![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
Entry tags:
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. ]
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
[ 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?
no subject
[ 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. ]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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?
no subject
[ 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. ]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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?
no subject
[ 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.
no subject
[ 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.
no subject
it's not like he's depending on anders to stop him from thinking. that wouldn't be fair, and it certainly isn't logical. after fenris, he's at least trying to approach this with a modicum of thoughtfulness and maturity. he can feel anders's heartbeat where his hands are clasped together across his skinny chest.
hawke's brain stops working altogether when anders speaks up again, though. he sucks in a breath, exhaling again against his skin. ]
I love you too.
[ it comes out easily enough. probably because it's true. it's always been true. he wouldn't have fallen into bed with anders this easily if there hadn't been lingering feelings on both their parts. it's taken him far too long to be able to put a name to his, but that shouldn't mean he doesn't get to. anders in particular deserves to hear something good these days. now more than ever. ]
I'm sorry...
[ he means about the scars, of course, but that could apply to anything. the situation that he's been in and kirkwall at large. hawke hasn't been able to fix it. he owed that much to anders at least, and he hasn't delivered. ]
no subject
it's still nice to hear hawke say it. somehow he finds it in him to smile, though it's feeble, and hawke can't see it anyway.
anders raises his hand from the basin and touches hawke's wrist where his arms are crossed over his chest, water dripping down his front in rivulets. ]
There's nothing for you to be sorry for, Hawke. I should be...
[ he halts, swallowing. does he need to say it? he's already said it. he's already done it. his reflection is barely visible in the rippling water colored as it is with flickering yellow light, and still he'd rather not see it at all. his voice dips. ]
Thank you. For telling me. I'm glad I got to hear it.
[ at least once. ]
no subject
he doesn't like thinking about it. but he can't push aside the things that are unpleasant to contemplate simply because they make him uncomfortable. leaving things is how he gave up on fenris. it might not be why he lost him, but that doesn't matter. hawke's not looking to lose anders in any sense.
he's too important for that.
hawke breathes out, his body folding against anders's when he feels the wet touch against his wrist. ]
You don't have anything to be sorry for.
[ anders is managing his own desperate circumstances as best he can. hawke's not sure he would trust anyone else with the same burdens that anders carries. they wouldn't be able to bear the weight. but anders, as far as he knows, is carrying himself along admirably. hawke certainly admires him. for a long time, he thought that's all it was. he knows better now.
and anders knows it too. ]
I plan on telling you more than just the once, you know.
no subject
[ it's a point he's not shy to argue. how could he be anything but sorry for what he's about to do? and the things he's done have been no better. he hasn't given hawke any reason to stand by him, and he's here regardless, saying these things regardless, making him feel both big and small at the same time. uplifted and humbled. there's no world he could imagine in which he deserves to be treated with so much kindness and understanding. he rubs his wet thumb over the sharp bone in hawke's wrist like it's him who needs comforting. to anders, it seems as though he does. he's gotten by without it for this long, he wouldn't ask for it to be given to him.
he wouldn't ask for anything. except for hawke, perhaps, except for this. selfish. his throat works soundlessly. the earthy smell of drying wood wafts up when he puts heat to his fingers again, trying to maintain the temperature of the water he brought over. his body's still salt-slicked, skin tacky. hawke is sticking to his back. ]
If you want to say it again...
[ well, he wouldn't mind hearing it, that's all he means. they can say it as many time as they'd like. ]
Shouldn't we be getting washed up?
no subject
and that doesn't mean he can't tell him other things. ]
I love you.
[ he as much as asked to hear it, didn't he? hawke can provide that, even if he can't tell him he doesn't have anything to apologize for. he can't speak for the community at large, of course, but he's never presumed to. just one of many reasons hawke can't and won't accept the viscount's seat. being the champion is close enough to being answerable to the public for him. some days he's not even comfortable with that.
but it's wrong to be sitting here clinging to anders like he could avoid all his responsibilities if he just stayed down here in darktown. ]
I suppose I'm stalling again, aren't I?
[ he releases his tight hold on anders, cupping his pectorals under the palms of his hands to squeeze him there. ]
You can't blame me getting distracted...
no subject
if hawke could stay here, he'd invite him to, but there's nothing to stay for but him, and he fears that's not enough to justify the asking.
laughter shivers through his throat when hawke grabs his chest, eyes wrinkling at the corners with his smiling. ]
Is that what it is? Maybe I should start going shirtless.
There were these robes... Some of the mages had them in Ferelden...
[ it's not much of an explanation, but he's still laughing. he's been explaining so little tonight. not even tonight. before, when he told hawke why he'd needed his help in the sewers, and out in the bonepit, and up in the chantry — he wishes he could say the reason why. he wishes he could lay it out for him. wishes, even, that they could go together in this, but there's no worth in risking his plan and hawke's well-being at the same time. he's already beyond forgiving himself. what comes after that? what kind of punishment could he devise on his own? it seems like he would deserve one.
he knows he already does. ]
I've told you what you mean to me, Hawke. Just know that it's true.
[ anders lifts one of the rags from the water and wrings it out, handing it over once he's done. then he picks up his own and washes his face with it, behind his ears and down the length of his throat, down his chest and his stomach. ]
no subject
[ hawke rubs his nose against anders's shoulder, kissing his skin where the sweat's drying tacky. shirtless robes. hawke's trying to picture it. on anders, of course. with what he's heard of the circles he can't imagine them running around with their chests hanging out. then again, if anders is right about some of their goings-on, it seems awfully convenient. he never really got to know the robe styles mages in the circles wore, since they never applied to him. his father kept some in a trunk with the rest of their unused things, but hawke never took them out to examine them.
he reaches for anders's cloth when he holds it out, sitting back on his heels to rub over his neck and chest, cleaning his belly where he came on his own stomach and then down between his legs. they made a mess of each other. he's relishing the cleaning up almost as much as what came before.
almost.
that's the key word there. ]
I'd like to see you in those someday.
[ he's not sure where he'd find them. any contacts he has in the gallows are rapidly becoming consumed with their own problems. he doesn't want to make their lives any more difficult. everyone's under a lot of pressure right now. hawke's trying not to think about that right now. his consideration belongs to anders, and him alone. whatever casual mood hawke's trying to cultivate, it falters a little at anders's next statement. he's certainly not giving hawke any reason to feel better about their standing. ]
I know.
[ he does know that much. he can be confident in how anders feels about him now, if nothing else. ]
no subject
hawke's been trying. he loves him for that too.
but hawke was speaking to him, trying to carry on a conversation. anders picks his head up like he's only just remembered, gooseflesh rising where his skin is clean and damp and cold despite the warm water. his fingers are pink. so are his elbows and his knees against the ground. he turns toward hawke so he can face him when he picks up the thread again, sitting on his legs, stopping again when he sees him to take in the sight. it's been at least an hour since hawke got his clothes off — since he helped him out of them — and it's still shocking to see him in this state of undress. he takes a deep breath, breathes out through his nose. ]
Maybe I could arrange that.
[ there's no way he has the time, but maybe it's not impossible. he knows where to get these things, even if it's just to borrow.
at least he'd like it not to be a lie. ]
Sometime... Soon.
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)