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they'll rip you apart, i swear that they will.
[ 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. ]
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. ]
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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.
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[ 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. ]
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[ the chastisement comes out warm and half-hearted, hawke's mood too good to inject any effort into pretending. he's the one who didn't say anything, back when he had the chance. and according to what anders said earlier, everyone thinks he's with fenris. maybe hawke's wrong, but he imagined that there was nothing still holding them together. he remembers trying to make an effort, and that fenris wasn't interested.
so as far as he's considered, he's been largely alone. until he got a notion to do something about it.
his mouth works as anders's fingers feel their way around and against the shape of his cock. he groans when he spreads his legs, kissing up into anders's mouth the moment he brushes his lips. he's a little self-conscious offering up nothing but himself. it's not often that hawke doesn't have something else on the line, a certain expertise or his charm or his way with a fireball, but this is anders's arena more than it's his. all hawke brings to the table is his incredible enthusiasm. and the fact that it's him, of course.
hawke trails his fingers over anders's ass, scraping his nails lightly over the curve of the muscle there. there's a thrill of anticipation low in his abdomen. he doesn't know what comes next. it's usually over by now. ]
I want you.
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[ anders wishes he had. it doesn't matter what he wishes, but he does. they can both envision it, can't they? how things would have gone, what they would have said, how they would have kissed. not much different from now, but with the thought of hope in their heads instead of what's dogging him now. it's a different kind, and it isn't kinder.
anders kisses hawke's neck and lifts his hand, parting to bring his hand to his mouth and suck his fingers, first two down to the third knuckle, tongue soft and warm against his own skin. wobbling to keep his balance, his other hand fixes itself tight-gripped to hawke's thigh, pushing his leg down at the same time. then his fingers find their way between his thighs again, thumb brushing the head of his cock before he turns his wrist and presses his fingertips lower, presses his way inside with his second finger, up to the first knuckle, muscle tight. his body flushes ear to to stomach, cock welling up and dripping, caught slippery against hawke's hip as his balance sways side-to-side. there's nothing keeping him steady but hawke's body, and there's nothing keeping hawke steady.
face tucked against hawke's throat, he uses his body as leverage so he can take his hand from his thigh and shift onto his knees, redistributing their weight, bending his arm and sliding it beneath the small of his back, using himself as support so his hips are slightly lifted. it betters the angle for when he moves his hand again, up to the second knuckle. it's not that he's trying to make this last, only—
maybe it is. if this was the one chance they had, what would they do? he doesn't know, and he can scarcely imagine, and yet it's not even that far from the truth. everything is limited, and sometimes a choice is the only choice. his throat works, thickly, breath coming in small, reedy sounds that escape him without his awareness. his brow is furrowed as though in thought. ]
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hawke has a very attuned flight-or-flight system, but he's not sure what to do when the situation calls for neither. it leaves him watching, helpfully spreading his legs to make room for anders between them.
he knows what's coming, but that doesn't stop his gasp when he feels the first press of anders's fingers up into him. he pushes himself lower onto him, coaxing him deeper. it's not that he's impatient so much as eager. he wants this, and the slight burn and pressure of wanting too much too fast doesn't act as the deterrent it should.
hawke's never been put off by something so small as slight physical discomfort. ]
It's all right.
[ he can feel anders, tense and trembling over top of him. hawke's voice comes out halting and soft. when he reaches for anders it's to rub his hands over his head, mussing his hair from where it's been carefully tied out of his eyes. if anyone does have an accident and find themselves in need of a healer tonight, well, that's just too bad for them. they're on their own. as far as hawke's concerned, someone who so selflessly devotes their time to others deserves a night of once in awhile.
he's referring to anders, of course. he can't exactly offer himself the same standards. he lets go of anders's head to slide a hand down his belly, reaching to curl blunt fingers around his cock and rubbing his thumb in the slippery mess over the head. ]
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anders is at least as eager as hawke is, but careful. or he is with hawke's body, clutching at his side with the arm wound about his middle to feel muscle coil and release as they both move together, disparately but in cooperation. his hand is gentle. his hand between his legs is similarly gentle, curling and tugging against the resistance of his squeezing muscles before he thinks to add a second finger, cautious when he does that too, his movements deliberate with attention. ]
I just — I have to keep reminding myself that this is really happening.
[ his voice is soft against hawke's skin. his kisses move down his throat to his collarbone, body bent over him. if it's a distraction from what he's doing with his hands there's no evidence of this. ]
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he's used to focusing under high pressure situations. compared to some of these things they've been through, this should be nothing. but it isn't. it's something.
hawke starts to answer, but gets distracted by anders slipping a second finger inside of him, the flex of relaxing muscle it takes to make room for him. what should've been words comes out as a low groan of appreciation instead. it's happening. that's what he meant to tell him. of course it's happening. and he's sorry that it took him so long to get around to this in the first place. ]
I'm here. I'm not going anywhere.
[ if anders will have him. he's still not sure about that, whether he knows what hawke's really asking for here. when he made his intentions with fenris clear, he ended up chasing him off. he isn't comparing the two of them, not intentionally. but it's difficult not to think about it. ]
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this is his life, unspoken like a secret, scratched into dirty earthen stone, but by his own mouth, and his own hands, and by his own choice — at least partly. justice must be responsible for some amount of this. at times he wonders about himself, if he isn't doing these things only because it's justice who thinks that they're right.
anders knows that justice doesn't care for what's happening now, thinks it's a distraction, unnecessary in the face of the feat they're trying to accomplish, but it mollifies him that they can still disagree on some things. this is absolutely necessary. hawke is absolutely necessary, even if he isn't.
even if the life they could have had together isn't.
his fingers work smoothly until the tension's loosed itself enough both in his hands and hawke's body. the slender bend of his arm between hawke's thighs straightens itself when he takes his fingers from him, holding him under the knee and kissing down to his chest. his other arm comes unwound from around hawke's waist, and he angles his face up then, noses his jawline, cot creaking underneath them. ]
This... Might work better if you're on top.
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but anders's gentle touch seems innate. something to do with him, rather than his talents. hawke relaxes when he touches him. it took him some getting used to, but he's never had reason to flinch away.
it takes him a second to come back to himself, reacting to the sound of anders's voice. he squirms under anders while he holds his leg up, huffing out a breath at the kisses trailing down his chest. ]
I can move.
[ it sounds more certain than he feels. there's a certain lassitude in his muscles that he allowed to seep in while anders was working him open. it makes it difficult for him to move. but if anders wants him on top, far be it from hawke to deny him. ]
Hang on...
[ hawke rolls himself up on one elbow with a soft hup, careful to drag the bulk of his body out of the way so anders doesn't get pushed off the bed. they're trying to make this cot work. he doesn't want to give anders any reason to regret his choice to be here. he touches anders's arm, slowly slipping his leg over anders's hips to straddle him, sitting on his upper thighs. he leans forward, bracing his hands on anders's ribs. ]
How's this? Better?
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the circle in kirkwall is a bloodbath. it's not something he can stand to think about now.
thankfully, hawke is there to take him away, again, from his tangled, sinuous, repetitive thoughts.
it requires a bit of shifting here and there for him to steal hawke's place without falling out or tipping the whole cot over, but they both find their way there. hawke bearing heavy on his thighs, legs bent to frame his skinny hips. he bends his own legs up, finds the wooden strut reaching across the bottom with the soles of his feet for leverage; he doesn't need it yet, but he will. ]
That's... Yes. Very good.
[ his skinny chest rises and falls, stomach taut, mouth open while he looks hawke over. his hands hover in the air between them indecisively before landing on his knees and sliding up, up over the swell of his thighs, up over firm muscle, up his hips, and up his soft stomach, fingers dipping shallowly into his navel one-by-one as he traces them downward into a path of dark hair. he licks his pink lips. ]
You're gorgeous. Have I told you that yet?
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well, maybe not a real bed. they'll have to work on that. he's got some plans for their future, even if he's not shared those yet with anders. he can't shake the sense that anders isn't interested in talking about their future yet, for reasons he hasn't been able to pin down. they'll have to talk about that before anything else.
but not now.
hawke rocks up into anders's touch, feeling his hands soothing over the big muscles of his thighs and higher. he's looking at hawke as though he'd like to eat him, which is a concept he's growing comfortable with. the right mouth, perhaps. ]
Not... in so many words.
[ hawke smiles, small and bashful. he knows anders finds him attractive. they've never made it much of a secret, their mutual interest in each other. but they've never confronted it this directly either. hawke swipes his tongue over the pad of his thumb, leaning in to rub over anders's nipple. ]
You're easy on the eyes, yourself.
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his thoughts have been for hawke for so long that, despite the strangeness of saying them, it doesn't seem at all strange to say them.
his thighs tense and untense, shivery, when hawke lifts his hips over him, obviously teasing — maybe goading — like he needs any encouragement at all. when hawke touches his chest, he takes in a sharp breath, eyelashes dark against his cheeks, cheeks flushed, back bending up. his breath comes out in a sigh, followed by a swallow, and another smile. ]
You've said something like that before. As I remember it.
[ he finds hawke's hips with a hand to guide him, sliding around to squeeze his ass. his other hand he lifts to his mouth and licks until his palm and fingers are shiny with spit, then takes himself in hand, stroking over the length of his cock until it's slippery with saliva and pre-come, hot in his hand. anders' eyes dart between what he's doing with his hands and hawke's face, wanting to say something but unable to think of the words. lip caught between his teeth, he pushes hawke down with his hand against his thigh, clutching and loosening with his fingers spread to grab. his whole body goes hot once he's pushed past that muscle, chest rising and falling with hawke's hand heavy on top of him. his legs are slack and then tensed again, trembling when he edges himself up, angling his thin hips. ]
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some of the more spectacularly stupid things that he's said have come after he's been fighting. like dueling the arishok in single combat. ideas like that. or taking the tension out of the room by making a flirtatious remark with the person who's suffering the most. invariably, that person is anders.
so he hasn't exactly been shy about making advances. and yet somehow it's taken them awhile to get here anyway.
he watches anders's face, only drawn away by the sight of his hand slipping between his thighs. this is the last place he would've pegged as a learning environment, but he is anxious to pick things up. being charmingly inexperienced will only take him so far. he doesn't want to coast on it. he's eager to learn from anders's easy attention to detail. hawke's chewing on the inside of his cheek as he watches anders slick up his own cock.
he tilts his head back when anders pushes himself inside of him. it's a rare moment when he can stand not to look at him, just an instinctive twitch of muscle that arches his back instead of bending him forward, like his body's trying instinctively to make room for anders inside of him. there's always been room inside of him for anders here. he's got something to say along those lines but it gets lost in his movements, flexing his thighs as he rolls his hips to push himself into anders's thrust. ]
You should trust your memories.
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I trust you.
[ and his memories concerning hawke, he trusts those as well.
anders slides both hands up hawke's body from his navel to his chest, fingers catching in his soft, dark hair where it's thick over his breastbone, fingertips sliding down the center dip, down his stomach and back to his navel. except this time he doesn't stop there, circles his fingers around his cock instead with still-slick hands, knuckles brushing his own belly. they're not steady. his whole body is unwinding with hawke weighing his hips down into the precarious fabric.
his hands slick over his cock with his fingers curled around him and the thumb of his left hand rubbing sloppy circles around the tip, holding him loose so he can feel it when he twitches when he shifts or slants his hips. anders scrapes his teeth over his bottom lip watching him, drawing the coppery taste of not-quite-broken skin into his mouth. he breathes out through his nose and lets go. his eyes want to slip closed. instead, he alternates between watching hawke's face (his eyes, his mouth, that smile) and the path his own touch takes, fingers grasping at the big, flexed muscles of his upper arms before they travel down, encountering the sharp, flat bone in his forearm, the spur of bone of his wrists, and his hands, warmer from touching.
anders' fingers are damp, but not enough so that he feels self-conscious when he wraps his them around hawke's fingers the way that he did when they were still sitting together at his desk. ]
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if they could've heard him offering to run away earlier... well, it's in the past now. he wouldn't leave without anders.
he's not sure what it says about him that these are his priorities of late. take anders and run. what he does know is that it isn't fair to any of his friends. and yet, it doesn't change how he feels. he curls his fingers around anders's where he's holding his hand. they've reached for one another what feels like countless times across tables in the hanged man or in hawke's home, once or twice in dark situations when hawke's needed a spot of healing.
this is different. hawke's body flexes under anders's touch, slackening in brief, rolling intervals as he pushes himself down further onto anders's cock, feeling himself open up around him. it's a singularly different sensation than anything he's ever known before. he wants to tell him about it, but he doesn't trust his words. ]
Anders...
[ hawke jumps at the feel of his hands on him, fingers lightly circling the head of his cock. he swallows, throat working. he wants to touch him. it occurs to him that he can, if he's careful. he doesn't want to make any sudden movements and upset the cot, but he tips himself forward carefully, setting his free hand on anders's shoulder for balance. he can feel anders inside him while he moves. as a test, he squeezes his muscles around him, just to see whether he can. ]
Anders.
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but hawke's drawn him out. at least he's drawn anders to him, in the hanged man or his hightown estate, or in the dusty hovel he had still lived in when he met him, back when that was his only home in kirkwall.
his thoughts scatter downstream when hawke pushes into him again, moving himself mirrored against him, hips twitching up into it, cock twitching inside of him. somehow he thinks he meant to go slower than this, make it last the way a song is hummed slower than the original rendition as though to savor it. they don't seem to have the time or desire. his eyes shut by themselves, fingers cinching when his attention inevitably turns toward the smooth slide of muscle as it opens for him. his breath comes out of him like he's taken a sharp blow to the chest. ]
Hawke.
I...
[ anders smiles weakly, wincing like the pleasure's overmuch. hawke's hand on his body pushes him down, re-centering their heaviness as though they're sharing sense of balance. his fingers squeeze again, while the fingers still giving their attention between hawke's legs stay slack and lazy, thumbing the blunt, wet tip of his cockhead dripping into the shallow basin his stomach makes. he pushes up, or he tries to, stomach tightening, muscles twisting, voice halting. ]
I never thought this could happen.
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he's been reticent himself since his encounter with fenris, but he knows that anders has held back too. hawke had no desire to push him in his vulnerable state. now, something's clicked into place. he doesn't know whether it's him who made the difference or anders himself, only that they've both come to a place where their desperation overwhelms their better judgement. ]
It's happening.
[ hawke's voice comes out low and ragged, but there's a thread of reassurance in there that's common to their interactions. he's always offering his support to anders in one form or another. not because he needs it (which he does) but because hawke truly does support him and his cause. anders gave him something to believe in. he gave him a cause, and a purpose. it's easy to stand beside him as a partner in return. how could he ever be anything else?
hawke squeezes his hands over anders's pectorals, pushing against him to wiggle his hips slightly up, making room inside of himself as he feels anders's cock slip halfway out of him. the loss makes him grumble softly, and he lowers himself back down to sit on anders's hips. his chest feels tight, his heart pounding as he pushes himself into the gentle touch of anders's hand around his cock.
he wants more. he wants him to grip him harder, really get a grip, but something about this delicate hold is all the more tantalizing. he's leaking all over those pale fingers he loves so much. it might be embarrassing, if he cared about that sort of thing. ]
I've thought a lot about it.
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[ anders laughs, high and breathless from the pit of his throat. it feels like they've been over this before, but he can't remember two minutes back, except for the sensation of hawke tight around his cock and slippery-hot against his fingertips. it's not teasing, not now. he doesn't mean to do it. he just gets distracted, drifts, either while he's tending his own thoughts (pushing them back) or looking hawke over, trying to memorize this, remembering that what they have has a limit.
that's one thing that he couldn't make himself forget.
he smiles again, corners of his eyes wrinkling, watching hawke with his voice rough while he tells him how much he's thought about it. this. them. still a novelty. it'll be a novelty for as long as he's alive, he's sure of that, no matter how long that is. no matter how this ends, and where they stand at the end of it.
all of hawke's moving makes his breath catch. he could let hawke fuck himself on his cock if that's what he wanted to do, but it wouldn't be right like this.
anders turns his hand to palm his cock instead, circling his fingers around him one-by-one like the opposite of something unfolding. his hands are shaky, and his movements are shaky, and his neck tilted back leaves his throat trembling. his breath feels hot in his mouth, on his lips. he wants to kiss hawke again but he can't make his muscles move the way that he wants, he only has enough of himself left over to push up into hawke's body. he's doing it for him. he's only ever doing it for him. and everything else — everything else, he wishes it could be different. his fingers tighten mercifully, hand moving smoothly, knuckles pressing into himself. his stomach is already twisted into a thousand knots. and he can't catch his breath. ]
Like this?
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[ if he's honest, he's spent a lot of time thinking about being in this exact scenario with anders. it seems ridiculous now to consider that he spent all that time thinking about it and then not doing it. hawke's always been a jump first ask questions later kind of fellow. he doesn't really deliberate. but anders is special. he deserves consideration.
hawke's fairly certain that all the good things he's done in his life have led him to this moment. he's not sure what's coming to him for all the bad things, but that's further off down the line. he doesn't have to worry about that right now, though. he has anders to take care of.
although right now it feels like anders is the one taking care of him. hawke's whole body jolts when anders changes his hold on him, the sudden grip and pressure of his hand sending shudders through the muscles of his thighs and back. it shouldn't be such a surprise that anders is so good at this too, but here hawke is feeling shocked all over again. at this rate, he isn't going to last long.
it's been years, after all. and he's got anders inside him and around him, the slick, heated slide of his cock pushing him open and his fingers holding him tight. any man would be overwhelmed. ]
Maker. Anders --
[ hawke doesn't consider himself that remarkable. but the way anders looks at him could make him rethink the whole mindset. he rubs the heels of his hands over anders's nipples, adjusting his position to lean down for a kiss. he just wants to thank him for all this, expressing gratitude by parting anders's lips under his own, slipping his tongue into his mouth and nipping at his lower lip. ]
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any sounds he makes are swallowed up by their kissing. any sounds hawke makes he swallows, turning his hand on him to drag his palm over the underside of his cock, slide over smooth, parchment-thin skin, thick and heavy in his hand. he lifts his hips with his knees bent, back bent, and strokes hawke fully, squeezing from the base and pulling until his fingers slip free of him, and then again, until he finds enough of something he could call a pattern to stay with it, keep his hand steady like the rest of him isn't.
his wrist is damp. it gives him a heady sense of satisfaction.
if he could speak, he would say something meaningful, but hawke is kissing him and his head feels full of fuzz, or those rough drafts that he crushes and throws into the fire. they're good for kindling, if not anything else.
that, anders thinks, is what he amounts to. once the fire's lit, there'll be no more need of him.
hawke needs him right now, though, and that's enough for tonight. he squeezes his cockhead between his palm and the fat muscle at the base of his thumb, sliding over the curve, dragging the foreskin where it's trapped under the pressure of his moving hand. ]
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he groans in the back of his throat, the sound pressed up against anders's lips at the feel of his hips rocking up into him. anders has always been slight, but he's big where it counts. hawke doesn't have a lot of experience in variety in bed, but he knows what he likes and what feels good inside of him.
he's felt anders's touch in all kinds of context, the light drag of his delicate fingers over his injured areas. and it always brings with it a sense of relief. this is something different. anders is tying his stomach into knots, making all his muscles clench up tight. he can feel himself building toward something, a hot burst of pleasure coiled tight in his gut. his breathing hitches as anders's thumb catches against the head of his cock.
it's the added stimulation that pushes him over the edge. hawke's ferelden. he can't keep his mind on more than one thing at the same time.
he gasps and breathes out, shivering all over as he comes into anders's palm. he can feel himself clench suddenly tight around anders's cock where it's got him stretched full. he's making a mess of himself. he knows that. and he should have something to say about it, but he's busy rubbing his over anders's in a sloppy approximation of what started out as a kiss. he rests his elbows on either side of anders's head, settling himself down with anders's cock trapped up tight inside of him. ]
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hawke's heavy and his mouth is hot, and he's so unbearably tight he's sure he can't stand it a second longer. he wipes his hand on his own belly and grabs unevenly, clumsily, at hawke's thighs, and then at his arms, and then up around his shoulders, searching for purchase while his body pulls itself into his. his back bends up like an archway and his legs fold, his thighs pressed against hawke's ass, skin drenched with sweat. they stick together everywhere they're touching, but his hands can't seem to find a good place to hold on.
his climax rolls over him anyway. there's a twist in his stomach like all those knots coming untied, a loosening, and he can feel himself empty out, and he can feel the sound he makes in his mouth all the way down through his chest. his eyes are squeezed shut, stars bursting behind his eyelids in patterns of meaningless light.
once he's finished he doesn't slacken, but stays curled tight around hawke like a trembling fist trying not to crush what's inside it. ]
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but none of that's important right now.
he braces himself, trying to hold steady as anders's orgasm rocks through them both, spilling hot and wet inside hawke, the sudden contrasting sensation making his tight muscles twitch hard around anders's cock. he lets out another helpless little groan, drawn up in the force of anders's own pleasure while still shaking from his own.
hawke can guess some of what anders must be feeling in the way that he's clinging to him, a desperation that's almost familiar now that they've been together awhile. he knows anders as well as his own family, these days. hawke's not sure where the distinction lies, or what makes him stand out so obviously amidst everyone else. he just does. in the end, hawke's never been much for analysis.
he covers anders with his body instead, bending like a bow over him as if to shield him from some unnamed threat. if only everything was so easy. he presses hot, hidden kisses to the crook of anders's neck where it meets his shoulder, feeling sticky and sweaty and most of all awed by the notion that they could just stay here, if they chose to. that's new, for hawke. this is all something of a new experience. ]
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if he had made different choices, he might be in the circle still. or dead. or tranquil. or maybe he'd be somewhere else, maybe he wouldn't have almost killed that girl, maybe he wouldn't have folded in on himself for three years, and maybe he wouldn't have stepped out of that alleged metamorphosis as the person he is on this night.
it's an exhausting line of thought, an it truly doesn't matter.
he unfolds his legs so his heels press down into the fabric they're suspended upon, shaking with the stiff, halting movement. they don't seem to want to relax. his whole body is tied tight. anders presses his face against hawke's neck, where he's bent his head to kiss his throat. there's light behind his eyes from the lamppost not far from the end of the cot, and he squeezes his eyelids together as though he could make it disappear.
they're sticky all over. he might've thought this through earlier, and at least dragged the water over so they could use it without getting up. but that's life.
anders opens his eyes, and even the dim lantern is too bright for him to look at. the crumbling ceiling doesn't give a good view. ]
We shouldn't fall asleep like this.
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if this was his bed... they could just curl up together and go to sleep. but it isn't his bed. and as much as he's enjoying being in anders's space, the cot isn't exactly a place for comfortable reclining. it's barely a place for sleeping. he's shocked they managed to make it into a place for sex. ]
Don't want to.
[ it occurs to him that the words he's saying don't follow from what anders first mentioned. technically, he means the opposite. he doesn't want to move. he does want to fall asleep like this. he wouldn't mind it one bit. hawke lets out another faint grumble, rubbing his face in against the side of anders's neck. ]
I can't move.
[ there, that's clearer. isn't it? he can't keep from grinning where anders can feel it against his skin. the truth is, he can still feel the tension in anders's body where they're pressed together, notable because of the slack dead weight of hawke's own body tipped against his own. it makes him feel like he's done something wrong, but hawke isn't so self-centered as to assume it's all him. he reaches up to run his hands over anders's hair, pushing it back from his face in soothing, repetitive motions. ]
I think I need a healer.
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