they'll rip you apart, i swear that they will.

[vengeant]

[ by the time the shadows have lengthened across the ground outside the double doors, hanging open on their hinges from the last grateful family to leave, the clinic has all but been emptied out. it's a strange sight, only tempered by the image of people huddled in ragged clothes not far outside the dooryard. if darktown ever stopped harboring masses of refugees, or smelling of mildew and effluent, he'd have to — well, pick up and move shop elsewhere. it would be quieter, but no-one needs a clinic where there are no people.

anders doesn't nudge the doors shut when he walks back from leaning out of them. the lanterns are enough to write by, but the cast of the sunlight across the bare floors could almost make him believe that there isn't miles of rock situated threateningly above his head. maybe if he squints.

he can't forget where he is, or what it is he's doing. it's a stake stuck in the soft earth inside of him, in the heart of him. the heart is just another part of the body. physically, he knows what he is, who this flesh and blood and bone belong to. the rest, he's not so certain. but they share a common goal, one they might — must — achieve. a basin of lukewarm water is resting on the floor beside anders' desk. he kneels to heat it with his fingertips just breaking the surface, and scrubs his hands clean after with a stiff cloth. he leaves the cloth to dry over the rim and wipes his face with his damp, pink hands, rough stubble scraping his palms, before he pats them dry against his trousers. a message, an idea, can't be destroyed as easily as a body. nor can a spirit. but they've reconciled their differences.

tucked in the back is a clean cot, and he eyes it after he draws himself up from the floor, but somehow the chair tucked under the desk with its hard wooden back ends up presenting itself as the more inviting choice. so he sits, bent forward, and doesn't write, thumbing the pages of an unfinished manifesto, plucking at the feathered end of a worn, ink-stained quill. ]

Comments

[vengeant]

[ the tenderness hawke shows him drives the stake deeper — what he did was the right thing. what he did was the only thing he could have done. they can't continue this way. even hawke's position won't protect him forever, and outside the city? it's more than a risk. he's high-profile. and that's besides the root at the bottom of the thing, the real truth, that they shouldn't have to hide. that they should be allowed to make their own way without the bloody chantry holding a sword over their throats from the moment they're born. everything about the way they live has to do with bending under that.

anders shuts his eyes and turns his head to pass his lips over hawke's, bumping their noses together, smiling with him. it's a sad excuse for a smile. ]

Wonder what it's like in Nevarra at this time of year?

[ it's not a yes or no answer, to a question that probably called for one. it's simple, anyway. it should be simple. the answer is yes, whatever hawke believes. he thought he already said that, but he understands that it isn't easy to decipher his misdirections. usually he's so honest, but he had a lifetime of deflection before this to draw on. ]

I might be.

The situation in the city isn't going to diffuse quietly.

[havik]

[ he feels foolish advocating for a path he knows neither of them is bound to take. before, hawke had his mother and carver to look after. he couldn't consider leaving the city, no matter how bad it got. but now... he doesn't know. he thinks about it, sometimes. what it would be like to pack up and slip away in the middle of the night. by morning, the thought's usually vanished.

he can't leave his friends. and without any viscount, the people are depending on him. even if he goes down in the history books as the man who destroyed kirkwall, he wants it at least recorded that he tried. he is trying.

he kisses anders when he brushes their lips together, feeling the sharp bridge of his nose against his own. it feels like he's losing him in a way that he can't quite express, or put his finger on. the elusiveness makes him nervous, like if he just knew what it was he was standing against he could fight it properly. ]

Nothing ever has before.

[ going by past precedent, nothing in kirkwall has ever diffused quietly. and meredith is set to blow. anyone can tell, even the knight-captain in the gallows is getting antsy and he's always been a pushover. ]

I suppose it would be irresponsible to skip town. Who knows when they'll want to throw some sort of ball in my honor? Imagine the embarrassment.

[ hawke lifts his hand to cup the back of anders's neck, rubbing the soft, short hairs there that are too short for his ponytail. he came here with some kind of idea in mind. he's not getting distracted so easily. ]

I wouldn't go without you.

[vengeant]

[ it's sort of like a fantasy, the two of them imagining they could go somewhere. they can't. they wouldn't. hawke could — he has the right — but he can tell that he won't. even talking about it now it's just a joke to him, the idea of it. something to imagine and never follow through. most of his life has been strangely opposite. he wanted to run from the tower so he did; he wanted to sleep around so he did; he wanted to give justice a choice so he did, and then he left the wardens, crossed the sea, came here. kirkwall, he's never thought of it as home, but he never thought of the circle as home either. it's an intractable concept, left somewhere behind him, somewhere in the house where his parents are living, or where they used to live, or inside the barn that he almost burnt down watching the sparks that flash-banged to life just by the touch of his fingertips.

the sweetness of hay and smoke in his nose and his mouth, he can taste it if he tries hard enough.

anders begins to fold when hawke touches the back of his neck and presses his fingers through the fall of his hair delicately curved behind his ears. it's been a while since he cut it, but he hasn't had the luxury for that sort of thing in a long time. the circle gave them little luxuries, and he gladly gave them up. he wouldn't exchange that for this. ]

I... Wouldn't want you to.

[ his fingers find their way through hawke's fringe when he raises his hand, pushing his hair from his eyes before it falls untidily back into place. ]

But where I'm going, I don't know if you can follow. I can't promise you a future.

[havik]

The way things are going, I'm not even sure I can promise myself a future.

[ hawke smiles up at anders, the tenderness of his expression belying his inner nervousness. he's not sure what anders is trying to tell him. and he can't shake the suspicion that it's something. something beyond the usual corrupting rot of kirkwall eating away at them all. more than once hawke's suspected that this story of theirs might not have a happy ending, no matter what varric's instincts are.

it's not as if he has to search for reasons anders might be suffering. things are worse for the mages than they've ever been. it's clear that there's a fight coming, one way or the other. he's never wriggled out of picking a side before, but the consequences have never felt so final. it's starting to feel like one or the other.

he knows what he'll choose then too, but the templars have the backing of the chantry. the mages have no one, and he's not sure he makes for fair compensation.

hawke shifts his hands to anders's hips, soothing them up and down his thighs over his heavy coat. ]

I'm not much for promises these days.

[ for obvious reasons, since every undertaking he's ever tried for himself has turned out with dead relatives or the further destruction of kirkwall. the discovery of red lyrium, that was a good one. ]

[vengeant]

[ it doesn't lift his expression, but he understands what hawke is saying — that perhaps it's all right that he doesn't have any guarantees to give him, if he can't say the same. the way things are going. it sets an edge in him, sharpened and poised, more grounds for his convictions. he knows who's to blame.

anders' thighs are taut underneath the fabric underneath hawke's hands, breath bubbling imperceptibly in his throat when he opens his mouth to ask, ]

Truly?

[ it takes a considerable amount of effort for him to keep from telling hawke that he deserves better. hawke's probably had enough of him telling him what he deserves; and does it matter? most people don't get what they deserve, and the world and its absent maker don't care to give it to them. maybe he should be chasing hawke out of the clinic, back up to hightown, back into fenris' stolen mansion, because he already knows how this is going to end, but there's the driest sliver of something other than hopelessness stuck in his throat that won't let him do it.

there's no possibility it's hope. longing, maybe. desire past the point of desire.

his stomach is clenched, and hawke's touch does nothing to dissolve it. his hands drop and he finds his wrists, folds them in his bent fingers. ]

Then, will you stay with me tonight?

[havik]

[ hawke's pulse starts to race when anders's hands drop, knowing he can probably feel it in his wrists. that's what comes of getting involved with a healer. he still hasn't worked out whether it's taken this long for him to get his act in order because it feels like disloyalty or whether he's been stalling on what he really wants for other, less obvious reasons.

fenris and hawke had all kinds of time to work things out. they had years. and while hawke's fairly certain he made his position clear on that night they shared together, fenris hasn't seen any need to return. he knows he'd be welcome. so, in a way, hawke thinks the silence speaks for itself.

he's ready to move on. sometimes he thinks he should've started from here all along, but there's no sense looking back on all his mistakes. if he does that, he's not going to recover from the weight. ]

I thought you'd never ask.

[ he's a little too breathless for it to come out as offhand as he'd like. he's thought about asking anders to spend the night with him; the idea's fluttered through his head on more than one night when he's laid awake alone in his mansion, listening for the sound of the dwarves and orana moving about the household.

he'd stopped thinking of his situation as something he could change until anders brought it up on their latest excursion together. knowing he still thought about hawke that way... well it's changed a lot of things for him. a lot of things that led to him being on his knees in anders's darktown clinic past sunset.

he lets his eyes drift from anders toward the back of his room, where he knows for a fact there's a clean cot for one set up. ]

Shall we...?

[vengeant]

Yes.

[ a catalyst for change, that's how he'll know himself in the future, however short his future is. there's no road he can see winding away from here. the only path he can bring himself to follow is the line from where they're sitting to his so-called bed tucked away in the back of the room, debris pushed up behind it; it isn't much, but he's made do. he'd like a better setting for their time together, but the estate is distant, and he's uneasy about the idea that he could belong there. even if hawke has already invited him.

isn't it different, now that he's revealed himself?

anders squeezes hawke where he can feel his quick-beating pulse, slipping his hands into his hands to draw him up so that they can both stand together. it brings them chest-to-chest, wedged into the small space between his pulled-out chair and rickety desk. the only real illumination is coming from the lamps now that twilight's purpled into near-darkness, depriving them of the light that was laying across the dooryard. the smile he shows hawke is tender and coy before he pulls himself from his orbit to dim the lanterns outside and firmly shut both doors. they make a dry, thudding sound when they fall into place.

on returning to hawke, anders takes his hand to lead him to his cot — it doesn't look any different from the other cots, aside from it's cleanliness, a stretch of fabric suspended across a wooden frame. it's barely a place to sleep, but he's had sex in more impossible places than this. his hands find hawke's lapels and he tugs on them, rubs his hands palms-down over the swell of his chest, the movement twin to his deepening breaths. ]

Should we get rid of these clothes first?

[havik]

[ hawke's heart is pounding when he gets to his feet, chest to chest with his wrists in anders's hands. he can't say that this is how he envisioned this happening, but he's gone over it in his mind so many times over the years. there's a lot of room for possibility. it might be one of those things that he's thought about for so long that any reality makes him feel like he's in a dream.

he's not dreaming. but following anders back to his bedroom in the back of the clinic makes him feel a little lightheaded.

that cot looks smaller than he remembers. fortunately, hawke's never backed down from a challenge. he leans in and kisses anders at the corner of his mouth, swiping his tongue lightly over the rough beginnings of a beard. anders has never been clean-shaven in all the years that hawke's known him, but he's never grown a beard, either. instead, he lingers in the in-between space of looking generally unkempt.

he doesn't take care of himself. hawke's always known that. he's not thinking about it in the usual terms right now, though. ]

Well, it's been awhile, but I'm reasonably certain that's still how it's done.

[ hawke fiddles with the buckles on anders's coat, finding them beneath his feathers where they're fastened tight across his chest. he hasn't worked out how they're going to both fit on anders's bed yet, but that seems like a distant concern when set against the prospect of seeing anders naked for -- it can't be the first time. but it is, somehow. ]

You should make me one of these, when you've got the time.

[ he likes the look. hawke and his family used to scavenge their things on a regular basis, but anders's skill with making his own clothes is something he never quite aspired to. he was better at repairs. ]

[vengeant]

Oh, that's not the only way to do it. I prefer it, though there's something to be said for getting up under someone's robes...

[ it isn't as though those doors are locked, but most of the time there are no templars banging them down. after all those years in the circle, he takes advantage of that. counts it a win. this is — this is beyond winning or losing. anders is distracted by the sight of hawke's hands on him, ruffling his disordered feathers and unfastening his buckles, so much so that it's almost conspicuous. it doesn't mean anything besides the fact that, well, it's been a long time for him too. and he's thought of hawke at least as much as hawke has thought of him. who can say for certain, something like that?

a smile tugs at anders' lips. ]

You like this?

[ his habit was to collect things like a crow would, with a preference for shiny wearables, but then he left half his belongings with the wardens and the other half went to silvers to buy food with, back when he first stumbled off the boat into the city. now the bulk of his diet is supplied by donation, by the grateful and the lucky. hawke isn't wrong that he doesn't look after himself. tailoring his own clothes is the most that he does.

anders' fingers tug open hawke's soft, dark coat, sides parting so he can wiggle his fingertips under the hem of his short-cut tunic and lift the fabric up his belly. he reaches to push his coat from his shoulders, then shifts again to untie his sash from his waist. he uses it to pull hawke's hips flush into his. ]

I want... Everything. You.

[havik]

I like it very much.

[ the words come out halting. he's not reluctant to admit it, but he's hawke has always known that anders would be good at this. he tries not to think too much about his past, for reasons he can't quite define even to himself, but it's crossed hawke's mind once or twice. that anders is experienced. that he knows what he's doing.

hawke's not a virgin and he's not dead, so he's had some experience in his life. but listening to anders talk over the course of the years has made him very aware that he's the clueless one in the room.

anders has never made him feel like he's any less than he needs to be, though. when he's with anders, he feels like the champion everyone expects him to be.

it's not an expectation. it's just... who he is. he stumbles forward gladly into anders's hips, flipping open the buckles on his coat as his hands move lower and lower, knuckles glancing over his belly. ]

I think that can be arranged.

[ he could give anders everything. maker knows hawke is tired of bearing it by himself all the time. he could let anders have him, take a break for the night. he pushes at anders's hips, rumpling up the soft fabric of his chemise over his belly. he gives him a little tug, backing them toward the cot. ]

[vengeant]

[ hawke's reticence doesn't go completely unnoticed, but he covers for it well enough. anders can't find any evidence that he isn't enjoying this, gauging by his enthusiasm, though equally he can't think of any reason he would be nervous. except for... all those reasons they have. all those things hanging over their heads, much the way kirkwall is, poised above them. it's not like he ever meant to be experienced. it was a part of the place he was living when he was younger, and then it crept into his life, became a part of who he is. or, who he was. his proclivities haven't changed, but his priorities have.

hawke is one of them. he doesn't know how to tell him that. inevitably, it will appear his claims were counterfeit.

some things have to happen. some things have to be done. ]

We're going to be here a while, then.

[ anders smiles a coy little smile, stomach twitching where hawke touches him, first with the backs of his knuckles, then with his hands. he takes his own hands from hawke's body to tug loose the bandages from around his wrists and dump his coat off his shoulders in a heap, buckles clinking. his boots go next, maneuvering with one hand on hawke for balance while he tugs them free without undoing any of the fastenings. it leaves him in his thin chemise and pants, boot-cut, skinny calves showing. exposed doesn't describe how he feels. he doesn't know what it is; knowing he's being watched sends shivers up his spine, electric sparks. it's its own kind of magic.

he picks up the sash hanging around hawke's waist again and pushes him gently, knuckles against his hips. the cot is in no way built for two people — he glances over his broad shoulder, trying to estimate. maybe if they fit in side-by-side... it doesn't matter. they'll figure it out. he takes his hands away, again, reluctantly, and pulls his chemise off over his head to leave that on the floor too. ]

[havik]

I've been hoping you'd feel that way.

[ even if he didn't come with a change of clothes. he's got nothing on hand to show that he meant this as an overnight visit, but in the back of his mind it's what he came here for.

hawke stares while anders undresses, unashamed now that they've finally come around to the point of admitting why he's come in the first place. it seems silly that he ever thought he could hide it, now. hawke doesn't know what he was waiting for, all that time. he's always known anders was skinny, but seeing him out of his layers really drives it home. hawke reaches out without even thinking, brushing his fingers over anders's skinny chest, finding the pale freckles where they dust his shoulders.

he rubs his hands over anders's stomach and moves to touch his hips again, hoisting him up off his feet and pulling him into his arms. he's never been one for looking over touching. and he's spent such a long time staring after anders without ever doing anything about it.

it's surprisingly simple to hold anders suspended in his arms. in that sense, he's as small as he looks, half-naked like that. hawke can get himself undressed later. right now, he's more interested in holding anders up against his chest, lowering himself down to the cot. he's more than a little surprise -- and relieved -- when the little bed doesn't collapse under their shared weight. ]

[vengeant]

[ they'll be here a while if the cot doesn't give out. maybe even then.

anders' eyelashes flutter when hawke touches his chest, his shoulder, no real muscle to speak of under his pale skin. the lifestyle he's lead hasn't been very sedentary, but equally so it hasn't given him much chance to fill out. it's been a long time since he ever thought to be self-conscious about it with his background, but it's kind of difficult not to notice the differences between him and hawke. mages from very disparate upbringings; that's never been more obvious. strange how these things show. his throat moves when he swallows — he's thinking of kissing hawke again when he picks him up.

it probably shouldn't shock him that hawke is handsy. it probably also shouldn't shock him that hawke can carry his weight like it's nothing. it doesn't stop him from laughing, surprised and breathless, or grabbing onto hawke's shoulders even though he's not afraid to fall. he isn't being squeezed very hard, but the sensation makes his chest tighten. looking over hawke's shoulder he has the wherewithal to draw his legs up so he doesn't bash his knees into the wooden strut, and then he's in hawke's lap. panting dumbly. squeezing his thighs around hawke's hips. his pants feel too tight.

anders relaxes his arms from around his shoulders so he can draw back and kiss him like he meant to. ]

[havik]

Anders...

[ he barely gets the words out before they're kissing again, anders in his lap like he's always belonged there. maybe he has. hawke's been trying not to look back and live in regret these days, so rather than think about all the time he's wasted not having anders in his lap, he'd prefer to enjoy the moment.

he spreads his hands over and down anders's thighs, enjoying the the hard, lean muscle under the palms of his hands. he squeezes when he reaches the space where anders's thighs meet his hips. he tilts his face up into the kiss, leaning forward as the cot creaks under their bodies. despite how light he was in hawke's arms, he feels heavy in his lap, making hawke throb between his legs.

the cot's sturdier than it looks. anders is too.

hawke's flushed beneath his clothes, the layers that kept him warm through the streets now proving a hindrance to him. he lets go of anders just long enough to peel apart the separate sides of his tunic where anders already loosed them from his sash. he already started the job for him. hawke's just helping things along, shrugging to bare his shoulders. ]

[vengeant]

[ anders' hands find their way to hawke's chest, fingers unfolded against his pectoral muscles, hair sticking to his damp palms. he scratches his nails from his collar down, making tiny furrows all the way to his belly where his hair thins for tan skin and soft, taut muscle, where their bodies are too close together for him to fit his hands at this angle. he turns his wrist to stick the fingers of his right hand between them, lifting his hips precariously so that he can grope at hawke through his trousers.

his left hand slides around hawke's side to touch over his back, follow the long, sturdy line his backbone makes up from his hips, over the subtle curve of his ribcage, over the flat blades of his shoulders, and his heavy, muscular shoulders. with their mouths still together, lips sticking, he touches his fingertips to the vertebrae at the base of the neck, and up until the small, fine hairs at the base of the skull, catching them between his fingers. he doesn't pull. he pushes hawke toward him, moves his mouth against his, licking over his tongue and his teeth, groaning into his mouth. his chest rumbles with the sound pulled deep from his center. there's sweat gathering in the dip at the small of his back.

it feels cruel when he takes his hand away from between their bodies to clutch at hawke's sides instead, to squeeze him high under his arms before he arches his back and presses their chests together, raises his hands higher and shoves him by the shoulders. ]

[havik]

[ hawke shivers under anders's scrutiny, closing his eyes while he feels his hands rove over his chest. he groans when anders wiggles his hand between their bodies, pushing his hips up greedily into the pressure of his touch. he's got too many things he wants to do, his brain firing in too many directions to be able to following any single thought through. it makes him feel oddly reactive. trust him to freeze up in the bedroom, when everywhere else he's always been quick to jump and think about the consequences later.

with anders, he thinks he's spent too long contemplating his actions. they've got some time to make up for. his kissing turns sloppy, mouth hanging open slightly as he hitches his hips up in slow, needy thrusts. hawke lets out another groan, this one in faint protest when anders frees his hand from between their bodies again.

because he's focused on what he's lost, he's not expecting it when anders gets his hands on his chest to push. hawke goes down easily on his back, reaching to feel for the wall behind him in a half-hearted effort not to crack his head. he spreads his legs to make room for anders's weight between them, using gravity to his advantage. he bites anders's lip again, digging his teeth carefully into the soft flesh. ]

Why do I feel like you've done this far more intelligently than I have?

[ he's still in his boots, for one. hawke hooks his calf around anders's bare one, holding him in with his arms and legs both. ]

[vengeant]

[ anders can't catch his shiver with hawke getting tangled up in him, holding him against his body while gravity pushes him down, ankle caught around ankle. there's no fighting it, and he makes another obscene sound with hawke's teeth in his lip. he has to swallow two, three times before he can find his voice, eyes flickering open, nose pressed to a high cheekbone, breath damp. he kisses hawke's cheek, drags his lips over the short, sharp hairs. ]

You're... remarkable.

[ there's nothing stopping him from rubbing his hips into hawke's, so he reaches above them to curl the fingers of both hands around the strut over their heads and apply it as leverage, putting his entire body into the movement. his flush is a full-body flush, pink everything. hawke, at least, can hide behind his complexion, although the way he moves gives everything else away — it's a hungry, parched wanting. anders finds it simple to match. his arms are shaking. his throat and lungs both burn, and it's not purely psychological. sometimes he's convinced his body is going to warp under the pressure of having two souls inside it — he knows what he is, and hawke knows what he is — so he wants to show him how he feels while he's able.

it's not his choice when he lets go, but he finds a better place for his hands to rest, returning them to lay against hawke's sides. ]

If I were doing this intelligently, I'd have invested in a bed. Or a mattress, at least.

[ his voice comes out muffled against hawke's cheek. it doesn't make any sense, what he's saying, since it's not as though he knew this would happen, but he doesn't much care. he breathes in deeply, ducking his head to tuck his face against the side of hawke's neck, kissing over his pulse point, kissing the junction between neck and shoulder where the muscle's big and hard. his fingers are tucked against the place where the last curved rib bone gives way to softer parts of the body. ]

[havik]

[ hawke shudders, his breathing running thin when anders gets a bit of leverage to rock their hips together. it's a sudden pressure and press he isn't expecting, the resulting flush of heat through his thighs and between his legs making his cock throb. he keeps returning to the same conclusion: that he knew anders would be good at this. that it shouldn't be any surprise to have it demonstrated against his own body. but he keeps on being shocked and appreciative. he should have done this years ago, but he knows that too.

hawke doesn't feel remarkable. that's not the word he wants. he feels small and a little shaky, like anders is the skeleton key made to undo him from the inside out. he does it so effortlessly too. that's his favorite part.

well, they haven't been at this long enough for hawke to start picking out his favorites yet. but he feels confident in his decision. he's certainly not bound to pick anything wrong, anyway. there's too much good to choose from. ]

Anders.

[ it's all he can manage. he's breathless, desperate to get out of his trousers and into a more intimate position with anders. he can feel his heart hammering in his chest; they're so close that he figures anders must hear it too, but that's irrelevant. he's not alone, it's not just him. his pulse flutters under anders's mouth; he's sweating under his trousers. he came to anders because when they're together he's never in it by himself. hawke reaches up, holding anders's face close to his own where he's breathing hot against his cheek. ]

I think I'll serve rather decently as a mattress, don't you?

[ he slides his hands down anders's back to feel over the curves of his ass, cupping the muscle under his palms and giving him a firm squeeze. ]

[vengeant]

[ some patience is going to be required if they want to see this through to its obvious conclusion. he can't say what, exactly, they both want, but he knows they're aiming for trousers off, and that should be easy enough to follow through on. anders pushes his ass up into hawke's hands, taking advantage of that moment to slither his own hands down along the sides of his stomach, his hips, and hook his fingers beneath the hem of his trousers to tug them down curtly below his knees. traveling the way back up he feels over hawke's muscled thighs, squeezing, holding his hips while he has the room to maneuver, cupping him in hand and pressing him against his belly, fingertips tender at the base of his cock up to the tip, where he rubs the underside with the pad of his thumb. he puts an elbow down by hawke's side and makes for his own pants when he can take his hand away, picking the laces open with trembly fingers and pushing them down one hip at a time until he's exposed under hawke's warm, work-worn hands.

after he's done a satisfactory job he settles himself down on top of his body, stretching out over the length of him, knocking their knobby anklebones together. ]

You'll hear no complaints from me.

[ anders swallows, wondering if hawke can hear the sound. he can't hear his heart beating, but he can feel his pulse through his stomach where their stomachs are touching, through his cock where he's trapped between them; he can feel his own pulse just as loudly as he lifts his head to meet hawke's mouth, touch their lips together. ]

I've wanted this for so long. I never thought...

[ that this was possible. that the world worked that way. his life doesn't work this way, which is what makes it so easy to believe, and be convinced of, the way things must end. it's a cause-effect law.

it isn't as though he expects to escape judgement; or justice. ]

[havik]

[ hawke's lips part when he feels the kiss of cold air against his hips and thighs when anders tugs down his trousers. the damp of his sweat sends goosebumps along his sensitive skin, making his breathing catch. he should feel a little more humbled, by anders's skills in maneuvering them into place, but he's too busy enjoying himself. there's no room for shame when this feels like the easiest decision he's made in years.

he bites into his own lip when anders's fingers brush his cock, giving him a look that's a little sly, like they both know what he's doing here. they do. he draws his legs up to get his heels on the bed, giving himself leverage to push his cock up into anders's where they're both bared to the air, rubbing up against anders's fingers and using his hands on his ass to hold him in close. ]

Ideally not.

[ complaints seem like something he should be trying to avoid, in an intimate setting. he would prefer it that anders had no reason to complain. he grips anders's ass now that it's bare under his hands, loosening his hold to give him a little smack. he's just improvising, moving on impulse to enjoy the fact that he's finally got anders under his hands.

if they've both been waiting for this, he doesn't know what took them so long. he kisses anders back hungrily when their lips brush together, hitching his hips up to see if he can rub himself up against anders's cock again. it's not as if he's never been in bed with another man before. but there's something about this man that makes hawke want to savor the moment. he doesn't want to blow past anything that would make for a good memory later. even the stiff canvas under his back is adding to the moment.

hawke lifts his hands to cup anders's face, holding him gently in place. ]

I'm sorry it took me so long.

[vengeant]

[ when hawke looks at him he smiles, smug — he knows he knows what he's doing. and when hawke takes his face in his hands, his heart seems to stop, even though he knows it's just a feeling, everything catching up to him at once. anders has never dealt well with being caught. ]

No. This isn't your fault.

[ it takes all of his self-control not to say right out that it's his, and then in the moment after he's swallowed the urge the next thing he has to restrain is the compulsion to say that it's fenris who's to blame for keeping hawke unknowing for so long, for leaving him in the dark for three years after the death of his mother. clearing the air was too difficult, evidently. maybe he's incapable of the emotional depth to understand what it's done to hawke, all of this tight-leashed waiting around for nothing. fenris doesn't have anything to give.

anders would like to believe that he does, at least in this, if nothing else.

his body moves back against hawke's, slipping where their skin is gathering sweat. he drags his mouth over hawke's cheek, rasps his tongue over skin and tastes salt, something that makes him think of the sea, and how he once wanted to sail it. most of his erstwhile desires have been far-flung for his position; wanting freedom as a mage, wanting a full life as a grey warden, wanting hawke as whatever it is that he is now, tainted and possessed. hawke knows all of these things about him. ]

Name anything, and I'll do it.

[ he finds hawke's ear with his teeth and tugs, nose in his hair. ]

[havik]

[ hawke smooths his thumbs over anders's face, feeling the soft rasp of his facial hair where it catches against his calluses. he knows it's neither of their faults, deep down, but he can't help but apologize. if he'd worked things out a little sooner it might have been better. sometimes he feels like that's going to be his legacy as champion. he leans up on his elbows to brush his lips against anders's mouth, pushing close to kiss him deeply.

since the death of his mother he hasn't had the heart to take anything for himself. but he's breaking that fast now. he deserves this. and the voice at the back of his mind that's always sounded suspiciously like his father suggests that maybe it's something anders needs too.

he gets chills when anders offers himself up, releasing his face so he can drop his hands to anders's back, feeling over the slender musculature that leads down to his hips. he hitches anders's body up against his own again, enjoying the feel of their bodies where they rub up against one another, growing sweaty and slick in the stale air of the clinic. ]

Would you fuck me?

[ it comes out halfway between joking and sincere. his smile's small, but it lingers on his face. in their flirtations up to this point, hawke's always managed to be coy, but now that they're actually getting down to the business of the thing, he's feeling strangely earnest. that's always his downfall when it comes to these things. but for some reason, he's got this sense that anders might not mind so much. ]

[vengeant]

[ anders pushes himself up on his elbows to feel his muscles shift around under hawke's strong fingers, strong hands gliding across his back where old scar tissue offers itself up in barely-defined lines and ridges, in thin, soft-as-vellum skin. some are younger than others, but his mind's not there right now; it's unbearably and wonderfully present, cock hard and trapped between their bellies while he thinks of every way that he could make hawke feel good. it's something, knowing he has the capacity. knowing he's being allowed the chance, hawke even knowing what he does about him. it's a point that can't be made enough. it's something he can't begin to take for granted.

mostly because he's convinced it can't be allowed to last.

his eyelashes flutter, mouth open in the shape of a word. anders swallows again. ]

Yes. Maker, yes.

Is that what you want? Me inside of you?

[ it's a habit of his to assume hawke's sincerity, but he knows know he isn't always serious, and that he can change his mind. and he would do anything. anything they can think of. right now, they have everything. all of this, all of each other.

his hands find their ways to hawke's hips, then his thighs, to hold him above his knees. in his head he's already considering positions. it makes his cock twitch. ]

[havik]

[ hawke wriggles under anders's touch, spreading his thighs slightly just to give him room, or maybe to show him that he can. this has already lasted longer than all of hawke's previous sexual experiences put together. he's never really had the time or the inclination to make it last, or do anything fancy. he's never felt about anyone the way he does about anders.

it makes him want to try new things. ]

Unless you had something else in mind, of course.

[ he wants to be accommodating to anders's needs. he can feel his face flush beneath his beard as he realizes what that sounds like, that he's evading the question. he's not trying to do that. ]

It is. It's what I want.

[ he takes in a breath to correct himself, but leaves it there. he doesn't want to sound too decisive, like he came here with one image in mind and nothing else will do. he's open to whatever anders wants of him, in a way that his position mirrors: open and easy, on his back with anders between his legs. he squeezes anders's waist between his thighs, letting himself fall back against the cot underneath him. ]

If you'll have me.

[vengeant]

I said you're always welcome.

[ anders smiles lopsidedly; he's not one for making jokes in moments like these, but he has the urge from time to time. even if immediately after the urge to come clean arises. it's a little problem he has, though he isn't sure he considers it a problem. there was a long time when he didn't show anyone anything meaningful, but it was another side-effect of his upbringing, and nothing so deeply, dangerously embedded that he couldn't shed it. somewhere between vigil's keep and kirkwall he let that part of himself go, and moved a little further from the man the circle of magi made him.

not far enough. but who would he be, if those experiences hadn't shaped him? it rankles him that he can't even imagine it.

he licks over his lips, eyes darting between hawke's eyes and his mouth. ]

Of course I'll have you. I've wanted you so long I can't remember what it's like to feel any other way.

[ it's a simple truth. he likes the simple ones.

his hands turn, smoothing over hawke's thighs, and he presses his thumbs to the soft, giving flesh of his inner thighs, tracing along the wiry tendons up to his groin. he keeps his cheek pressed to hawke's cheek while he wanders in mind and hand, deciding the best arrangement for their current accommodations, then getting caught up in the fact of the whole thing. being in bed with hawke. anders lets go of a hot breath and pushes his legs wider apart. his fingers are careful feeling between them while at the same time he turns his head to place another kiss against his mouth. ]