, blinking. His face was unreadable for a moment before his expression turned to joy. “You did all this for me?” he asked breathlessly.

Anders smiled and handed him the wine glass. “I wanted this to be worth waiting for, mageling. Is now the time for pet names?”

Those jasper eyes were smoldering as they met Anders’s over the rim of the wine glass. “I should think so, sweetheart.”

Anders stepped away and leaned back on the bed frame, watching Elliot become a little looser as the wine disappeared. The younger mage eyed him openly, becoming bold now that his hands and mouth had something familiar to do. It would take far more than a single glass of wine, maybe more than a single bottle, to get Hawke drunk. Instead, Hawke’s mind was using the alcohol as an excuse to let himself go. “You are brilliant, El, you know that? I love the way your mind works.”

“Well, Ma Hawke didn’t raise any morons. Wait. Carver. Scratch that, then.” Elliot chuckled a little, looking around. “This is glorious, Anders.”

“You like it, then? Not too feminine?” Anders arched an eyebrow as Hawke bent down to sniff one of bouquets.

“I love it. But then, I’ve been told that I have a lot of feminine qualities.” Elliot’s mouth quirked and Anders could almost see some troublesome thought begin brewing in his mind. “I suppose I really wouldn’t have lasted five minutes in the Circle.”

The healer shook his head and beckoned Elliot to sit beside him on the bed. “We aren’t in the Circle, mageling, we’re perfectly safe in your room. It’s just you and me. Scout’s outside by the fire and Justice is asleep here.” Anders tapped at the back of his head with a finger and Elliot leaned forward to kiss the spot. “This is the way it should be for every mage. The whole world is nothing but this room and you and I.”

“I’ve never been able to be open about who I am.” Elliot’s eyes were huge and luminescent in the firelight.

“The world is ending. It’s just you and I now.” Anders knelt up on the soft mattress and reached around to tug the ties out of Hawke’s hair. He hummed appreciatively as he slid his fingers through it, fanning the slightly damp strands around Hawke’s shoulders. “There. I have wanted to do that for four long years. Now is the time for being honest with each other. Don’t be afraid to tell me who you are.”

Hawke turned his head and caught Anders’s mouth, skating the tips of two fingers across the cheekbones he seemed so fond of. “My name is Elliot Hawke. I’m a mage and I’m in love with you,” he sighed. Anders could feel a smile on the lips pressed to his. “I want you to show me what I’ve been missing. I want to meet the Anders Isabela’s always on about. Is that… okay?”

“Okay? Here I thought he was dead, but it turned out that he only needed a redheaded, lightening-happy apostate kid to lure him out of hiding. And does he ever want to play.” Anders purred the last of the words in the hollow between Hawke’s jaw and ear.

Hawke gave him a little shiver of pleasure and allowed Anders to take the dangling wine glass from his fingers. Warm hands rucked up the back of Anders’s shirt and slid up either side of his spine, cutting off his laugh. He arched backward shamelessly just from that simple touch and Elliot gained the courage to suck in tiny spaces across Anders’s throat. “Anders… where do I start?”

The healer shuffled back reluctantly and pulled the belt on Hawke’s smoking jacket until it loosened. “I want to see you when you’re not covered in grime and blood with your guts poking out. And yes, before you can say it, at least I can be sure you’re beautiful on the inside.”

“Oh, you’re good,” Elliot rumbled as he helped Anders slide the linen jacket off his shoulders, too worked up to put any teasing into the act. Anders tossed the jacket at the chair that held his own. When he turned back, he caught his breath.

“Oh, Maker. El…” He wasn’t just well-built, he was sculpted. The skin of his chest and back was lighter than his arms, the color of tea with milk. The red curls covering his chest were thicker than Anders’s own brownish-gold dusting, and they trailed off into Hawke’s drawstring trousers, begging Anders to follow with more than just his eyes.

The man himself broke Anders’s reverie with a snort and a self-deprecating shrug. The muscles involved in that shrug rolled like a seismic event. He started to say, “I still practice drills with my staff in the basement. And I also train with weapons—GAH!”

Anders had frowned and tucked his fingers into Hawke’s ribs, tickling the smart-mouthed mage into submission. Now Elliot was letting out shrieking giggles and slapping at Anders, who was straddling his legs, barely pinning him down. He pinched the stiff fabric of Anders’s new shirt and tugged playfully. “Off,” he whined. “Nice as it is, off.” He laughed, blocking Anders’s hands and poking him in the ribs as the older mage tried to comply. He managed to get it over his head and off before he heard, “Anders! I can count your ribs, sweetheart!” The instant burst of self-conscious mortification was almost worth Elliot sitting up to run his hands over Anders’s torso. “Don’t you dare tell me that the meal I bring you is the only one you get all day.”

“All right. I won’t tell you,” he quipped, and folded his arms across his chest.

Hawke immediately tried to tug them open. “I’m sorry, Anders,” he said gently. “You’re beautiful, more than I ever dreamed. I just worry about your health. Maker, it would kill me to lose you.”

“Hey, look at me, love.” Anders leaned forward against Hawke until the younger man stopped looking away. He rewarded his partner with a couple of small kisses. “You aren’t going to lose me. We had a saying in the Wardens: ‘Not even death can tear us apart.’ It allowed us as friends and family to fight together without hesitation. And I believe it. I believe it whole-heartedly. Because what I feel for you is so big that it would call me back from the Maker’s side just to watch over you. I love you that much. And I’m sorry, because I should have said it sooner.”

He couldn’t say anything else because Hawke lifted up to claim his lips, hard, but not desperate. This was finally the same heat they had accidentally found on the trail. Anders realized quickly that they had shifted enough that their erections were pressed together through cloth and suede. He ground down and Hawke shouted as if in pain. “Ouch. Was that too rough? Too hard?”

But his partner fixed him with heavy-lidded eyes and murmured, “It’s too hard. Maker, I’m too hard. It hurts.”

“That’s it, that was beautiful. Keep talking to me just like that. Tell me what you’re feeling. Tell me what feels good, what hurts.” Elliot nodded slowly, letting Anders arrange his limbs however the other man wanted. He slid off the bed and quickly tugged the drawstring on the fine sleeping trousers Hawke wore. He didn’t let himself look up until everything of off. Oh, dear Andraste, he had freckles on the top of his thighs. He forced himself to meet Elliot’s vulnerable eyes, but his willpower was stretched much to thin to resist the siren call of those freckles. Almost rudely, Anders shoved Elliot’s long, elegant legs apart and looped his arms under his knees, dragging his hips to the edge of the bed.

Elliot yelped in surprise, but Anders was down, tracing the topmost line of muscle from knee to groin with his tongue, turning the noise into an unsteady moan. “What are you doing?” Elliot gasped. Anders followed tense muscle to the tendon inside of Hawke’s thigh. Here he smelled almost disappointingly of herbal soap and Anders could well imagine Hawke scrubbing every inch of himself nervously. He rolled his eyes up to meet Elliot’s and he saw the trepidation there. In the deference to Elliot’s lack of experience, Anders forced himself to slow and redirected his mouth to kiss a line up the v-crease of his groin to the outside of his hip.

Anders laughed a little and rasped, “Freckles. Sorry. I do love redheads. Especially ones who look like young gods.” Elliot had shyly tried to move his hands to shelter his hitherto private parts from sight, but Anders gently lifted those hands away, kissing each palm and wrist and nipping at the tips of fingers until Elliot had to draw them back with a soft laugh. “See, love? Just because we’re in bed doesn’t mean that everything’s deadly serious. I want this to be fun and relaxing for you. I want it to feel safe. Do you feel safe?”

“With you, of course. With the… act itself, I’m trying. I’m sorry.”

            “No apologies here, I understand. Now sit back. Let me get a good look at you.” Elliot nodded and complied, leaning back, supported by the palms of his hands, legs still spread wide. Anders noted how close he was already, scarlet flush rising on his neck and chest, nipples standing at attention, thick, graceful shaft twitching and purple enough to look bruised. Even that part of him was wonderful, maybe around two handbreadths long with a very slight upward curve, leaking just the slightest bit of fluid, just enough to beg for Anders’s tongue. Anders bent to catch the droplet, barely touching the sensitive head peeking through the foreskin. He smiled at Elliot’s gasp, leaning over the other mage to smirk as he ran his hands gently up Elliot’s torso. “Mmm, I was right about the taste, at least. You and I are going to explore that later. Not right now, though. I want to see your beautiful face when I take you in hand for the first time... Okay, sugar lump, tell me what’s wrong?”

            Hawke’s brows had furrowed as he rubbed his hands up and down Anders’s bare arms. “Anders, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you how handsome you are. You are. Handsome, that is… lovely, really. All this lean muscle, you look like someone sculpted you out of wrought iron. And these scars…” Bravely, Elliot leaned forward and ran his tongue over a particularly sensitive pink burn and Anders moaned a little, tensing minutely to give that clever, hot mouth a more taut workspace, his hands buried in Elliot’s hair. A few fantastic minutes later, Hawke laughed softy against Anders’s skin. “You’re so strong. You’d think these scars would warn anybody with a brain to beware of Gray Wardens.”

            “Oh, no,” Anders laughed without thinking, “most of these were well before the Wardens. I was rarely injured fighting, the Commander took it almost as a personal insult if something got to me behind her shield.” He only realized his mistake when distress overtook Elliot once more. “Hey now, don’t worry one minute about it. It’s fine now, mageling. It’s all in the past. Let’s concentrate on now.” Hawke caught the hand carding through his long hair and kissed it, but he turned the inside of the wrist up and gaped at Anders in horror, slow tears escaping down his face. Anders sighed as Elliot bent his head and kissed fiercely along the thin white scar running the length of Anders’s wrist from palm to elbow. “I wasn’t always so strong, Elliot,” he admitted. “I’m glad now that I failed in that particular escape attempt.

            “Every mage I’ve ever been with had an assortment of these markings. But you don’t, love. Your skin is so innocent. Tell me that I’m the first to ever touch your bare shoulders.”

            The man in question drew a shaky breath and wiped his eyes, rolling his head to one side to touch his cheek to Anders’s hand on his shoulder. “You’re the very first.”

            Anders nodded, saying, “Good. Very good.” He pushed Elliot back on his hands again and bent at the waist, his hands braced against the younger mage’s ribs. His thumbs brushed lightly over the tight brown nipples, making Elliot gasp and Anders smile. He sucked one little bead into his mouth, suckling gently at first and graduating to nipping as Hawke’s breaths grew more clipped. He switched to the other, thumbing the nipple abandoned by his mouth until his partner was moaning in short, high-pitched bursts and grinding against Anders’s hips, seeking any contact at all. He pulled back to demand, “Tell me I’m the first to ever taste your skin.”

            “Ah, you… you’re the first… please…”

            “Please…?” Anders cocked his head even though he knew full well what Elliot wanted, probably more so than Elliot.

            He whined and hooked his fingers in the waistband of Anders’s trousers. “Please, I need to see you, to touch you…”

            Chuckling softly, Anders unlaced his pants as slowly as he could, spurred to greater heights of self-control by the effect his teasing was having on Hawke. He bent to shove the last of his garments down his legs and stood up with a little flourish as he kicked the clothing out of the way. Elliot reached out with shaking hands to touch Anders’s hipbones, slid around to ghost over his buttocks. All he said was, “Anders. Wow.”

            That earned Hawke a delighted laugh. “What prompted ‘wow?’ Not only am I scarred up and skinny, but I think you have a solid inch or so on me.”

            Elliot finally laughed a little. “Well, that looks sizable enough to me. I’m just wondering if it will fit.”

            Anders raised a teasing eyebrow. “Fit? You want me to…?”

            The other mage colored charmingly, trying to suppress an embarrassed smile. “Yes. You… you know what I mean.”

            “Maybe I do, maybe I don’t. Tell me.” Elliot bit his lip and shook his head. Anders asked again, his voice dropping a register. “Here, I’ll help. Say, ‘Anders, I want you to fuck me.’”

            “Anders, I…”

            A few heartbeats passed and Anders leaned in close, his lips brushing Elliot’s ear the only contact they made. “Say it. Now.”

            “Anders, I… want you to fuck me.”

            “Very good, mageling,” he breathed. “But if we tried it first thing, neither one of us would last. El, watch me. I want to see those amazing eyes. Watch me.” He crouched down and Elliot curled toward him, curious. Keeping his eyes locked to his partner’s, Anders wrapped his hand around Elliot’s cock and stroked once, root to tip. Elliot gave that pained shout again, his head tipping back. Anders withdrew completely until Hawke looked at him once more. This time, he licked his way up and down, fingers locked in a tight ring around the base to keep the young mage from coming too soon. Poor Elliot was desperately trying to keep his eyes open, but he was reduced to twisting the sheets in his fists and occasionally sobbing out Anders’s name.

            This time, Anders couldn’t blame him. Not when he was being deliberately merciless and throwing teasing sucks and nibbles on top of merely trying to wet down Hawke’s member. He reluctantly pulled away and watched as Elliot immediately rocked forward, moving as if he was thinking to take himself in hand. Instead, his fingers skated along the top of his own thigh. “No,” Anders rasped. He grasped Elliot’s wrist and guided the hand back to his cock. “Touch yourself. Don’t come. Stroke yourself. Gently.” After a moment’s hesitation and the uncertainty that lingered in his eyes, Hawke wrapped his fingers around himself and began to move. “Yes. This. Yes. When do you do this? How often do you fuck your own fist? Tell me, Elliot.” The lids of Anders’s eyes grew heavy and his voice took on the ring of command.

            “I… oh Andraste, save me… Almost never, but I’m hard every night, every single night. Hahhhhh, Anders…” The younger mage bucked up into the circle of his fingers and pinched cruelly, torturing himself.

            His observer licked his lips and trailed his fingertips over his own aching cock, even as he winced at the statement, at the thought of Elliot being so afraid that he wouldn’t allow himself even that little bit of comfort. “El, what do you think of? What image torments you so? I can come on the barest thought of you, your voice, your scent. So sweet. I’ve burned for you for three years.”

            Elliot slowed down until his fingers were barely working, massaging the delicate skin in tiny circles. “I imagine you owning me completely. I slick my fingers and touch myself inside, just a little…”

            “Later, mageling. Later. Do you want to touch me?” Anders caught his breath at the excitement that overtook his partner. He sat up further and reached out to stroke over Anders’s tight torso. Anders may have been underfed, but he benefited from one of the very few good things about being tainted. In addition to Grey Warden stamina, his blood had shaped his body into a whip-thin showcase of lithe twisting muscle and sinew despite a lack of dedicated exercise. Elliot’s hands roamed the peaks and valleys blindly, touching simply for the tactile delight.

            Anders grew unsteady on his feet, the aura of dictator slipping from him for a moment until Hawke’s fingers were buried in blond curls, framing the jutting center of him. He smiled up into the older mage’s face and asked, “May I?”

            “Of course, love.” Then Anders was nearly screaming as an unexpected mouth closed over the head of his shaft. “Oh f-fuck. Fuck! No, don’t stop, I’m alright, just surprised.” He let out a tremulous laugh, which Elliot echoed, sending vibrations through sensitive skin. “El, not too much. Just get me n-nice and wet.” Jasper eyes looked a question up at him. “You’ll see why in a second.” Elliot gave him a long, happy moan obeyed at leisure, licking and slavering with more eagerness than skill. Anders gave him free reign until the tension began to gather in his balls and lower stomach. It was then that he stopped Elliot and pushed him back against the bed. He followed Elliot down, lying flush on top of the other once more, kissing his face and neck and beautiful laughing mouth.

“This is why,” Anders breathed and watched Elliot’s face transfix with pleasure as Anders thrust against him, sliding smoothly in the hollow of Elliot’s thigh, caressing the long, strong shaft beside his.

            Hawke cried out hoarsely and clung to Anders, who kissed him and swallowed his noises, whispering what must have been encouragements. The younger man’s hips picked up speed, the easy glide getting hotter as the moisture between them began to dry. “Yes, El, faster,” Anders murmured in his ear, his own movements becoming slightly easier with the amount of sweat pouring off him. “Are you going to come? Let go, mageling, let it all go. Let go for me, I want to see it.” He rose up on his elbows just in time to watch Elliot’s face contort in shock, his eyes squeezing shut as his entire body convulsed against Anders, once, twice, three times…

            “Ah, Anders.” His voice was tiny, reedy, nearly lost. Anders tried to comfort him with a kiss as his own release rolled through him and he groaned against Elliot’s shoulder before collapsing. The rush of blood in his ears deafened him for a few moments. As he came slowly back to the world, he felt Elliot’s arms closing around him protectively. Anders tried to slide off to the side, but Elliot followed, molding himself to his partner’s body and hiding his face in Anders’s chest.

The healer held him as tightly as possible and stroked his long, tangled hair. “El?” His answer was a muffled huff that sounded like Scout barking in his sleep. Anders laughed and pushed away slightly to catch Elliot’s eyes. They sparkled up at him, the younger mage smiling softly, open and carefree as Anders had never seen him. “Sleepy, lovely boy?”

He grinned and ducked his head, blushing slightly. “A little. I’m a mess.”

Anders pulled away a bit and ran his fingers through the fluids smeared between them. With Elliot watching, he touched his finger to his tongue and smiled. “We’re a mess. Do you want me to lick you clean?” Elliot started laughing, giggling, and shoved his face into the pillow to muffle the sound. “Mageling,” Anders half-sang, “that was an honest question. I’ll do it if you’d like me to.” More giggling and a red blush crept across his partner’s shoulders. “All right, we’ll stick to the washcloth for now.” He climbed out of bed to wet a cloth from a pitcher on the sideboard. When he turned back, Elliot was peeking out from under the pillow to watch him. He came out completely when Anders sat down.

He lay back while Anders cleaned them both carefully, Elliot’s hand darting out shyly to swipe at the matter gathered on Anders’s hip and popping his fingers in his mouth. Anders smiled at him, welling up with an odd sort of pride at his boldness. “Do we taste good?”

“Yes. Bitter, but it’s us. Our mess.”

Anders nodded at this as he set the cool cloth aside and stretched out beside his partner. His hand stroked down Elliot’s belly to tangle and card through the dense reddish curls protecting Elliot’s manhood, simply for the feel of it. They lay together as close as they could. “Nothing bad happened,” Anders observed at length.

 The head cradled beneath his chin shook. “No. It’s because you were here.”

“Or it could be because you don’t leak magic while under stress.” Anders chuckled when Elliot shook his head again. “Yeeeees. I’ve seen you get angry, and the angrier you get, the less magic you use. Never once did you turn it on Carver in the Hanged Man, you always whipped his ass fair and square, hand-to-hand. You won’t even light the fireplace if there’s flint and tinder to be had.”

“I warm the bath water with magic,” he admitted.

Anders snorted, “Everybody does that. But that minor cantrip? That’s exactly the same spell I used earlier to warm your shoulders, but I drew out the casting in order to control the effect. And since I can smell the argument coming, I’ll answer now: yes, I think you are more than capable of being subtle with your power.” He said no more on the subject for the moment, content to rest with Elliot finally wrapped up tightly around him, skin to skin.

“Thank you,” Elliot whispered, nuzzling the underside of Anders’s jaw.

“Hmm? Thank you for what, mageling?”

Hawke lifted his head and shifted to see Anders. “Thank you for what just happened.”

That made Anders chuckle and kiss Hawke on the forehead. “What just happened, El?”

“I don’t know what you call it,” Elliot admitted with that same child-like naughty grin. “But it was beautiful. I never thought I would be able to be that free. You were worth the wait.”

Anders raised an eyebrow at him. “Oh, did you think that I was finished with you?” He placed his partner’s hand on the flat plain of his lower stomach and slid it down until it cupped his cock, which had softened only halfway and twitched with interest at Elliot’s touch. “Don’t look so amazed, I’m not that old. Besides, have you ever heard tales about Gray Warden stamina?”

“I… Maker, I thought Isabela was joking about that!”

“Isabela told you?” Anders laughed at the image that brought to mind of Hawke in his pajamas while Isabela read him a bedtime story.

The blush was back in blotches and Elliot tried to shake some of his hair into his face. “Um, Bela… I asked her what it was like to lay with you.”

“You did? When?”

“The night after I woke up in your clinic. She taunted me and I was desperate enough to take the bait. I’m sorry.”

Three years ago? Isabela knew three years ago and said nothing? A small voice in the back of Anders’s head reminded him that he would have said something stupid and discouraging then and he wouldn’t be here now. At first he thought Justice had woken up, but then he realized it was simply the voice of his own common sense.

No wonder he didn’t recognize it.

“Hey, El, remember I said no apologies in bed, not unless you accidentally knee me in the meat’n’veg.” Anders reached up to twine red-brown hair around his fingers and asked nonchalantly as humanly possible, “What exactly did she have to say?”

Elliot burst into fresh giggles and hid his face against Anders’s shoulder, which made the healer chuckle and planted the seed of on evil idea. “You know,” he drawled, “You’re being an awfully naughty little mageling. You had best tell me what Bela said before I take you over my knee and spank you delirious. Or would you enjoy that?” That got him a shiver and a few more faint giggles. Anders filed it away for later. “Come on, spill. You can’t leave a man hanging like that.”

“She said that you were gorgeous,” Elliot recounted, voice muffled. “She said that you could do incredible things with your tongue, which is true. Maker, is it true. Heh.”

“Well, I’m glad that my skills are so memorable. Did she tell you about the lightening trick? Don’t worry, I’m not going to use it. Yet.” Hawke looked up with wide eyes. “Some day,” Anders said, tapping Elliot on his noble nose, “you’re going to learn that trick. I’m going to teach you everything I know.” Hawke’s eyes glassed over a little, staring at Anders as if he were enthralled.

Anders remembered his reaction to a commanding tone and his desire for Anders to “own” him. “I’m going to train you to please me,” he purred, taking a chance. Elliot’s sharp inhale told him he’d struck gold.  “And I’m going to learn to please you in turn, because I am going to do things to you that I would never do for Isabela or anyone else.” He made a loose fist in all that glorious hair a tugged just enough to pull Elliot up for a kiss. A shuddering sigh and a hot, insistent hardness against his thigh made the healer laugh in turn. “Andraste’s frilly knickers! Are you ready again?” At Elliot’s bashful nod, Anders petted his head and asked, “What do you want right now. Tell me and I’ll do it.”

“Well..” he swallowed audibly and lowered his voice. “I still want you to, um, fuck me, I guess, but um—”

“El,” Anders called softly. The younger mage glanced up and seemed to relax minutely at the look in Anders’s eyes. “It’s all right, Elliot. There’s not a whole lot I’m uncomfortable with. Even then, we can talk about it. We can talk about anything. Remember, the world can’t come in here. It’s just you and I. How about I make love to you tonight and we’ll worry about any connotations of rougher words later on. Okay?”

Elliot nodded with relief and breathed out in a rush, “I want to… suck you until you’re hard again. If that’s okay.”

“’If that’s okay,’ he says.” Anders knew his grin was lecherous, but Elliot seemed appreciative. The green eyes under the damp strands of hair turned just a little from shy to coy. He let go of the younger man and pulled himself up to sitting so Elliot could slide down drape himself across Anders’s lap. “Lay back,” Elliot said. Anders complied, lounging against the pillows. Hawke crawled up beside him, smiling up momentarily before he sprawled across Anders’s thighs and took the entirety of his soft member in his mouth. The sensation was pleasant, almost relaxing at first and Anders propped his head up on his arm to watch Elliot play. This was more about Elliot than about Anders’s pleasure, but it wasn’t long before he was hard again just from the increasingly confident smile on his partner’s face and the barest traces of gentle, exploring fingers.

Anders chuckled and rethought his opinion on Isabela’s interference. Just a little.

“El, come up here. Give me a kiss.” The younger man crawled up to him like a hulking predator, taking hold of Anders’s mouth as he folded in beside him. The healer reached to grab the bottle of rose-scented oil. “Now, if I recall,” he growled into Elliot’s ear, “there was a sweet little mage boy who wanted me to own him completely. Inside and out?”

Elliot looked hesitant, but he set a pillow under his own hips and braced his feet against the bed, waiting for Anders to settle. “If you can’t find the other kid, I’ll give it a go.” He half-sat to pull Anders into one last crushing, nerves-driven kiss. He seemed more curious than afraid until Anders tipped some of the oil out on his hand. “Oh,” he breathed. “Will… will it hurt?”

“Not at all. If it hurts, we’ll use a little healing magic.”

Hawke gaze held Anders’s as he settled back against the pillows and opened his legs wide. “So brave, my pretty boy,” the older mage whispered, sitting next to Elliot’s hips so he could watch his face.

He stroked light fingers down the solid cock resting across Elliot’s belly. The other mage bucked up and gasped when a fingertip strayed below his sac to brush the hidden aperture there. Anders let him close his eyes as the single fingertip did nothing more than circle and massage the opening, occasionally delivering a calming stroke to shaft or balls. He leaned across Elliot’s chest, petting and whispering nonsense, and even humming, nursing at what few scars the mage possessed. Anders stayed that way long enough for his arm and leg to go to sleep.

When Elliot relaxed completely and opened his eyes partway, Anders smiled and asked, “How are you doing?”

His partner nodded and his face held no trace of fear. “I’m fine. You can go further if you wanted. I think I’m ready.”

“I love you,” Anders murmured, moving minutely to press one finger inward.

Elliot tensed immediately and took a couple of deep breaths, but he smiled weakly at Anders and said, “Keep going. I want this. I want you.”

For a few minutes, the only sounds out of the younger mage were hisses small grunts of discomfort. Anders had sympathy for him, but he didn’t offer to stop. Still, Elliot relaxed fairly quickly and Anders was able to use two fingers to alter the pressure, stroking inside, looking for the little organ that might make this easier for Hawke. “Still all right?” he asked. Elliot’s hair was becoming soaked in sweat and his face was scrunched up, but he nodded. Anders kissed his temple and let his lips linger there, whispering encouragement. After a moment, he felt what he was seeking and curled his fingers gently.

Hawke yelled loud enough to startle Anders. The young man arched up and almost out of his grasp, but Anders steadied him and pressed again. Elliot’s eyes went wide and his limbs shook until his partner relented. “What in the Maker’s name was that?”

Anders couldn’t help but teasingly slip into the role of mentor. “That, sweet thing,” he said with a slightly clinical air, “is an organ that all men have that makes this sort of thing truly enjoyable. Some are more sensitive than others. What do you think?”

“Please,” he whispered, “do that again. Please.”

Anders laughed and it sounded dark, even to his own ears. “You think that it feels good now?” The younger man stretched out under him had time to throw Anders one questioning glance before he sent the mild heating spell directly through the muscles gripping his fingers. Hawke’s shoulders left the mattress completely when he arched up again and split the air with a long, undulating wail. After a moment, Elliot tried to speak, but Anders smirked and sent another pulse of heat. The fourth time, he slipped in a third finger and chilled the fingertips of his free hand to trace so very lightly over Elliot’s sweat slicked torso and burning, weeping cock.

By the time he pulled away, Hawke had turned Anders’s name into a chant, a prayer, or another language entirely. Hawke wasn’t the only one suffering. Anders waited until his cock, his mind, his heart and soul, his hair and gods-damned fingernails were screaming at him in unison that his only purpose in life was to be inside of Elliot Hawke. The desperation made him swift and he was slicked up and kneeling between Elliot’s legs before the younger mage had completely recovered his senses.

“One last time, El,” Anders murmured, giving Elliot a moment to relax and gather himself. “Are you sure you want to do this now?”

“Of course I am,” he panted. He gave Anders a smile that warmed him from head to toe, and a nudge against his pelvis that heated him from heart to groin. “I want this to be with you. I’ve always wanted this with you.”

“Good, because I want you so badly that it’s going to kill me. Three years, mageling…” Anders cut himself off by pressing into the unspeakably tight oiled entrance. Elliot gasped and reached to pull Anders down on top of him. “Just a minute, love. Here…” Anders pulled Elliot’s hips up his thighs so that he would eventually have some good leverage for thrusting. “Go ahead and put your legs around me when I’m inside.” Maker, he thought, please don’t let this hurt him too badly.

            Elliot twisted his upper body and took in his breath in a series of short gasps. His hands fisted in the sheets. He was barely three inches in and his partner’s body was one line of tension, chest heaving and muscles quivering in the legs draped around Anders’s hips. Elliot’s teeth gripped his lip in a way that would soon break the skin. Anders actually forced himself to stop and ask, “El, are you okay? Do you need healing?”

            Hawke actually whined in response. He opened his eyes a sliver and panted, “It feels… Maker, I have you inside me. I can feel your heartbeat. I’m full of you. More…”

            Speechless, Anders let himself be drawn in completely to Elliot and down into his trembling arms. “Maker, mageling!” Anders laughed, trying to get rid of his own tension. “I thought I was killing you!”

            Elliot’s long legs hooked more firmly around Anders’s waist, locking him in place. The guilt on his face was terrible. “I thought you were killing me. I was terrified I was going to come too soon. I’m sorry.”

            “No, don’t worry about it, beautiful. Just… talk to me, okay?”

“Okay.” He reached up with his nose and bumped the tip of it against Anders’s, chuckling playfully. Anders licked a stripe up Elliot’s face from jaw to temple and his partner retaliated by making growling noises into his neck and nipping at the worst of Anders’s ticklish spots. They were both laughing softly, the slight shaking tightening Hawke’s body and pulling a sharp exhale from Anders. “Are you alright?” Elliot asked.

            “I’m more than fine,” Anders answered quietly. “The feel of you is exquisite. Can I move?”

            “Maker, yes.”

            Bracing his knees under Elliot’s hips, Anders pulled out slightly as he rocked backward and then moved forward, pressing home again. Hawke arched up in his arms crying out Anders’s name and clinging for dear life. The sounds traveled directly to Anders’s enraptured cock, leaving Anders just enough brainpower to speed up slowly, to angle his hips up, searching again for that spot… He broke from Elliot’s embrace, sitting back on his calves so he could watch the other mage sob and writhe beneath him as he thrust hard and fast, without mercy. Elliot’s voice rang dully off the walls, begging Anders for brutality, sobbing blasphemies. The exact opposite of the quick and quiet desperate trysts in the Tower and Anders welcomed it all, answering back, “Louder. Scream for me, Elliot. Is it good? Tell me, is it good?”

            “S’good. Anders… Anders, I need… hah… need you!” Elliot sat up a little way, reaching out, finding hand holds on Anders’s sharp hips.

            Anders leaned forward once more, bracing himself on fists clenched to either side of Hawk’s head. “Beautiful. Hot and perfect, so perfect,” he panted, thrusting hard enough to make Elliot shift in the bed, “just like I dreamed. Elliot… I can’t hold on. I can’t hold on.”

            Elliot reached up and squeezed Anders’s wrists painfully as his body tensed and shook, shooting his release high up on his chest without ever touching himself. The sudden clench of muscle and surprise wrung the climax out of Anders, who shouted Elliot’s name while pleasure hit him like a hammer. Dazed and sweat-soaked, Anders toppled forward, but caught himself on his fists and held his body up over Elliot’s. Hawke’s hands were running along his arms, sliding across his back, through his hair, down his chest, anywhere they could reach.

            The legs around his waist relaxed and Anders lowered himself to his elbows. This time, he couldn’t resist tasting Elliot, and lowered his face to lap up the issue strewn across the heaving chest below him, tasting bitter, but sweet, and he realized what Elliot had been talking about. When it was gone, he laid his head over Elliot’s heart and closed his eyes. Hands immediately came up to cradle his head and Anders nearly cried. Elliot shifted and he realized that he was still inside the young man. He couldn’t really think of Elliot as a kid anymore, at least not at the moment. Anders rolled off of him, and they were soon right back where they started, burrowed into to each other.

            Hawke spoke first, his deep voice vibrating Anders’s side and shoulder. “You’re my first. Be my only. I love you. I don’t think I can say that enough.”

            Anders squeezed his eyes shut, fighting emotions that wanted to knock his tongue loose and run away with it. He couldn’t figure out how to say to Elliot that he had never felt this intimate with anyone, so he just said, “I love you, too. I had been holding off on saying that. How stupid am I?”

            “Not stupid, just cautious.” Elliot pushed himself up on one elbow and started rearranging the soaked strands of hair clinging to the older mage’s face. “You’ve had a hard life.”

            “You haven’t had it much easier.” He grasped one of Hawke’s hands in both of his and held it over his heart. “I swear to you, Elliot, that there will be a world without templars one day. There will be a world without a Circle to take away little Hawkes from their families. No more hiding in the cupboard with me.”

            Elliot took his hand away and slid it up to pull Anders’s face to his. “Even though I don’t quite mind hiding in the tiny cupboard with you, I swear,” he whispered against the other mage’s lips, “I will do whatever it takes to help make that happen.” The kiss they shared to seal the pact was wonderfully brutal and passionate and Anders felt himself responding for the third time in the evening, but his stomach had other plans. The two men broke apart at the savage snarl from the Gray Warden’s midsection. Elliot laughed in surprise. “Your stomach approves. Let’s go get something to eat and then we can… I don’t know, play around in the tub maybe?”

“Food and a real bathtub? Now I know I’m dreaming.” Anders sat up to wet the washcloth again, first cleaning himself, and then rolling on his side to gently reach behind Elliot to clean him up and channel a little healing magic to ensure he would be able to walk normally. The younger man’s cheeks burned with an embarrassed blush, and Anders couldn’t resist another few minutes of kissing the charming man in his arms. Eventually, his stomach groaned again as if it was ready to strike out on its own to find provisions.

Hawke jumped up, dressing in his house clothes and tossing a spare set to Anders. The fit wasn’t too bad, but Anders had to suppress a laugh at the thought of himself in hand-embroidered, tailored pajamas. Once dressed, Anders glanced around, as apprehensive in Hawke’s world as Hawke had been in bed. He groaned a little in horror when a thought struck him. “Maker’s monogrammed cock ring, El. Do you think your mother heard us?”

Elliot laughed, grabbing his hand to tug him off the bed. “Not a chance. The walls in this room are so thick that I used to shut Scout in here so company couldn’t hear him barking. We’re fine. Come on, Orana has this bottomless pot of stew that’s always simmering on the kitchen fire.” The two walked down the stairs into the darkened front room of the house, holding hands like teenagers. Scout lifted his head up from the hearthrug and grunted. Anders nodded in greeting and the slobbering beast closed his eyes and was snoring again by the time the men reached the kitchen. The fabled pot of stew was there and Elliot filled a bowl for Anders first. It was nearly gone by the time Elliot filled his own and found some fresh soda bread and butter.

They ate standing over the counter, Anders slowing down until Hawke promised him that he could have thirds. One bowl for Elliot and three bowls, one soda loaf, two glasses of tea and a slice of strawberry rhubarb pie for Anders later, the two mages stood by the kitchen fire, simply holding each other. At length, Elliot said, “Don’t ever leave.”

Anders laughed, tightening his arms. “I’m not going anywhere, mageling. I’ll live here if you’ll let me.”

Hawke stood up straight, excitement lighting up his features. “Really? Finally?”

“Yes. You win the argument. Darktown’s too dangerous. I promise I’ll use the cellars for my comings and goings. No one will know I… What?”

Elliot was shaking his head. “Not acceptable. I want everyone to know you live here. As a matter of fact…” He pulled away, taking a deep breath before kneeling down in front of Anders. The healer cocked his head in confusion. Elliot took his hand and asked, “Will you marry me?”

It felt as if someone poured a bucket of hot water over Anders’s head. He felt his cheeks heat, his chest tighten, and his thoughts start flying around like trapped moths. “What…? I…? The Chantry won’t—”

“Fuck the Chantry,” Elliot spat. “We don’t need the blessing of an institution that wants to put us in chains. The only approval this needs is yours. Yours and Justice’s. So I pledge myself to you, to Justice or Vengeance, to your life, your causes, regardless of anything that qunari or templars or this city or this world can throw at us.”

Anders was shaking so badly that he slid down to kneel with Elliot, who took up his other hand and held it to his chest. “I… I…” Anders grit his teeth to stop the sob that wanted to break loose. The tears rolled down his cheeks and splashed across their joined hands. Hawke clutched them even tighter. “I love you, Elliot Hawke. If you’ll stand up in front of Kirkwall and the Knight-Commander and say you love an apostate and you don’t care who knows it…”

“Only if you’ll do the same, love,” Elliot whispered with a little huff of laughter.

“Then I’ll be honored to call myself your husband.”

He broke down and Elliot pulled him against his chest. “In that case, I love you, Anders Hawke. And I always will. Not even death can tear us apart.”

From deep inside Anders’s soul, Justice woke for the briefest of moments, a half-heartbeat’s flare of a blazing blue torch of approval and affection that was gone just as quickly, but brought on a fresh wave of tears.

At length, Elliot’s soothing noises and whispered endearments (not to mention the nagging ache of kneeling on flagstones) helped the older mage to regain control. As he thought about it, there was one last show of faith he could make. “Gebahardt Hawke,” Anders confessed in a choking whisper. “Anders is just easier to say.”

“Gebahardt,” Elliot murmured, mimicking the pronunciation perfectly. “Quite the mouthful.”

“So I’ve been told,” Anders replied automatically.

Elliot laughed. “Dirty jokes. See? It was meant to be.” He stood and pulled Anders up after him, turning to rummage around on the counter for a kitchen towel. Anders was trying as best he could with the back of his borrowed sleeves.

“Oh, Elliot.” Both men jumped at the feminine voice in the darkened room. Leandra came into the kitchen. She set her candle down in its holder and offered Anders a clean handkerchief. “Why?”

“Mother, I love Anders. I’m sorry I never told you about my… preferences. This isn’t a decision we’ve made lightly—”

Leandra shook her head. “No, darling it’s not that. Maker, I’ve known you were fey since you were three. Your first crush was on our landlord in Highever. I know. Trust me, a mother always knows something like that. I don’t care about preferences. It’s just… did you have to take after me?”

Hawke raised an eyebrow at his mother and drew Anders closer to him. “Are you upset, Mama?”

“No. Maker, no.” Leandra laughed. “A war hero and a healer? I’m impressed you’ve done so well for yourself. I was just hoping that you would entrance some noble girl the way your father won me. It figures that you would be the one falling for handsome apostate. I was just hoping for grandchildren.”

“There’s Carver,” Anders pointed out against his better judgment.

Both mother and son laughed. “I want grandchildren while I’m still young enough to enjoy them. Carver’s a sweet boy, but girls have never exactly flocked around him. Unless they’re paid.” Anders sputtered a shocked laugh and Elliot made some noise never before produced by a human throat. “Please,” Leandra chided, pouring herself some cool tea from the jug. “I’m not blind. Not that it would matter as many nights as that boy came home reeking of cheap perfume.

“So. Anders Hawke. It will be good to have another man in the house after so long. Come here.” She took Anders’s hands and pulled him down to kiss his cheek. “Welcome. Make my son happy.”

“In any way I can,” Anders rasped.

Leandra turned and took up her candle and mug. “I’m off to bed. I understand that you’re young, but please keep it down next time.”

“Gah… Um, yes, Mother. Sorry.” Elliot paled in the firelight.

Leandra hummed skeptically, then shook her head. When her door closed, Hawke leaned in close to Anders, his hands untying his loose sash and sneaking across the healer’s stomach. “I’m not really sorry,” he whispered.

Anders grinned against Elliot’s messy hair and murmured, “Neither am I.”

            And thus The Kid, Elliot Hawke, shed the moniker of his youth and began the longest and most important phase of his time in Anders’s life.

            My Husband.

 

 

 

Comments

[msbarrows]

That was excellent, and yes, with just enough cheeseyness to be pleasant. I had a very enjoyable time reading bits of this on and off all day in between everything else I was doing, and I'm very much hoping there's a part 2 due some time, especially since I have a bet with myself over just who Merrill is seeing.

"You'd like each other if you sat down and talked." *Snorks*

[seven_corbies]

Thank you! And yuppers, I have the story of Merrill and her mystery man already outlined.

Go ahead and guess. If you guess right, I'll use your screen name in the story. ;>)

[msbarrows]

My guess would be Carver, of course!

[seven_corbies]

Ding ding ding! Indeed, I ship this combo like FedEx.

What name would you like to appear?

[msbarrows]

How about the name of my Dalish warrior, Arren Mahariel? He's a cutie (http://i115.photobucket.com/albums/n296/MsBarrows/Dragon%20Age/introspwective_elf.jpg)

Plus I have a series of stories revolving around his party and it'll be fun to see if anyone reads us both and spots the name :)

[seven_corbies]

Ooh, he's the hotness. Mind if I take a crack at drawing him? And also, do you have a link to your fic?

If he's a Marhariel, I'd like to give him a larger role in the story.

[msbarrows]

Feel free to draw away :)

Have a series tag on the k!meme - http://www.delicious.com/dragonage_kink/series:Arren_&_Co - only the untitled one actually revolves around him, the others are Jowan/Alistair and Zevran/M!Amell stories (he's got some non-Warden also-rans in the party). Arren's the one that's The Warden in my AU and leads the party, but so far everyone else is getting the starring roles in the stories. :)

I really need to get around to writing some more bits for him, where he actually has more of a role then telling people when to set up camp, and stop being idiots about things :)

[msbarrows]

...and it looks like my reading project today is Missing Verses. Yay on a whole ocean of fills to wade through! Only up to the third one yet and enjoying your stories and your Tabris very much already. Even that first one, which as nasty a subject as it covered was still readable and, perhaps more importantly, believable.