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

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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. ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ anders doesn't open his mouth to remind hawke that he's going somewhere, but he's thinking it. not now; maybe not even in the next few weeks, or months, if they're lucky (can they call that luck?); but soon enough. soon enough, he won't have a claim to this life he's been living, tucked away in a corner of darktown too near the sea, where the chokedamp rolls in, one small beacon of light to the people living here. it's not the way he thinks of himself, not wanting to stand out. he came down here to disappear, to say nothing of the fact that he had no other choice.

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.

Edited 2015-02-07 21:32 (UTC)

[ hawke's losing himself in the sensation of anders opening him up, working himself around the slender figures inside of him as his muscles start to slacken, easing around the intrusion. anders has the gentlest touch of anyone hawke's ever known. it doesn't come from being a healer. or at least, it isn't just that. bethany had healing abilities and she was always short with him. cross with her elder brother for getting hurt in the first place, maybe. or for not having the focus to learn healing himself. she'd have liked anders. he knows that much.

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?

[ anders is flexible by nature; hawke moves and he moves with him. in a sense it's always been that way. they met and hawke followed him because they both needed help and were the only people who could provide it to each other, and then he followed hawke all the way back down into the (blighted) deep roads, and then, later, head-first into a qunari uprising to see half the city burnt and hawke besting their leader in a one-on-one dual. impossible things. amazing things. it's been so many years, and none at all, and the circle feels so far away even though its presence still pursues him.

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?

[ hawke clears his throat, shifting to lift himself up on his knees, brushing his ass up against anders's cock. he's teasing him because he doesn't know any better, because his instincts in this are still all he's got to go on. a rough fumble in the dark is nothing compared to the culmination of years of waiting, two people finally embracing what they've been after all these years. an adult encounter in a real live bed.

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.

[ anders smiles a half-smile. it seems strange to confront the fact that he hasn't said it, as often as he's thought such things. it's no secret to himself. it's no secret to hawke either, except that he hasn't put it into loud, spoken words. well, not so loud. but everything spoken in secret, alone, tucked away like this, seems louder than ordinary. his feelings are — well, louder than ordinary. now in particular that they're seeing some daylight. or starlight, as it were. there's no evidence of it under the doors, lampposts and gently smoking cinders overpowering whatever light might be there, but it's just the same as other things they don't need to see to have evidence of. a permanence of thought, or belief, or faith.

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. ]

[ hawke grins when anders recalls to mind what he's already said. he has been rather appreciative of anders in the past, both in mind and body. he can recall to mind more than a few times when he's flirted with anders at truly inappropriate moments in their lives. he can't be held responsible for the things that happen when he's flying high on adrenaline and nerves from a battle well-fought, though.

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.

[ a sound escapes him at the roll of hawke's hips, tight muscle taking him in. it makes his throat dry up like a desert at high noon, something lifted in him the way his bowed back lifts, or tries to lift, from the cot that wrinkles and contorts with his body. they sway and there's nothing to steady them through the movement, they only have each other to hold on to. so that's what he does, both hands on hawke now, fingers curled tight enough in his plush thighs to leave tiny crescents from his nails. pink sickle marks that disappear soon after he uncurls his fingers to stop holding so tightly, in case it hurts, in case it's too distracting — mostly because he wants to touch hawke while he's drawn up, back and neck arched. the sight makes him hungry in a way he's not unfamiliar with. hawke's given him new experiences too. ]

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. ]

[ anders says trust like it means something else, although that may well be hawke's imagination. trust serves as an expression of emotions all on its own. they trust each other. hawke's been entrusted with countless things over the years. the secret of the apostasy he shared with bethany and malcolm the welfare of his family, and now the welfare of kirkwall itself. he can't imagine how any of it's going to turn out, or what it is that people see in him when they entrust him with their safety.

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.

[ he remembers reaching for hawke like he's reached for him now, fingers brushing over distances, hands settling on the body, on arms or shoulders. in most situations he's learned to keep to himself out of a fear of being found out. it takes some restraint to live life being watched by people who would be all too happy to throw him back into that small room with just the cat for occasional company. here, his captors wouldn't be so kind. he might get the brand, or maybe meredith would fancy a public execution. it seems more her style nowadays.

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.

[ if he's honest, hawke never thought that it could happen either. he spent so long with anders in his sights that he rather got used to the in-between stage, neither friends nor quite anything past that. he worried that anders had gotten used to it too. or worse, that it was all he was interested in.

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.

It's happening.

[ 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?

About this, and about you...

[ 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. ]

[ about me, anders makes to say and no sound comes out, only the words mouthed and formed in air when hawke grabs his chest. his body gets shakier and shakier the longer his hand is between his thighs; he's noticed. his free hand he lifts to hawke's face when he goes with the sway of gravity and brings their mouths together, lips parted and eyes closed for him. he strokes hawke's cheek, scratching his fingers through the hair over the sharp, steady line of his jaw while they move against each other, lips slipping, hands slipping, stomach twisting into another several knots all at once. hawke's mouth on him, and the coarse heels of his palms soothing over his nipples, it goes straight to his groin, a heat so deep in his stomach he can feel it leaking out of his cock.

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. ]

[ hawke makes a soft sound into anders's mouth, eyes closed now that he knows he won't be missing anything. kissing is the only time he can bear to take his eyes off of anders. it seems like a funny standard to have set when they only just started kissing tonight. but hawke's always been quick on the uptake. he adapts to the circumstances surrounding him, whatever those might be. these are better circumstances than he's had in a long time.

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. ]

[ anders feels it before hawke comes, the roiling tensing of his muscles all over, preemptive enough for him to coax him through the whole thing with his fingers gentling. his hand is sticky-wet, and his cock his throbbing, a burning his his gut. he has half a mind to bite his lip under hawke's mouth and choke himself out, starve it off and make himself wait to force this to last longer, but guilt makes it easy enough for him to change his mind. there's a sinking in his chest, but that, at least, he can ignore in favor of the pleasure he's being given.

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. ]

[ he's only just starting to wrap his mind around the concept of perhaps wondering whether his performance there was adequate, but anders's hands clutching at him are enough of a distraction from himself. it pulls hawke's focus outward again, giving him something to focus on besides his own slight misgivings. he's so used to knowing what he's doing that it stands out when he doesn't, that's all.

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. ]

[ hawke isn't big enough to blot out the light, or the crackling sound from the dead fireplaces that bleed through the ringing in his ears as it fades and the world comes back to life. that should mean something good, but it feels like a slog. if he could choose to stay, he would stay like this for as long as possible, and forget how uncomfortable it would be, how sore they'd both be in the morning after they fell asleep. but he can't shrug off that burden onto hawke. he chose to live his life like this first, and that's why he's here now; it's why they even met at all.

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.

Edited 2015-02-10 17:17 (UTC)

[ hawke groans softly, this one plaintive and entirely for show. he doesn't want to move. he's not in the mood to do much of anything. he's not looking to exert his muscles any more than he's already done. they served him well. as far as he's concerned, they've both earned a rest. anders more than anyone else hawke knows. he's aware in the back of his mind that he interrupted him doing something. he might be interested in going back to it, but hawke's not about to let that happen on his watch.

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.

[ anders is removed enough that when hawke first speaks it doesn't occur to him that what he's saying makes no sense. the second three word response to his urging makes it click into place, though. he doesn't want to get up. anders doesn't want to get up either; he'd rather stay here and damn the consequences, but he knows from a lifetime of experience why that's never as good of an idea as it seems at the time.

it doesn't stop him from smiling. he can feel hawke grinning.

that's good, isn't it? how could it be anything but?

anders' eyelashes flutter when hawke begins to touch his face, his hair, pushing his hair back where it's fallen loose from his ponytail. his smile goes slack like his body isn't, but the expression he wears while he's watching hawke isn't so indecipherable. there's something he wants to say dancing on the tip of his tongue, heavier than hawke is with his body loosened on top of him. a little laugh bubbles up from his chest when hawke speaks again. ]

I don't think you pulled anything...

[ if he had he could fix it, but all's the same he'd rather he hasn't. his arms pull up and elbows dig into the cot, shifting their weight again, and immediately it seems like they're sitting twice as precariously as before. outside the whirlwind of the moment it's obvious just how ill-suited his sleeping place is for this. hawke will have to move if he wants to get up.

but instead of insisting, he touches hawke's arms instead, holding him there while he kisses him. ]

[ hawke huffs out a soft laugh against anders's throat, feeling him shift under his own body. he follows lazily after him with the suggestion of movement, wiggling his own hips in slow, side to side motions as he starts to sit up. there's no room for him to roll over -- if he does, he'll hit the floor, but he's trying to make some space for anders to get up as best he can.

he's fit, but it's been awhile since hawke felt too big for the space he's inhabiting. with anders inside of him, he feels curiously small. that could have something to do with the resilient tightness in his muscles, though.

he feels downright filthy, skin clinging to anders's own where they're damp and hot. hawke's had the odd fleeting sexual encounter in his life, but never one that got him out of all his clothes, never one that had him sliding slick and naked up against another man's body the way he's dreamt of in the past. over the years, those dreams have come to center around a certain individual.

he lets out another groan in response to anders's question. at this rate, he's going to get a reputation for a limited vocabulary. somehow, something tells him anders wouldn't mind. ]

We don't know that for sure.

[ the happy, dazed look on his face probably puts paid to the idea that hawke is injured. contrary to that, his cheeks are flushed, lips parted slightly; he's experiencing a moment of utter bliss as he sits up, doing his best to at least look like he's trying to help. if he's honest with himself, he's having an illogical moment of not wanting to move because he isn't sure what will happen once he does. hawke doesn't spend a lot of time carving out moments for himself; the ones that he does get seem like they could evaporate as easily as a puddle in darktown, reduced to nothing more than one of a hundred mysterious stains.

he can't keep from reaching to stroke anders's face, feeling over his delicate jaw to the ridge of a high cheekbone. you'd never mistake him for a ferelden with that face. hawke's never known anyone like him in his whole life and it's got nothing to do with his face. ]

Better?

Better.

[ anders speaks without thinking about what he's saying. he's better because hawke is looking at him that way.

what else could be better? nothing else has changed, just the way they see each other, or rather what they're doing about the way they've seen each other for such a long, long time. he's trying not to give any attention to the unfairness of it all, lest it comes bounding up like a dog and knocks him flat. they're both too far past the point of pretending any of this is going to be easy, whatever happens to the both of them. there's a war approaching and he doesn't know what form it will take. there's been a war going on inside of his head for years, and only recently has he been able to strike a truce with his aggressor. there are rumblings from the other side from time to time, but mostly the front is quiet. and he makes the same sounds. thinks the same things.

in all but this. he smiles weakly at hawke when he pushes himself up, the cot beneath them dipping dangerously low to the ground with all their weight centered on one spot. anders squeezes hawke's thighs under his hands, hooks his fingers right below the curve of his ass, and urges him up. there's no chance to linger when he pulls out, wet and still warm, dripping onto his once-clean cot. ]

I'll get us something to wash up with.

[ he smiles at hawke co-conspiratorially and unfolds his legs over the side from underneath hawke's body, one hand around one wooden strut to balance himself when his legs wobble underneath of him. his thighs and calves are tingling, pins-and-needles. he hadn't even realized they'd fallen asleep. he gives himself half a second to rub the life back into them before he walks to the other side of the room where he left the basin, filled with now cold water, and the rough dirty cloth he used before. he picks it up and frowns, stands again (still wobbling) and pads barefoot to where he keeps his washing things, sizable scraps of old cloth disinfected in boiling water, fraying away at the edges, draped over a makeshift table made from a few slats of wood and an old crate. he picks the two that look the least ragged and drapes them over his shoulder, returns to the water, and carries it with both hands back to where hawke's waiting for him.

hawke would be better off returning to his estate and washing up there, but he doesn't have the heart to suggest it.

anders kneels on both knees and submerges each shock of cloth to soak them through, putting some heat back into the water with his left hand pressed to the side of the container, his first two right hand fingertips submerged to test the temperature. ]

[ he shouldn't let anders take care of things. it's a guilty nagging sensation in the back of his mind, something instilled long ago that keeps him feeling bad when he remains sitting while other people are working. not that what anders is doing counts as work, but the principles are the same. he's doing something and hawke is... sitting. lazily. like a lump.

he's too contented to really give himself a hard time about it, though. he's enjoying the view when his eyes regain focus, blinking at the harsh marks marring anders's back. they're visible even in the dim light, something raw and ugly, healed improperly. it's difficult for him to imagine anders ever bungling his own healing so badly. and hawke knows nothing like that's happened to him since they've been together.

the separate pieces of evidence come together to create an obvious conclusion. it's from before. at the circle. hawke's on his feet before it registers in the back of his mind that he's moving. despite all the phony protests he made about not wanting to move, and despite the very real protests coming from his muscles both stiff and sore, hawke wobbles into a standing position just long enough to fall to his knees next to anders, wrapping his arms around him hard from behind.

it wouldn't do to knock over the water just because he's having some kind of episode. hawke has at least enough self awareness to manage that, burying his face in the nape of anders's neck where his hair is damp with sweat and breathing in deep.

it's not fair that this happened when hawke wasn't around to solve it for him. just as it's not fair that hawke can't do anything about it now. he's never needed any further reassurance that he's on the right side of the brewing struggle between mages and templars, but sometimes he thinks that he could do with a little less evidence.

he kisses the back of anders's neck, and then his shoulder, burying his face there while he presses his chest to anders's scarred back, as if he could protect him that way. as if there's anything left he could shield him from. ]

[ anders registers that hawke's stood and kneeled but nothing else about his state of mind is obvious until his arms come around him from behind, stopping him with one hand still in the water, which is not quite steaming, but still warm enough that it's pinkened his skin. whatever is the matter, suddenly, he knows that something is the matter, and that this isn't just hawke being playful and seductive (something he can't say he would have minded). it piques a thread of worry in him, a conscientiousness that first came about because of the circumstances that brought them together.

there's no way for him to know what the problem is without asking, and he's afraid of what the answer will be. maybe he's said too much. maybe it's this thing with fenris. loss or regret. he'd rather it wasn't the latter. but it speaks of some hope to him that hawke's holding on. if he wanted to go, he could go. there's nothing that he could say or do to stop him.

hawke's mouth is hot against the nape of his neck, tiny hairs standing up in the places they aren't touching. his bangs are falling into his face. ]

Hawke?

What's wrong?

It's all right.

[ he doesn't know why he's saying it. that it's all right now, of all times, now that hawke's here, now that he's holding him in his arms. it feels unbelievably self-centered to assume that he could solve all of anders's problems like that. but he knows that he wants to. he'd like to think that he could make that kind of difference in his life.

he squeezes his arms tighter across ander's chest, pressing another kiss to anders's shoulder before he rests his chin there instead. ]

It's nothing.

[ it's not that either, but he doesn't know how to explain himself beyond that. he owes it to anders to at least come clean about what he's seen. it's not something he's private about if he's let hawke see it, but it still feels like spying. although he's not sure if that's something that counts after you've had an intimate encounter with someone. normally they don't stick around this long. ]

I've never seen your back.

Oh.

[ there's nothing he needs to say to tell hawke he didn't expect for that to be the reason. it never would've occurred to him on his own, so hawke could have kept his secret. he's not sure it's better or not that he didn't. it's just another ugly part of him, the way that justice — or vengeance — is, except those he didn't choose to take. perhaps the templars who are responsible would say otherwise, because he broke the rules that demanded the punishment, but it makes little difference now.

they might as well be dead. he likes to at least pretend that they are. it lets him sleep easier.

which can't say many good things about him. but he was pushed down this path longer ago than he knew hawke, than he knew even justice, longer ago than he could remember anything about the world outside the circle tower aside from his mother's and father's faces and their woebegone little barn. if they were expecting something different, they were expecting wrong. if they wanted something different, they should have done differently themselves. that's what's brought them to this.

it returns to him again, then, that he has no choice, and that they have no chance.

it doesn't mean the same thing to justice, what he's doing kneeling on the floor, fingertips wrinkling in the cooling water, with hawke molding himself to his back, and what it will mean when he's not here to do any of these things. a great emptiness washes over him. his stomach to his heart seems just a hollow inside of his body. ]

I love you.

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