Hawke/Anders Secret Satinalia Master Post
Nov. 19th, 2015 07:45 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mikkenekoHawke/Anders Secret Satinalia
Let's celebrate the holiday in style with our favorite birds
Let's celebrate the holiday in style with our favorite birds
(art donated by kirkwallgirl.tumblr.com)
Sign ups for Secret Satinalia are now closed. No further requests will be filled.
What is Secret Satinalia?
It's Secret Santa, Thedas style! ...That's not helpful? Okay, let me do a little better: Secret Satinalia is a celebration of the gift-giving spirit of the holiday by arranging a round-robin style giving of gifts. Each participant puts their name in a hat, and then all the names are drawn out at random; the person whose name you draw gets a gift from you, and you'll get a gift from whoever draws your name.
But in secret! That part is very important! It has to be as secret as Anders' activities with the mage underground! ...So in other words, not really all that secret.
How do I get in on this action?
Easy! Just reply in the comments of this post below. Replies are screened, so the only people to see your post will be the moderator (me) and yourself. Anon commenting is on, so even if you don't have a Dreamwidth account (because let's be realistic, who in 2015 still uses dreamwidth? ...Ahem) you can still sign up here.
Remember that if you sign up to receive a gift, you are also committing yourself to giving a gift. You give one, you receive one. That's the spirit of Satinalia. Try to create a gift that is respectful of the giftee's preferences. Remember, give gifts like the Warden, not gifts like Hawke.
What kind of gifts can I give?
Fanfic, fanart, and graphic edits are all welcome, so do whatever you do best! When filling out the form below, you will be asked to give multiple gift ideas. At least one of the prompts should be made in the spirit of an art prompt -- in other words, something that would lend itself fairly well to visual representation. So "Anders and Hawke snuggling in front of a fire" is more of an Art Prompt, while "Anders having a Hamlet-length internal monologue on the merits of Hawke's butt" is more of a Fic Prompt.
Smutty requests are perfectly OK, but as with the "art prompts" please try to include at least one non-smutty prompt so that your Satinalia buddy has some flexibility.
There's not much time until Satinalia, so try to keep your request fairly simple. Fics should be fairly short (5k or less) and art should stay within a few panels.
I prefer Marian Hawke/I prefer Garrett Hawke. Is that OK?
Both mhanders and fhanders fans are welcome. In order to make sure that everybody ends up with a prompt and a gift that they are comfortable with, you'll be asked to specify in your entry whether you prefer male Hawke, female Hawke, or are okay with both. We will make the effort to match up mhanders and fhanders fans with each other so everybody gets the thing they like the most.
When is my gift due? What should I do with it once it's ready?
You should aim to have your gift ready for your Secret Satinalia buddy by December 21. Once it's done, come back to this post here. Reply screening will be off, but anon will still be on. Post your fic or art in an anon comment, and the moderator (me) will contact your Satinalia buddy to let them know where to go to find it! I will also be posting links to all of the entries on Tumblr, under the tag #Handers Secret Satinalia .
Do I have to stay anonymous? I want to share my gift with the world!
The initial gift-giving should be anonymous -- that's the Secret part, after all -- but once the event is over, you can feel free to publish in your usual venues with your name on it!
I don't have time to read that whole wall of text. Can you give the rules in tl;dr format?
Sure!
1. To sign up, make a screened reply in the comments below. Fill out the form (just below this) with all the information. Remember that if you sign up, you are committing to giving someone a gift as well as receiving one.
2. After the sign-ups close on 11/22, you will be contacted by the moderator (me) with the name and request info of your selected Satinalia buddy. Pick one of the three gift ideas, and start writing/drawing.
3. Try to finish your gift by 12/21. When it's finished, reply here (again) anonymously with the fic or a link to your art. The moderator (me) will contact your giftee to let them know that it's ready.
4. After the event is over, you can repost or publish your gift anywhere you like with your name properly on it.
5. All posts on tumblr about this event will use the tag #Handers Secret Satinalia .
6. That's all! Have fun!
To sign up, fill out this form (please answer all the questions!)
- Tumblr URL?
- Best way to contact? (e-mail? tumblr message system OK?)
- Do you prefer M!Hawke/Anders, F!Hawke/Anders, or are equally comfortable with both?
- Three gift wishes! (At least one of the prompts should be an Art Prompt, and at least one should be a Fic Prompt.)
- Notes and No's: Any preferences or dislikes you'd like your Secret Satinalia buddy to observe, such as "no Justice bashing" "no rivalmance please" or "I am okay/not okay with custom Hawkes." Or if you have none, just write a happy Satinalia message!
Any questions? Ask the moderator (me)! Question and answer comments will be un-screened, so that everybody can read them.
no subject
Date: 2015-11-20 01:43 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-11-23 04:40 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-12-14 01:48 am (UTC)Request: "bonding over food - whether bigger satinalia feasts thrown at hawke's estate with everyone milling around, or quiet breakfasts shared in front of a little clinic fire on cold mornings."
The clinic was filled with patients, stone walls echoing with the sound of voices, interspersed with racking coughs. Harvestmere had been unusually cold this year, and the refugee population was undergoing a low-level outbreak of colds and flu. It was a frustration to Anders, because as much as he wanted to help, ran himself to the bone trying to help, there was a limit to how much he could actually do. Too many of his patients were suffering from years of malnutrition, dirty air and water, and cold weather unrelieved by proper shelter or insulation. He could drive pneumonia from lungs, bring down dangerous fevers and ease strangling swelling on throats, but there was no magic spell or herbal potion that could cure poverty.
He did what he could; several large metal braziers set at intervals around his clinic provided warmth, and there was a big heavy cast iron pot bubbling away in a corner with medicinal soup. It had taken Anders a while to hit on a winning formula: so chock full of vitamins and calories that a single mouthful would go a long way to strengthening a person's constitution, but so vilely bitter that only the most desperately starving patients would want more than that single dose.
But it had been a cold Harvestmere, and Firstfall was likely to be just as bad; the Free Marches were farther north than Ferelden and warmer, but that didn't mean they never got seasons of snow or ice, and it was looking to be just such a year. Anders missed snow, but he didn't look forward to seeing it fall in Kirkwall.
A stir at the clinic doors caught Anders' attention; he looked up from his alembic to see the Ferelden toughs that had been lurking menacingly by the doorways draw aside. From this angle he couldn't see -- yet -- just what (or who) they were reacting to, but he thought he could guess.
Hawke stepped in through the doors of his clinic, a small, slight, spritely figure that moved with such energy and grace that people couldn't help but react to it. Varric followed behind, the dwarf only a foot shorter than his friend and yet even with all his stocky solidity, he trailed in Hawke's wake. It was entirely unconscious on his part -- he didn't mean to intimidate people into giving way before him, like the waves parting before the bow of a ship -- but his aura of charisma and authority was such that people couldn't help but react to it.
Besides, there was not a person in Darktown who didn't know who Hawke was; his small stature combined with those unmistakable tattoos attached to a reputation that was as heroic as it was intimidating. Short size or no, Circinus Hawke could have cleared the toughs out of his way with a casual wave of force magic from his hand. He didn't, because he didn't need to. People gave way before him willingly.
"Hawke," Anders greeted him warmly, standing up straight and reaching for a cloth to wipe his hands on. He reached for a smile and found one not too far to summon, warmed by Hawke's presence in a way that none of the braziers could manage. "Varric. What can I do for you?"
"Don't worry, nothing's on fire," Varric assured him with an easy smile. "Just thought we'd stop by to see our favorite healer."
Hawke stepped lightly into the clinic, his eyes moving around the room as he took in the crowds of people, huddling around the braziers or doubled over on the cots, coughing. His eye fell on the bundle of herbs that Anders had been working with. "Are you in the middle of something right now, Anders?" he asked, concerned.
"Nothing important," Anders said. That wasn't quite true; he'd been preparing a batch of embrium, yarrow and peppermint to decoct into a tea to pass around the clinic, to those suffering from fevers. But Hawke took priority; ever since Leandra's death, still raw after only a few months, Anders was determined to be there for him, whatever he needed. Unless someone was actively dying, or actively trying to kill them, Hawke came first. "It can wait."
"Well, I… just wanted to ask… do you have any plans for Satinalia yet?" Hawke asked, fidgeting uncomfortably with the grip of his staff.
Anders grimaced. "Probably right here, doing this exact same thing," he said. "It would be nice if death and pestilence took time off for the holidays, but unfortunately they don't."
"Oh," Hawke said; his voice was neutral and his expression blank, but his slender shoulders slumped with disappointment.
"What about you?" Anders asked, trying to get past the disappointment. "Going to party it up in the Hanged Man again this year, like old times?" For the past four years -- ever since Anders had known him -- Hawke had celebrated the annum in the Lowtown tavern, inviting all their motley band of misfits.
"Well, not exactly..." The fidgeting had returned, doubled. Hawke began to wander about the clinic, looking in on every brazier and pot.
Anders let him, knowing his boyfriend's particular ways. "Oh?" he said encouragingly.
Hawke made two more circuits around the clinic before he blurted out, "Did you know that in Hightown, the nobles plan their parties months in advance? Sometimes years!"
"Really?" Anders snorted in disbelief. "How long can it take to plan a party?"
"He's not kidding," Varric observed. "Commissions for the decorations go out as early as Summerday, and the special orders get shipped in from all over the Free Marches. It's killing time for the Merchant's Guild." He chuckled, rubbing his chin as he shot Hawke an appraising look. "But I can't see you planning one of those fancy gigs, Hawke."
"Well, no..." Hawke muttered.
Anders frowned. "What's this about?" he asked, looking from Hawke to Varric and back again.
Hawke took a deep breath. "I was going through my backlog of mail," he began, "and I found a stack of letters from the Confectioner's Guild... "
Anders blinked. "Kirkwall has a Confectioner's Guild?"
"Oh yeah. Best in the Free Marches," Varric assured them. "Absolutely vicious when it comes to import taxes, though; don't mess with them unless you want to wake up to a marzipan horse's head in your bed."
The conversation stopped there for a moment as they all briefly contemplated this vision, then Hawke forged on. "Anyway, apparently… Mother had really been planning ahead this year. She had an enormous party planned! Decorations, food, even an orchestra... All the orders went out months ago. I - I guess after she died, nobody knew to cancel the orders. And now it's too late." The corners of his mouth turned down.
"You could still write to them and cancel," Varric pointed out.
"I could, but..." Hawke sighed. "It was the last thing Mother wanted. And I'd hate to waste all the craftsmen's hard work. But at the same time, the absolute last thing in the world I want to spend Satinalia doing is mincing around with some of those Hightown frills pretending like nothing's wrong." The stutter left Hawke's voice, forced out by rough anger for a moment before his expression cleared. He shrugged. "So instead of sending out invitations to all the noble houses, I thought I'd just invite everyone."
"The whole gang up at the Amell estate, eh?" Varric murmured.
Anders sighed. "Hawke, I appreciate the thought, honestly I do. It sounds like a marvelous time." It sounded like a fantasy too good to be true, really; up in Hawke's grand, weatherproof house, spending Satinalia tucked up with his boyfriend. "But I just can't leave my patients."
"No, you don't understand." Hawke waved his arms vigorously. "I mean everyone. All your patients."
"All my --" Anders repeated in disbelief. "Hawke, at this point I treat most of Darktown!"
"Yes, yes, that's what I mean," Hawke agreed eagerly, nodding. "All the Ferelden refugees. All the homeless. Everyone."
" ...Hawke, I --" Left momentarily speechless, Anders fumbled for a reply. "That's a lovely idea, it really is, but you can't just..."
"Why not?" Hawke's chin took on a stubborn set. "Mother's party plans were for a hundred guests; I've run the numbers, and I can bump that up to a hundred and fifty, easy. More if they don't mind rubbing elbows."
Varric cleared his throat. "I think what Blondie is trying to say is, a whole gaggle of vagrants up in Hightown?" He shook his head. "The nobles will shit themselves."
"Yes, I know. But I don't care," Hawke said forcefully. "I never wanted to be a noble, I just wanted to provide for my family. But now I am one, and why shouldn't I get to decide what that means?
"Besides, isn't that what Satinalia is supposed to be about? The town fool crowned king for a day, turning the social order upside down? The other nobles can suck it up for one night. They don't need another party, they don't need the food, they don't need shelter for the night." Hawke looked around the clinic, at the groups of shivering and coughing bodies. "The people of Darktown do."
He looked at Anders with wide, earnest eyes. "Will you spread the word, Anders?" he pleaded. "Your patients trust you. They don't trust me. I'm not really one of them any more."
Anders thought that Hawke underestimated the reputation he still had among the Fereldens, but Hawke's speech had rendered him momentarily stunned. All he could do was nod agreement. "Of course."
"And... you'll be there?" Hawke said hopefully.
"Well, since you've conveniently arranged for all my patients to be in Hightown that night... I guess I don't have a choice, do I?" He smiled.
Hawke perked up immediately, a smile lighting his face and shining in his eyes. "Great!" he enthused, before turning an eye to their other companion. "What about you, Varric? Do you have any Satinalia plans? You'd be welcome too, you know! Just think of all the people there who won't have heard your story about that one time with the Merchant's Guild and the backpack full of snakes yet!"
"Nah, Satinalia isn't really my thing," Varric said with a shrug. "I figure I'll probably hole up in my room with a good book, polish Bianca, maybe get some Antivan takeout."
"Oh," Hawke said, looking crestfallen. Anders felt moved to intervene.
"What, really?" Anders scoffed. "You'll follow Hawke down sewers, spider-infested caverns, and the Deep Roads, but one little party and you beg off?"
"It's not like that," Varric protested while Hawke sputtered and turned purple behind him. "It's just that in my line of work I get exposed to all sorts of Satinalia fever for months on end. It's enough to burn a dwarf out, you know? I just… another night of…"
Hawke stood there making such concentrated pleading eyes that Varric's protests trailed off to a low grumble. The dwarf sighed. "Oh, all right, Hawke, just for you," he grumbled.
"Yay!" Hawke cheered, and Anders smiled.
no subject
Date: 2015-12-14 01:49 am (UTC)--
Dusk arrived quickly on the appointed day, and the Amell Estate was transformed. The doors were flung open, spilling light and warmth out onto the street -- but there was no danger of running out of either. Every fireplace in the building was lit, roaring with heavy logs, and every wall and available surface was laden with candles and lanterns. Between the multiple hearths, the hundred tiny flames, and the mass of warm bodies packed into the stone walls, they'd had to leave the door open to avoid the danger of over heating.
Shining glass was everywhere; every brace of candles was in its own glass holder, and there were gas lamp-bubbles of all sorts of shapes and sizes. A few were cast of colored glass, turning the light that spilled from them into bright colors: red, orange, pink and green. Cut branches of evergreen draped the walls, woven into wreaths or strung into long garlands with bright red and gold ribbons, studded with bright red berries and tiny star-shaped white flowers.
The symbol of Satinalia, at least in Chantry controlled lands, was the evergreen bough; supposedly, it symbolized Andraste's unending life at the side of the Maker. All but the poorest of households managed to procure at least one branch or bough of some species of evergreen for the house -- pine, fir, cedar, spruce or juniper -- even if, by the time it passed through a long chain of enterprising merchants importing them from colder regions, they could only manage a rather small and sickly sprig to mount over the door. For the Amells, there was no skimping; Leandra had purchased a handsome, still-living fir to mount in the main hall, in addition to the yards and yards of evergreen foliage that plastered the walls. The grand tree nearly groaned with the weight of decorations; candles in colored glass bubbles, sugarcanes in fanciful shapes, and streamers of white cloth draping over the branches and piled in heaps on the ground below, filling in for snowdrifts rarely seen this far to the north.
The Confectioner's Guild had contributed more than their weight; an amazingly colorful and intricately detailed array of tiny animals, stylized snowflakes, and terribly out-of-season flowers all sculpted from marzipan sugar graced the tables, shelves and mantles. Dozens of tables had been laid out in rows in the main hall, covered with dark green and red cloths, and at the center of each one was an artful arrangement of live-oak leaves, sugar flowers, and a miniature serene Andraste holding a flame in her tiny hands.
Few of the guests had much attention to spare for the centerpieces, however, when the tables practically bowed under the weight of food laden onto them. Every table had pitchers of ale, beer, and bottles of eggnog for the children. The caterers had monopolized the Amell kitchens since the morning and still needed to bring in their own deep, covered dishes of foods already prepared.
The guests were encouraged to take plates and knifes and wander the tables, helping themselves to whole turkeys, chickens, ducks and geese baked in their own skins; to sliced ham sparkling with brown sugar crust, steaming roast druffalo, and pork chops in beds of mushroom soup. There were dishes of nuts roasted with herbs, sweet potatoes cut into thin rashers and fried until they curled, roast beets, and even scalloped turnips in cheese sauce. Several platters gleamed yellow with cut cheeses and sliced pineapples, while silver platters were heaped high with round, uncut pyramids of apples, oranges and pears.
The enticing aroma of the food wafting off the tables mixed with sharp pine sap from the cut boughs, the warm smell of woodsmoke from the burning logs, and the sooty taste of candles and oils to create a heady atmosphere of celebration. It was just as well the ceilings in the Amell estate were high, so that none of the smoke or the press of bodies concentrated too thickly near the floor.
They had come up from Darktown in knots and gaggles, small groups of families or larger groups huddling together for confidence in the unfamiliar streets of Hightown. As night fell the temperature dropped, and fine sleet began to rain down on the stone pavement; but the light and noise of the celebration drew them in, and Hawke was there in the open doorways, arms wide to beckon them in and a beaming smile on his face making the delicate tracery of flowers bloom.
Once inside they had looked around with a daunted awe, but it hadn't taken them as long to regain their confidence as Anders had feared; by now the benches and chairs were filled by Darktowners, digging into the offered food with gusto. The elderfolk or infirm sat in more comfortable chairs closer to the walls, and had plates and mugs brought to them by their families; the children, driven to near-hysteria by delight, had abandoned the tables after the first few bites of food were bolted in order to race around the hall and gape at all the bright, glittering decorations.
Aveline was not in attendance -- she had been invited, but declined, citing a need to be on duty on Satinalia so that some of her guards who had children at home could spend it with their families. But all of the other misfits in Hawke's usual gang were there, somewhere. Anders spotted Fenris perusing the drinks table, ears low, probably grumpy over the lack of a wine which could be thrown at the walls. Merrill was, perhaps predictably, entranced by the living tree and the arrangements of greenery; at the moment she was petting one of the garlands with an entranced expression, causing it to grow visibly greener and longer as he watched. Varric, true to his word, had put in an appearance -- he was comfortably installed in one of Hawke's low divans before the fireplace, and was enthralling a crowd of Undercity guttersnipes with a storyteller's cadence and expansive gestures. He couldn't see Isabela from here, but he knew she was around somewhere; knowing Isabela, probably in the kitchen spiking the drinks with rum. Anders resolved to keep a wary eye on any glasses of eggnog he was offered over the course of the evening.
He and Hawke stood together on the second-floor landing, looking over the balcony at the party below. The hum of happy voices rose up to greet them, mixed with strains of music from the promised orchestra on the platform underneath them. Periodically, one or both of them would make the rounds -- Anders to check on the sicker guests by the walls, Hawke to greet new guests coming in through the door. But they would each return to their post before too long, leaning comfortably against the balcony and each other.
Hawke had a mug of eggnog in his hand; Anders was toying with a shiny green apple. "Where did you get fresh fruit at this time of year? he asked.
"Imported from Rivain," Hawke replied. "Almost more expensive than the rest of the food combined. That's one of the reasons I didn't want to cancel -- it would have been a crying shame to ship it all this way and then let it rot in a warehouse."
"It's a nice touch," Anders said appreciatively. "A lot of Darktowners suffer from scurvy or rickets. This will help."
Hawke nodded. "I hoped it would," he said. "That's why I didn't have the caterers slice any of it. That way they can take it with them, and hopefully they'll keep a little longer."
They lapsed into a comfortable silence, Hawke taking a sip of the sweet drink in his hand as they watched the party below. The guests were warming up, becoming more comfortable; Anders caught the strains of heavy Ferelden accents from below, where a group of raggedly-dressed men were importuning the orchestra to play Andraste's Mabari. So far, at least, the musicians were ignoring them, but Anders was willing to bet by the end of the night they'd change their (heh!) tune.
Anders knew the children of Undercity well; while he and a couple other Darktown regulars made efforts to provide for and protect them, he did not make the mistake of thinking them sweet or innocent. They were skittish, skinny, savvy little street rats, few of whom would scruple about stabbing a man for his purse or at least stealing his shoes as he lay drunk in an alley. They had to be that way in order to survive, and most of them had grown up too young, oftentimes having to provide for siblings younger than themselves or older relatives crippled by illness, injury or grief. Yet here they were, gawping at the colorful displays of light and greenery like apprentices facing their first lesson on elemental magic; hanging on Varric's words as though each one was a treasure, following around the Fool King like a flock of ducklings. As though, just for one night, they could truly be the children they had never been allowed to be.
"You have to realize that a lot of these shiny things are probably going to disappear into pockets before the end of the night," Anders mentioned to Hawke in an undertone. He hated to say it, it felt almost like a betrayal of his fellow Darktowners, but it was the plain truth.
"That's fine," Hawke said with a hum. "There's nothing out here that I would really mind losing, and what else would I do with it all tomorrow? Pack it away in boxes to never see the light of day again? If it helps brighten their day a little bit later on, or can bring them a few coppers to put food on the table, then I don't mind. Besides, isn't the point of Satinalia supposed to be giving gifts?"
"Hawke... thank you for all of this," Anders said softly. The whole thing was dazzlingly, stupendously generous, in ways that normally only existed in fairy tales. Then again, life with Hawke was often like living in a fairy tale; he was one of those just larger-than-life figures that Anders all too often found himself swept up by. "A lot of these kids were born here, or they don't remember their lives before becoming refugees. For most of them this is the first time in their lives they've had a chance to see such beauty, hear such music, or even sit down and eat a meal at a table. Your kindness has given them a memory they can treasure for the rest of their lives."
He was expecting a smile for that, maybe a lumescent blush, or better yet, one of Hawke's adorable stammers. What he did not expect was what he actually got; silence, and when he glanced over at Hawke he saw tension hovering over him and a furrow of upset on his brow.
"I wonder…" Hawke said. "I wonder if it really is kindness."
Anders blinked, startled. "What do you mean?" he said. "Of course it is."
"What I'd really like like is to give them all this forever," Hawke said lowly. "But I can't. Not all the treasure in the thaig would be enough for that. Isn't it more cruel to give it to them for one night, and then take it away? I mean, they're having fun now, but when the party is over they'll have to go back to their hovels and slums knowing that the rest of Hightown lives like this every day, and they'll never have that. I wonder if their joy tonight will turn to bitterness tomorrow." He looked out over the party, the corners of his mouth tugging down. "Isn't it kinder not to know what they can't have?"
Anders took a moment to find the words. In a way, this was Hawke all over; constantly worrying over the prospect of people being hurt, whether now or in the future, always striving to make things right, always miserable and frustrated when he couldn't. "Hawke... you can't fix the whole world," he said. "No one man has that kind of power. This is an incredible gift, and everyone in this room knows it. This is a beautiful night. And yes, when it's over, there will be disappointment, and discouragement, and maybe even bitterness, but that's just part of normal human feelings. When you lose something beautiful, it hurts, but that's no reason not to create beauty in the first place.
"You've reminded these people that there's another world outside of the sewers; and yes, maybe the contrast hurts, but it can also remind them that there's a hope of a better life out there for them and their children. Maybe they'll get there someday, maybe they won't, but it's always better to try." He thought back to his own years in the Circle, to Irving, convinced that everything he did was for their own good, coddled and curtailed and smothered, all choices stifled before they could be born. Thought of Karl; thought that for all the things that hurt about his death, what he regretted was not knowing him in the first place but all the feelings he'd never dared to feel, chances he'd never had to take. "It's always better to have the experience than not, better to have the chance than not, better to have the choice than not. Taking away people's choices so that they won't feel regret or disappointment may feel like a kindness, but it is the kindness of the tyrant."
For a long moment Hawke didn't answer; then at last he sniffed loudly and let out a strained laugh. "When did you get so wise, Anders?" he said weakly.
Anders smiled ruefully. "I have no idea, really," he said. "I guess if you make enough stupid choices in your life, at least a little bit of wisdom has to accrue just to keep the balance."
They watched the party for a little longer, the glitz and glamour transforming the familiar house into something out of a fairyland. In a few hours it would be over, and they'd all have to return to the real world; but for tonight, at least, they could pretend.
Hawke sniffed again, and Anders stole a sideways glance at his face and realized that he was crying, tears trickling down his face and glittering in the shimmering lights. "She's gone, Anders," Hawke said, and Anders knew he meant his mother. "This was the last thing she did in this world, the last thing she wanted. This was the last piece of her…"
"I know, love," Anders said softly, and abandoned the balcony to wrap Hawke in a full-bodied hug. Hawke pressed tightly against him, his small body quaking with sniffles and sobs, warm tears seeping through the fabric of his shirt. Anders just tried to be there, and hoped it would help.
At length the music beneath them changed, a stately rhythm that Anders knew, and he gave his boyfriend a nudge. "Listen, they're starting up a waltz," he said. "Dance with me, love?"
Hawke pulled back, wiping his red eyes on his sleeve, and gave him a bright, wet smile. "Of course," he said, voice only a little hoarse. He reached out his hand, and Anders caught it, giving it a firm squeeze as they descended the stairs together.
A small square of the floor had been cleared aside for the dancers, and Anders and Hawke fell into the one-to-three pattern of the dance, Hawke leading. On one turn they spun by Isabela embracing Merrill, the smaller elf standing on the tops of her boots and both of them laughing. On another, they saw Fenris waltzing at half-time, leading a red-headed little Darktown girl through the steps.
It surprised Anders a little to think that either Isabela or Fenris would know how to ballroom dance; but then again, he supposed he shouldn't have been. After all, Isabela had been married once to a rich man; she'd learned all the lessons of high society, even if she usually scorned to use them. And Fenris would have been witness to all sorts of society events at Danarius' side.
No matter what lay in their pasts, they were all here tonight. No matter what the future brought, they would always have this memory. The chance once taken, the choice once made -- there was nothing and no-one that could take that away from them.
~end.
(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2015-12-17 04:44 am (UTC)for queen-schadenfreude
Happy Handers Satinalia!
Request: Harvesting medicinal/edible herbs/plants together in the garden
Rating: T, fluff & flirting
*
Frost sparkled in the air, turning leaves crisp and windows icy. The garden at Hawke's estate was just starting to shut down, the remaining leaves just beginning to wilt, and both he and his lover had gone out, bundled up against the cold, in an attempt to save what use they could of the herbs.
"I still don't understand what half of this is ," Hawke said, shaking his head as he carefully plucked another handful of something green, mimicking the way Anders had shown him repeatedly.
The healer glanced over from his own basket, and wrinkled his nose. "That's a weed, love. The elfroot is right next to it." Reaching over, his fingertips caressed the proper leaf fondly, and then patted Hawke's wrist. "I'm amazed you still can't tell the difference."
Hawke sighed, sitting back to rub at his dusky forehead. "They all look the same!"
With a laugh, Anders scooted closer to show him yet again. "See, this leaf is round," he plucked it and tapped it teasingly against Hawke's nose, "which we want. If it's got lobes, it's the wrong one."
Hawke's teeth closed on air when he snapped at the leaf, and he gave his lover a wry grin. "Good thing it's the end of the season and I can just pick everything here and let you sort it out."
Admitting the point, Anders returned to his own, much neater basket. "True. And it's a good thing we're only in the garden, and not hunting herbs on Sundermount. Maker, but you're useless at that, I don't know why I ask you to help any more."
Hawke huffed, and tossed a weed at Anders' head. "Yes, insult the man who supplied you with an herb garden in the first place, and is helping you save it from the ravages of winter. Very helpful."
"You know I'm teasing." Anders brushed the weed aside. "You also know I'm right."
"You still don't have to it outright," Hawke grumbled, but he was grinning too.
The simplicity of working in the crisp air with his lover eclipsed all the troubles they'd been dealing with lately, letting Hawke's mind focus on something easy and pleasant for a while. The two men toiled side by side in comfortable silence, rescuing what herbs were still usable, until Anders let out a full-body shiver.
"Maker, but it's cold out here." Anders rubbed at his arms, despite his cloak and gloves.
"Let me warm you up then, love," Hawke suggested. He pushed his basket to the side, reached out and wrapped his arms around his healer, pulling him close and pressing a kiss to his ear. Anders relaxed into his grip, near purring in the embrace.
A light tug on the Fade, and Hawke wasn't just figuratively radiating heat. Warmth spread across his skin, through his clothing and everywhere they touched, drawing a startled gasp from Anders' throat. He laughed, and summoned his own heat, a bit harder to control than Hawke's as elemental magic wasn't his strong suit, but pleasant all the same. Together they warmed the chilly air of the garden, Anders straddling his lover's lap and raining kisses down on his face.
Eventually, Anders pulled back, eyes crinkling at the corners as he looked over his lover's kiss-bruised mouth and flushed cheeks. "Think we've warmed the dead herb garden enough?" he murmured, planting one last peck to Hawke's nose.
"I don't know." Hawke tilted his head consideringly. "Is there something you'd rather I warmed?"
"Yeah." Anders lifted Hawke's gloved hand to his mouth and kissed his fingertips, watching Hawke's face with lowered lashes as he flicked his tongue out in suggestion. He gently pressed his lover's hand to the base of his throat, raising an eyebrow. "Inside?"
Hawke swallowed, tracing the curve of Anders' throat, leather dragging across his skin. "Why inside? We're warm enough out here."
"We're warm enough out here because we're ," Anders chided lightly. "Eventually someone will get distracted and things will go wrong."
In response, Hawke shot a spark of lighting through his fingertips, briefly taking Anders' breath away, even diffused through the gloves. After a moment, Anders shook his head, rising to his feet. "Inside," he insisted. Hawke whined, and the healer laughed. "I'm not giving our neighbours a show; you know how loud you get. Anyway," he glanced around, noting gratefully that their baskets of herbs were still full and upright, and not scattered across the ground, "I think we're done out here."
Hawke sighed, looking amazingly put out for a man who was being invited to have sex. "Fine," he conceded, "we'll go inside."
Grinning, Anders scooped up his basket. He could sort through it later, and they really had gotten most of the useful parts gathered before they'd gotten distracted - no matter how lovely the distraction. He held out a hand, pulling Hawke to his feet, though he knew the other man didn't need the assistance.
Slipping closer, Anders purred into his lover's ear, "Come show me just how hot we can get."
no subject
Date: 2015-12-22 03:09 pm (UTC)Also Hawke as a magical living furnace is just so fffff cozy and lovely and im gonna cry AAA THANK YOU ;A; !!!!!!!!!!!!
For: daggerpen
Date: 2015-12-19 06:48 am (UTC)http://i64.tinypic.com/2cy18ch.jpg
Re: For: daggerpen
Date: 2015-12-20 12:14 am (UTC)*ahem* Well I couldn't remember my proper DW signin so just have this response.
Re: For: daggerpen
From: (Anonymous) - Date: 2015-12-24 03:50 am (UTC) - Expandno subject
Date: 2015-12-19 05:58 pm (UTC)From: ANONYMOUS
Prompt: Anders and Hawke fighting with their awesome magic back to back
Happy Satinalia/Holidays! I hope I did you Hawke justice!
Here's a link to the picture! :) Hope you like it! https://36.media.tumblr.com/5e18eebcb0b6ca79f3d6b7076cd53dcd/tumblr_nzm9j9OkFn1urv6dao1_1280.jpg
no subject
Date: 2015-12-19 06:01 pm (UTC)(no subject)
From: (Anonymous) - Date: 2015-12-19 09:11 pm (UTC) - Expandno subject
Date: 2015-12-19 06:27 pm (UTC)Prompt: Anders using simple-but-helpful non-healing magic for Hawke
http://tinypic.com/r/k04ow9/9
Happy holidays! \(^o^)/
no subject
Date: 2015-12-20 10:18 pm (UTC)i love it, thank you very much!!! :D
for @audacityinblack ! (part 1)
Date: 2015-12-19 07:02 pm (UTC)White flakes swirled and danced in the sharp wind outside the manor window. Snow came to soften the world’s edges, to form fluffy piles on pointed roofs and pine trees’ jagged branches. It was easy to think, watching the snow fall, that perhaps the world was not such a cruel place as it truly was.
From the warmth of Hawke’s manor, a stone’s throw from one of many roaring fireplaces and a mug of hot tea in his hands, Anders watched as the courtyard vanished under thick flakes. The sight, peaceful as it was, was only making his nerves more on-edge.
It was… difficult for him to lose himself even in the simplest pleasures, though Hawke had begun to make it easier for him and Justice to relax. But the knowledge that he, Anders, was here, safe and warm and cared for, while thousands of mages across Thedas lacked even this most basic of blessings… well, it rankled at Anders. At Justice as well, tucked as he always was in his own space in Anders’s mind.
Two warm arms came to wind themselves around his middle, and Anders let his train of thought be interrupted as he relaxed in Hawke’s embrace.
“So quiet,” came her voice in his ear. “What’s on your mind?”
Anders set his tea down on an end table before covering Hawke’s hands with his.
“I was thinking about the mages in the Gallows,” he said truthfully, leaning against her. It was no good to tell even a white lie about simply “watching the snow”; Justice had long put a stop to that, chiding him for even the smallest dishonesty.
“You always are,” Hawke said, but there was no accusation in her voice. She simply held Anders a little tighter, resting the side of her head against his arm. Hawke knew how consumed Anders and Justice were with their shared cause, and she often flung herself into their work right at their side. It was the first time Anders had had a partner he could easily talk to, since communications between himself and Justice often became tangled in their shared psyche.
“It’s Satinalia tomorrow,” Anders said quietly, watching the flakes fall harder and faster outside. “None of them will receive gifts. None of them will even be allowed to see their families. It is a grave injustice,” Justice finished for him, their voices blending in the air. “Keeping innocents subjugated and imprisoned even on this most joyous of mortal days.” Though Justice still had a somewhat rough grasp on how time passed outside of the Fade, he had come to appreciate, if not fully ascribe to, the significance mortals placed on certain days.
Hawke nodded in agreement, letting her hold on her lovers’ body loosen. “You’re right,” she said, and Justice turned to see the usual fire blazing in her eyes. “I’ve got an idea for the best Satinalia present ever for them.”
Justice’s eyes widened, taking Hawke’s hands. “Tell us.”
“What you’ve been asking me for since the day we met: Meredith’s head on a pike.”
“Yes… no!” Justice’s pleased grin faded to a look of dismay as Anders regained dominance in their shared body. “Lys, love, we can’t just murder Meredith. I mean, I wouldn’t mourn her one bit, but… She can easily be replaced with someone just as bad or worse.”
“Then we’ll put all the Templars’ heads on pikes.”
“The Chantry will send in new Templars.” Anders pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed, also directing the words to his spirit. “Taking down individual Templars, or even freeing individual mages, won’t cause any lasting change for the mages in Kirkwall. We all know this.”
It was a hard truth that the three of them had arrived at during their years working in the Mage Underground. Leading mages out of the Gallows one by one did little good when those beds in the apprentice quarters would be filled with new bodies by morning. Killing one cruel Templar did little to stop the widespread abuse mages suffered at Templar hands. The hydra kept growing new heads, and new mages were killed or made Tranquil at its hands every day.
What could the three of them do in a single day to help the lot of the mages in the Gallows?
“Anders.” The sharpness in Hawke’s voice made him look at her, surprised. Her eyes were blazing again. “So what? So we can’t tear down the Circles in a day. Does that really mean there’s nothing we can do to make their lives the least bit more… livable?”
Anders’s heart caught in his throat at her words. It was true: when he’d been in the Fereldan Circle, there was anything he would have done for some kindness from an outsider. It never ceased to amaze him how easily Lys, who had been a free mage all her life, grasped what good the little things could do for those who were truly desperate. But…
“Justice,” he said slowly, feeling the spirit move unhappily within him. “Justice thinks… it’s a pittance. You see your fellow mages bleeding,” Justice continued, letting his voice be heard, “and believe their suffering can end with… beverages? Colorful masks?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Hawke said harshly, frowning at the spirit. “Justice. Look at me.” Reluctantly, the spirit did. “We will free the mages. Every last one of them. We will. I swear it on the spires of the Black City. But we can’t do it by tomorrow.”
Justice huffed unhappily, though he knew she was right.
And then Hawke’s face split into the trademark wicked grin they’d both come to love so much.
“But in the meantime,” she said, conjuring a bit of fire into her palm, “why should we bother playing by all their rules?”
--
In the end, finding their way into the Gallows was almost child’s play.
It helped, of course, that Lys was the Champion of Kirkwall, allowed almost completely unfettered access to most parts of the city. It helped, too, that the Knight-Captain trusted her enough to respond to her invitation for holiday drinks at the Hanged Man without bringing a half-dozen of his heavily armed friends along. After a few ales that had been spiked with strong Antivan liquor, a staggering Cullen had let Hawke lead him into one of the rooms at the inn in order to sleep it off.
She made sure he was fully unconscious before she stole his armor.
“Are you certain I can’t steal his trousers as well?” Anders whispered outside the door, once she had his Templar breastplate and metal skirt in hand. “Maybe draw some spectacles and a mustache on his ugly mug? Or we could kill him as he sleeps,” Justice threw in. “A Templar cannot be allowed to live in this city where his kind torments mages.”
“Focus, you two,” Hawke hissed, helping Anders don the helm. Soon only his eyes were visible, two pinpricks peering out through the darkness. “You’ve been working on that impression, haven’t you?”
“Stop that, you mage,” Anders said in a pitch-perfect imitation of Cullen’s voice, the sound ringing inside the helm. He’d proven to be rather talented at copying the Templar’s voice and mannerisms, and could often be persuaded by Varric or Isabela to do his impression on Wicked Grace night. “’Blessed are the peacekeepers, champions of the just’—I feel ill,” he finished in his normal voice. “Justice isn’t happy wearing this… flaming sword insignia, either. Maybe we can think of another way into the Gallows? The underground passage is still open and unguarded… well, mostly.”
“You can do it,” Hawke soothed, laying a hand on the silver gauntlet he wore. “I’ll be right beside you the whole time.”
“Will you please burn this armor once we have finished with it?”
Hawke ignored Justice’s question, handing them Cullen’s sword and shield to strap to their back, completing the illusion. “Let’s get a move on!”
--
And so two apostates strolled right through the front gate of the Gallows in broad daylight, completely unquestioned by the Templars standing guard. A couple of them even saluted Anders as he passed, his Cullen disguise fooling them completely.
“Shame I won’t be able to milk this,” he said in an aside to Hawke, returning a junior Templar’s salute with a customary strike to his breast. “Imagine, getting this kind of respect from those bastards if I was in my regular clothes.”
Hawke was shaking her head, eyes continually darting around the courtyard. “I don’t like this,” she grumbled, fingers flexing as she fought the urge to reach for her staff. “There’re more Templars than usual in the yard today. Why?”
There was a clank as Anders shrugged. “Because it’s Satinalia, and they’re being even bigger arseholes by keeping mages’ families away from them today? You!” he suddenly barked in Cullen’s voice, directing his command to a Templar that was leering particularly close to an apprentice selling wares. “You’re due in the training yard, that’s a lad!” The Templar balked, scurrying away as fast as he could in his skirts.
“Mad with power,” Hawke said drily, shaking her head at him.
“Positively drunk with it, love,” Anders shot back, equally deadpan. He held out a hand for the bag she carried. “If you can stall them for, oh, twenty minutes, I can make my way through the mages’ quarters and leave those.”
Hawke frowned at the thought of being separated from Anders, but she knew he was right. While she was allowed to walk around the Gallows courtyard, there was very little chance she would actually be allowed to walk into the Circle and come back out again. Anders, disguised as Cullen, had a much better chance of passing unnoticed.
“If anyone hurts you,” she said, passing over the gunnysack, “they’ll only ever find bits of them.”
Anders’s expression was hidden by the helm he wore, but she still heard him chuckle. “I know, love,” he said, reaching to touch her cheek, or maybe to stroke her long blonde hair. But Hawke caught his hand before he could touch her.
“You’re supposed to be Cullen,” she hissed, and Anders dropped his hand.
“Right, right…” He stuffed the sack inside his breastplate; though it was fairly large, it fit rather well in the gap between the metal and Anders’s chest. One of the few advantages for Anders being as thin as he was, she supposed. “Off to make the rounds,” Anders announced to no one in particular before strolling in the direction of the mages’ quarters. Hawke, meanwhile, turned her attention to one rather tall, gangly figure standing in the corner of the courtyard, supervising some Orzammar dwarves who were unloading a shipment of lyrium.
“Right, dear brother,” Lys said to herself in honeyed tones as she strode in his direction, “let’s see what excuses you’ve got for me today.”
--
He hated the silence echoing in the halls, broken only by the clanking of the hated metal skirt he wore. Anders had sworn to never set foot in another Circle, not unless he was there to liberate it. He and Justice had made that vow together, and yet… yet…
He shook his head frantically, trying to silence his own guilt and Justice’s unhappy flutters at the base of his skull. They’d be coming back to liberate the Gallows. Someday soon; Lys had promised them. One day Elthina would see reason. One day his words would make a difference. One day the people in Kirkwall would rise up with the rest of the underground and help them set the mages free. One day… one day.
It was just… hard to realize that day could not be today. More than hard. Impossible.
He swallowed, entering the empty barracks where the apprentices and Harrowed mages presumably slept. Thankfully, the room was deserted, meaning no one was there to see a Templar leaving any sort of gifts for mages. He and Hawke had talked for a long time about what might be appropriate to give them: money to ease life after escape, perhaps, or copies of his manifesto to show the mage underground was still doing its best to reach them.
But in the end, Anders had found his best idea by thinking of what would have meant the most to him, had someone done this for him at Kinloch.
And so, on the end of every mage’s bunk, he placed a small bundle of square shortbread biscuits, tied together with a red ribbon that had been looped around one of the feathers from his coat (a symbol Justice had insisted upon). Orana had made all the biscuits, taking a classic Starkhaven recipe and testing it over and over until Sebastian and Varric, both native Marchers, had deemed her efforts acceptable. Since most of the mages here were from the Free Marches, Anders and Lys had decided to bring them treats that might remind them of their childhood, before they’d been locked up in here. A reminder that life still existed for them outside of the Gallows.
And tucked between two pieces of this holiday treat were scraps of parchment bearing some of Anders’s own words. Nothing inflammatory; nothing that would cause trouble if found by a Templar. Instead, in his best handwriting, Anders had written a message to each mage that he had most needed to hear when he had been a prisoner.
You are not a monster.
You are not a mistake.
You and your gifts come from the Maker, and you deserve to exist.
Someday soon, Anders thought to himself as he placed the final gift on the seat in Orsino’s office, he would make the world agree.
(tbc)
Re: for @audacityinblack ! (part 2)
Date: 2015-12-19 07:03 pm (UTC)Talking to Carver rarely ended well even on the best of days. Today was not even close to one of her “best days”.
“So happy Satinalia, brother,” Hawke spat, concluding a ten-minute rant on all the ways Carver was betraying their father, their sister, and even her by his very existence. She, Anders, and Justice had all agreed that while the other two were sneaking into the mages’ quarters, Hawke’s role would be to cause a distraction in the courtyard so no one would notice “Cullen’s” disappearance. Not that all her angry ranting in her younger brother’s direction had been an act. “Such a shame that you joining the Order didn’t end up being an elaborate prank carried out in the spirit of the holiday!”
“Are you done, Lys?” Carver said, looking furious. “Lovely to see you and all, sis, but I could do without all the lectures on how everything I do with my life is wrong.”
Someone cleared their throat behind her, and Hawke turned to see Cullen – no, Anders standing there, still wearing Cullen’s helm. She took a moment to silently thank him for not getting her attention by clapping a gauntleted hand on her shoulder.
“That’s quite enough, Champion,” Anders said in his sternest, most Cullen-y voice. “Carver has duties to return to, and I believe you have a certain apostate to go home to?”
Hawke wasn’t quite able to hide her smile at his words, but Carver – who had snapped to attention at the sight of the knight-captain insignia – looked confused.
“Sir… forgive me, sir, but I was unaware you knew my first name…” He broke off, squinting into the shadowed face of the armored man before him. “…Anders?”
Ice slipped into Hawke’s stomach, and beside her, Anders stiffened. Carver’s expression quickly went incandescent with rage, mirroring Lys at her worst.
“Anders! That is you… what have you done to the Knight-Captain?!”
They’d been found out. Hawke and Anders exchanged one single, terrified look…
…and then they both turned on their heels, sprinting as one to the fortress’s main gate.
“Shit,” Anders panted, struggling to run in his armor, “that… could’ve… That boy will report us!” Justice had taken over, presumably so their body would be able to bear the weight of all that metal. “Lysandra, we have a duty to remain and explain our position to him…”
“Like hell,” Hawke gasped, clutching at a stitch in her side even as she continued to run. “Carver may be my brother, but he’s… hardly the most understanding person in the world…”
The two of them were halfway across the channel before the klaxons started to sound.
--
Hours later, once the hubbub had passed, Hawke and Anders found themselves back in front of the fire at the manor, sharing some of Orana’s leftover shortbread and hoping – praying – that their efforts had helped raise mages’ morale, even temporarily.
That evening in the Gallows, dozens of mages clustered together in their dormitory to marvel over the mysterious gifts that had materialized on the ends of their bunks, to nibble on their crumbly shortbread together and speak in tearful whispers over the messages that had been left them. Though they debated for hours, they were unable to think of a single person, mage or Templar, who would have left Satinalia gifts for them, which meant there must have been a kind benefactor on the outside. For the first time in years, sparks of hope wavered in their breasts.
And if Cullen Rutherford awoke with a massive hangover to find scorch marks marring his once-pristine armor, downy feathers stuck in the links of his mail?
Well. Knowing Lysandra Hawke as he did, he could only be only thankful nothing worse had happened.
hawkefels' gift
Date: 2015-12-19 08:44 pm (UTC)Rating: T ish? Probably PG.
Genre: Fluffy fluff and also a bit of angst, but fluff. Mention of canon character deaths.
Prompt: 2. hawke & anders during their years in kirkwall, bc i'd love to see snippets of moments of both of their lives before & after they get together. + 3. something holiday related?
Note: I combined two prompts into a new thing, sort of? also a smidge of timeline restructuring for Act 1 *shrug*. hope you like it <3
---
Hawke’s first Satinalia in Kirkwall was dismal. Having to spend it in Lowtown was terrible enough, with his family trying to live in Gamlen’s meager hovel while he and Bethany did odd jobs for Athenril, but Carver’s still-recent death made all the festivities sour. Their mother was a wreck, alternately blaming Hawke and Bethany for his death, then apologizing profusely and lamenting their situation. Gamlen was close to useless, and spent his time arguing and drinking. It was no wonder that he felt like he was suffocating.
The holiday had brought no decorations to this part of the city, save for a few ribbons tied around sagging door knobs. Hawke headed towards the Hanged Man, hoping that at least he could get a drink and relax for a bit.
Varric was outside the bar, which was an anomaly. He grinned at Hawke and waved him over. “Good timing, I was just going to call on you.”
“‘Call on me,’ honestly. How many times do I have to tell you you’re not my type, Varric?” Hawke grinned. He wasn’t sure about the dwarf’s motivations yet, but for all his outwardly dishonest character, he seemed to be a genuine sort. Hawke understood those sort of contradictions.
Varric put a hand on his chest and sighed. “I’ll find a way to come to terms with my heartbreak. I was going to see if you wanted to come out for a drink, and here you are.” Almost like Varric knew how depressing his living arrangement was, and how badly he wanted something to distract himself. He held the door open for Hawke, who was greeted with a blast of stale air and raucous singing.
He had to lean down to hear Varric as he continued speaking. “Isabela’s at the counter, she’s not quite at ‘table-dancing’ levels of drunk, but just give it time. Fenris just growled at me when I asked, so not sure if that was a yes or a no.” The dwarf ticked off names using his fingers. “Aveline’s on patrol, Merrill’s staying in, and…” He grinned, pointing at his usual table. “I persuaded him to come out of his hole for a bit.”
Anders looked up as they approached, smiling softly, almost wary as Hawke sat next to him. “He found you too, then?”
“More like I found him,” Hawke replied. He grinned at the mage, trying out his charm, and he was pleased to see Anders blush. It had only been a few weeks since they’d met, and with what happened at the Chantry, Hawke had decided to back off from any overt affections, but he couldn’t resist just one flirtation with the holiday spirit in the air.
Once Isabela joined, giggling and kissing both of them on the cheek with a wet smack, they played Wicked Grace and made a point to discuss nothing serious. Hawke was buzzed off the terrible ale, using it as an excuse to brush against Anders every now and then, while Varric eyed both of them and shook his head with a smirk.
---
Hawke’s name and status changed over the next two years, which meant, according to his mother, that he had certain social obligations to fill for the holidays. Instead of his usual Satinalia pastime of drinking at the Hanged Man, he was forced to attend a ball in a stuffy mansion in Hightown where he could be paraded before his mother’s friends as a match for their daughters, which he tolerated for an hour before sneaking out through the servant’s entrance and climbing the trellised garden walls with ease.
He ripped off his feathered mask as he headed into the tavern, elbowing his way upstairs to Varric’s suite, and tossed it to Isabela as she announced his arrival with a hoot. The pirate immediately put it on, and Merrill petted the red plumage appreciatively.
“Lord Hawke here to grace us with his presence!” Varric cheered. “I knew they couldn’t hold you forever.”
“It’ll be too soon if I ever see one of those damn masks again,” Hawke grumbled. He took the mug that Fenris silently offered him with a thankful noise, and sat between him and Anders, who was staring at him with a dazed expression. “Cat got your tongue?”
Anders blushed and recovered quickly. “Just not used to you looking so… respectful.”
“He means ‘sexy,’” Isabela clarified, giving Hawke’s silk tunic an appreciative look. “You’re showing almost as much chest as I am.”
“I had to do something to scandalize the Orlesians,” Hawke replied. “A pity I don’t have Varric’s amazing chest hair to go with it.”
“Stop spending so much time growing it on your face and you would,” Varric retorted.
“Ooh, what are those?” Isabela said, pointing at the garland and ribbons tied to his sleeve. “Is that mistletoe?”
“Is that what it is? They said it was festive and I had to wear it.” He shrugged, untying the ribbon and letting the bundle fall from his wrist. “You want it?”
“Oh, no you don’t. It’s bad luck to give it away, you have to kiss someone before the night’s over.” She winked at him, then nodded at Varric. “Right?”
“She’s right. Bad luck. Doom for the entire new year,” the dwarf said, grinning.
Hawke eyed them suspiciously, mouth curling into a smirk. “Uh huh.”
“Don’t even think about it,” Fenris grumbled, without prompting, already knowing where this was going and wishing to stay out of it.
Hawke pretended to be hurt, putting a hand over his heart. He turned to Anders, who was as red as the feathers on Hawke’s mask. “I can’t risk bad luck.”
He batted his eyelashes at the mage, who straightened himself and adopted a similar smirk. “Of course not,” Anders said, nodding. “You may as well get on with it, then.”
Isabela and Merrill were huddled together, chins on their hands, watching with beaming smiles, and Hawke made a rude gesture to them as he leaned in closer to Anders, leaving the other man to close the distance. There was a tentative touch to Hawke’s shoulder as their lips met, and the rogue put his arm around Anders’ chair as warmth spread through him, wanting so badly to grab him and deepen the kiss, to lose himself in Anders and forget everything else around them.
Fenris’ disgusted noise made him pull back with a laugh, his heart racing as Anders resumed his dazed expression. The hand was still on his shoulder, he involuntarily licked his lips and forced himself to look away from Anders’ golden eyes. “Here, take it,” Hawke said, flinging the mistletoe at Isabela.
The pirate squealed with joy and wrapped her arms around Merrill, delivering a much less chaste version to the elf, who giggled uncontrollably as she turned pink with embarrassment. The bundle passed to Varric, and Fenris threatened him with creative bodily harm for trying to lean in and deliver a smooch. Merrill kissed Varric on the cheek to appease the dwarf. Hawke let the hand around Anders’ chair slip to a feathered shoulder, and the mage leaned closer until Hawke could feel his warmth through his fancy clothes.
---
The invitations to Satinalia balls sat unopened on Hawke’s desk, the house devoid of any sign of the season. It had been three months since Leandra’s death, and the funeral pallor still remained, Hawke a mess and trapped in the politics of Kirkwall and the Qunari. Everything was blessedly quiet for now, and Anders took the initiative to send Bodhan out to gather groceries and other supplies, and also send a message to Varric.
Justice didn’t understand why Anders tied holly to the staircase, or why he set cinnamon and nutmeg in oil over a candle to let the smell diffuse through the house. Anders had tried to explain holiday traditions before, but maybe he did it better this time, or the spirit knew how much both Hawke and Anders needed this, because Justice advised him that the wreath on the door was crooked and should be fixed before the rogue came home.
Varric arrived with his deck of cards and a bottle of the least terrible rum Corff could brew. Isabela brought mistletoe that was likely stolen from some nobleman’s awning, and Merrill brought tiny, slightly burned cookies that looked like stars. When Hawke, Fenris, and Aveline came home from their bandit-killing, the elf turned without a word to fetch wine, and Aveline went to task at supervising Orana in making Fereldan stew.
Hawke stood in his house, stunned, like he’d never seen it before.
“I leave for a day and you just go and ‘festive’ everything,” he joked, as Anders pushed him towards the sitting room, where Merrill sat on Isabela’s lap and listened to Fenris talk about their excursion, while Varric snuck more of his books on Hawke’s bookcase.
“I’d apologize, but I’m not actually sorry,” Anders replied. His hand cupped Hawke’s cheek and he pressed a kiss to his lips. “Happy Satinalia, love.”
“How the time flies,” Hawke replied, and he laughed and ducked his head into Anders’ shoulder, quick fingers brushing at his eyes while he hid the gesture with a kiss on the mage’s neck. “Happy Satinalia,” he murmured.
Secret Santinalia Gift
Date: 2015-12-19 09:34 pm (UTC)Prompt: Post DA:I Handers with an adopted kid
Rating: E, Fluffy
Hawke’s eyes snapped open, every nerve and muscle in his body screaming for him to fight, to flee, to do something. Taking deep breaths to still his racing heart he finally heard the plaintive cries of the child.
He sat up on the hard mattress and glanced over on his still slumbering partner. Anders muttered something and turned over away from shuttered window. Hawke smiled down at Anders and moved his golden hair off his face, the silken hair such a contrast to Hawke’s calloused hand.
Gently swinging his aching body off the bed, Hawke threw on the tattered remnants of his robe from Kirkwall (Anders had insisted on burning it when they first fled into the country side from Kirkwall, but Hawke refused to burn the last link he had to his Amell bloodline.)
Padding down to the child’s room, Hawke paused by a window and took a moment to appreciate the scenery. The squat house overlooked a small stream and pond that reflected the full moon above, giving everything a dream-like quality. The night outside was quiet and still, even the omnipresent droning of the insects was absent and Hawke reveled in the silence.
After fleeing the burning city of Kirkwall, escaping the Fade, adopting Damien, and starting a small farm with Anders and some of the townspeople, Hawke had learned to appreciate quiet moments when nothing needed his immediate attention. Except that Damien started his quiet mewls again, snapping Hawke out of his reverie.
He quietly hurried to the boy’s room and saw him cowering underneath his quilt. It had been a gift from the boy’s aunt when Damien first came to live with them. The aunt explained that Damien’s mother used to live in Kirkwall and had been a patient of Anders while he operated his clinic there. After his mother had become pregnant out of wedlock, she had fled back to her older sister’s village where she gave birth and raised Damien with her help. When Damien’s mother had fallen ill a few years later, she entrusted his care to her sister and had passed away shortly thereafter. It had been pure chance that Hawke and Anders had found the cottage on the outskirts of the village, and the elderly aunt took it as a sign from the Maker and she pleaded with Anders for him to take the boy and raise him. Moved by the aunt’s pleas and the young boy’s plight, Anders agreed and he and Hawke had cared for the boy since.
Hawke at times still struggled to believe that he had a son to care for – he had long accepted that his status as a fugitive limited his chances for adopting a child, but every time Damien smiled a gap-tooth smile or hugged Hawke, he felt his heart leap.
“Damien, what’s wrong?” Damien startled and shot a glance to Hawke, his eyes wide and panicked. Pulling the quilt down below his head, he told Hawke about the monster that lived in the wardrobe that wanted to eat him.
“Damien, where ever did you hear such a fanciful tale?” Hawke chuckled slightly at the exciting tale and settled on the bed next to the young boy.
“Michael said so. He said that monsters live in wardrobes and eat little kids.” Lunging forward, Damien wrapped his arms around Hawke and shuddered as his imagination created more and more terrifying monsters in his mind.
“Oh my!” Feigning shock, Hawke hugged Damien closer and kissed the boy’s head, “I guess I’ll just have to fight the terrible monster now, won’t I?”
Damien stopped shaking and looked quizzically up at his father. “What?”
Hawke smiled and ruffled the boy’s raven hair. “Tell you what, I’ll go make sure that monster is gone, and then I’ll tell you a story until you fall asleep, okay?” Damien nodded enthusiastically and Hawke tucked him back into the bed.
Crossing to the wardrobe Hawke remembered when his own father had done the same for him and his siblings when they were young. They had been scared that a terrible monster was scratching at the walls of their room trying to eat them. They had all run into their parent’s room, all frightened and describing different monster to their parents. Amused, Malcolm had taken Hawke outside and they looked for this terrible monster. Instead, they found a branch from a nearby tree scratching at the wall in the wind.
Embarrassed, Hawke tried to deny ever feeling afraid, but Malcolm explained that fear wasn’t something to be ashamed of. “Son, fear is not bad. Fear is simply your heart telling you to be careful. When you feel afraid, do not despair. Instead, you must decide if you want to master your fear, or let it master you.” Together they broke the branch off and threw it in the compost heap, telling Carver and Bethany the truth behind the noises.
Remembering his father’s kindness, Hawke paused in front of the wardrobe. “Damien, will you help me, please?” Damien retreated deeper into the quilt and shook his head. “Son, I know you fear whatever is in this closet. But, if you never find out the truth, you’ll be afraid the rest of your life. I promise to keep you safe, but I think you need to do this.”
Damien paused and slowly slipped out of the bed. He joined Hawke and together they opened the wardrobe. Inside, Damien’s clothes and few toys were stacked while a wilted flower in a vase stood beside it all. After thoroughly checking to make sure it was safe, the pair closed the door and reconvened at the bed.
“So, there was no monster? Michael told a lie?” Damien’s voice sounded stronger, although Hawke could hear the exhaustion in it.
“I don’t think so. I think Michael was scared, so he told a story to make himself feel better. Sometimes, fear makes us do that, make up stories that make our fears easier to hide.”
Smiling, Damien snuggled closer to Hawke and sleepily asked, “But you don’t do that, right? You’re the bravest da in the whole world.” Before Hawke could respond, Damien fell asleep.
Softly extricating his self, Hawke returned to his bed and slid back beneath the quilt. Turning to look at Anders he was surprised to see his love’s eyes open and a smile on his face. “You are the bravest da in the whole world, aren’t you?” Hawke chuckled leaned his forehead against Anders.
The pair stayed like that for a moment before Hawke blurted that he still had nightmares. “I have dreams of the spiders. In the Fade. They cover me and I can’t escape.”
Anders hummed and grabbed Hawke’s hand. “I know. Justice sometimes sees your dreams in the Fade. But you know they’re only dreams, right love? You can’t be hurt by them. Not anymore.”
Hawke waited a moment before pulling his hand out of Anders'. “I know that, Love. But I still have them. It’s been over three years, and I still have them.”
“I used to have nightmares about the Circle. All the things I saw, the stories I heard. There were times where I did not sleep for weeks. Now, I never have them.”
Hawke sat up and looked over at Anders, “How did you stop them? Did Justice stop them?”
Anders shook his head and sat up as well, leaning against Hawke. “No. At first I tried burying myself in work to stop them but it didn’t help. What did help, was you Hawke.”
“Me? How so?”
“Every time I had a nightmare, I would think of you and how kind you were, and how you promised me such grand things. Soon, I found myself so happy and warm that no nightmare could hope to hurt me.”
Hawke found himself smiling, remembering all the love he felt with Anders and Damien. He remembered Merrill and her inexhaustible enthusiasm, Isabela and Varric and their humor that always seemed to lift his spirits. Aveline and her steadfast assuredness that helped keep the group grounded. Even Fenris and his dry humor always serving as a counterpoint to the tragedy and darkness of their time together was a welcome source of love. And of course, the blonde mage who offered his whole heart to him, asking for nothing in return.
Turning to him now, Hawke kissed him deeply, drinking in his love like an elixir. Breaking the kiss, Hawke again ran his hand through Anders’ hair and lay back down. That night, the whole house slept soundly, each occupied with dreams of the ones they loved.
(Sorry if its not that good, I'm still really new at writing fic, hope you enjoyed it and have a great holiday!)
Re: Secret Santinalia Gift
Date: 2015-12-20 11:41 pm (UTC)Also, don't be too hard on yourself! This was well done, especially if you're just starting out with fic!
And happy holidays to you too :)
For Mikkeneko
Date: 2015-12-19 11:39 pm (UTC)The first few months are the hardest.
Hawke is no stranger to life on the run, of course, but it's been many years since he's spent more than a night’s camping on the Wounded Coast, and it shows. They can't even buy a tent for the first week, making do with cloaks and lean-tos, and things hardly improve once they have one.
“We could try the Avvar,” Hawke offers one night, the two shivering under the shelter of the ratted cloth. Winter’s begun in earnest, and with the templars in close pursuit, they don’t dare risk any fire. “You’ll always have guest-welcome in my hold, if nothing else.”
“They're still weeks of travel from here, love,” Anders tells him, frustratingly reasonable through the bitter chill. “Besides, I'm not looking to hide. I'm looking to act, without getting caught.”
Hawke can’t argue with that. Still-
“We’re going to freeze, Anders,” he says, serious for once. “I know cold, and we’ll need better than this soon.”
“We’ll figure something out,” Anders says, drawing closer. He calls warmth to his hands, just sufficient for the faintest of smoke, and while it’s not nearly enough, Hawke supposes it’ll have to hold for now.
They find a barn three days outside of Ansburg. It’s bolder than they’d usually care to be, but the snow’s nearly up to their knees and their cloaks have become dangerously soaked. So they steal into the small building, Hawke’s hands barely able to even hold the lockpicks, Anders keeping a nervous watch on the cottage, too-near, lantern still lit even at this time of night.
It’s not much better inside, but it’s dry, at least, enough so for them to shed their outer layers, Anders drying them with a wave of the hand. Hawke’s already making a small bed in the hay when the door swings open behind them.
“Shit!” Hawke fumbles for his knives, cursing himself for setting them aside in the first place. He won’t kill some poor farmers, but he’ll scare them as much as it takes to get Anders to safety if he has to.
“What in Andraste’s name is-?” the woman breaks off, seeing the flames in Anders’ hands, the staff discarded against the wall, and Hawke’s heart stops in his chest. The templars. She’ll alert the templars if she runs for it. “Apostates?” she asks in a quiet voice. “I- are you from Kirkwall? Maker, what are you doing out here? Didn’t you see the lantern?”
Hawke and Anders stand, frozen and half-naked, staring at her.
“... what?”
“My oldest was ten when the templars took him.” The cottage is small, but warmer than the fugitives have been in weeks, a roaring fire in the hearth and two bowls of soup neither of them can bring themselves to turn down. “We never got any letters. They didn’t even tell us which Circle they took him to.” She shakes her head.
“It was fifteen years before we saw him again,” her husband continues. “We couldn’t keep him more than a night before the templars started asking questions. But that was when we started.”
“And the templars haven't caught on?” Anders asks.
“Not yet,” the woman says.
“We shouldn't stay too long, though,” Anders says quietly. “To be safe.”
“We need to get to Ostwick anyway,” Hawke adds.
Their hosts glance at each other. “... if you're hoping they'll take in Kirkwallers-” the wife begins at last.
“We aren't,” Anders says meaningfully, and they take his point immediately.
After a moment, the husband just nods. “The Vauses should be safe,” he says. “They're across the river, but if you leave early tomorrow you can make it before nightfall.”
“How will we know them?” Anders asks.
“They'll have the lantern outside the window,” the wife replies. “They always have lanterns.”
“Why?” Hawke asks, and the couple just shrugs.
“To make it easy to find, I suppose?” The husband offers, and Hawke doesn't ask further. “Thank you,” he says simply.
They won't take any of the coin the fugitives have left, but when they walk out the door early next morning, the sun barely above the horizon, the man’s cough is gone, and the woman moves, just for a little while, untroubled by arthritis.
It's something.
Ostwick comes and goes before they know it. There are lanterns sufficient for the worst of the winter, and the thaw is starting to set in by the time they turn their feet towards Orlais. The refuges grow sparser and sparser as they leave the Free Marches behind them, but there are roofs enough to shelter them at least one night a week, and warmth enough to make the rest bearable.
It means they meet more of the other apostates, too. Hawke doesn't really know why so many of them are headed through Orlais, except maybe for the prevalence of secrets and masks that provide the best shelter for apostates.
Hawke does know, though, that most of them aren't even from the Gallows. They come in all ages and from all sorts of Circles, apprentices and enchanters, escaped recently or years past or even born free, from Ostwick and Starkhaven and Antiva and even one or two from Rivain come to join the rebellion.
He's Fereldan, and a few years younger than Hawke, by the rogue’s estimate. And he won't stop staring at Anders, and Hawke understands seconds too late. His hand's on Anders’ arm, not certain of the younger mage’s reactions, but he just says - “It's you, isn’t it? It's really you.”
Anders meets his eyes, and straightens, pulling his arm gently from Hawke's grasp. “Yes.”
“You look so different.”
Anders swallows hard, hands at his side. “Time will do that.”
The younger man nods. “Do you recognize me? I was just a kid, I don't know if you remember.”
Anders shakes his head mutely.
“Well, it doesn't matter.” And then suddenly, he's hugging Anders, arms tight around his chest. “They sent my sister to Starkhaven,” he says. “We're together for the first time in ten years now. Thank you. For everything.”
Their host, ignorant of the context, smiles at the display even so. Hawke, knowing it full well, does too.
They're in Orlais proper now, working their way North. There's been no word from the White Spire in months, but they've caught rumors of a gathering in the Emerald Graves, and they intend to be there for it.
There hasn't been one in weeks when they spot the lantern this time, one cool spring evening, the sky a brilliant orange with the setting sun. It's a small cottage, tucked lonely amongst the hills, and Hawke doubts this way has seen an apostate in weeks. Still, their packs are heavy and they've gold enough to leave a few in secret, and it's been too long since they've seen a roof over their heads.
So the woman lets them in, her dark hair beginning to streak with silver and eyes crinkling with laughter lines.
“What's your story?” Hawke asks over a plate of shepherd's pie, taking in the surrounding cottage. It's rare to see someone living alone at safehouses, especially one without hint of a taken child or sibling.
“‘Story’?” she asks, eyebrow raised.
“How did you start?” Anders asks.
The woman just laughs, quiet, and raises a hand wreathed in flame.
“You're taking quite a risk,” Hawke observes, and she just shrugs.
“Living is a risk.”
Neither of them can argue with that. They finish their supper in silence, gratefully accepting the proffered bed in the corner.
“Where did it come from, by the way?” Hawke asks. The question’s fallen from his lips many times over the past few months, each time unanswered, and he doubts a lone apostate in the Orlesian farmlands knows any better, but he can't help the curiosity.
But it doesn't look like she knows, either, and Hawke supposes his curiosity will have to remain unsated. “I… you know, I have no idea.” But then she frowns in thought, and finally says, “It’s a Marcher thing, I think. It just means… sanctum, I guess. A-”
“A light in the dark,” Anders whispers. “Where no one will be turned away.”
“Yes!” She says. “You know more of it?”
Anders just smiles, and Hawke feels a warmth in his chest like he hasn’t felt in ages.
Re: For Mikkeneko
Date: 2015-12-20 12:12 am (UTC)gift for Ironspined
Date: 2015-12-20 07:01 am (UTC)It was their first, since fleeing Kirkwall, and dates had a tendency to come and go with little notice on the road. Before meeting Hawke, the holiday had held little significance for the former Circle mage. After all, it was a day for spending time with family and loved ones. What use for a man who'd never truly belonged anywhere?
But Garrett had a way of making seemingly inconsequential things special. Like eating cheese on the balcony before bedtime, or sitting in front of the library fireplace late at night, or that little strip of red cloth he'd given Anders years ago. So, too, had Satinalia come to be a special day for the mage. No matter how busy he'd been with the clinic or the mage resistance, he'd always made a point of spending the day with Garrett, drinking hot apple cider (in spite of the fact it never truly got cold enough in Kirkwall to warrant such a warm beverage), and badly singing holiday songs with Boddahn and Sandal.
On the run, however, was another matter. Boddahn, Sandal, and the rest of their friends were long gone. The Kirkwall estate would not be decked out in holiday finery this year. Nor did Anders believe they would have the opportunity to sample any cider, despite the growing chill as they'd traveled south into Ferelden.
Despite his reservations, Garrett had finally reluctantly conceded to Anders’ insistent requests that they seek more permanent shelter to hole up for the winter. They might be recognized in even a small town but they would almost certainly perish if they tried to keep traveling in such miserable weather. Eventually, they had taken refuge in a small chasind village near the edge of the Korcari Wilds. It was small and isolated enough that Garrett felt it relatively safe, and the heathen locals bore the Chantry no love so Anders also felt safe, provided he didn't openly work his magic and reveal himself for what he was. Instead, he posed as a traveling medicine man, offering soothing balms and tinctures made from nothing more threatening than the local plantlife. (If he happened to infuse each with a blush of magic every night to increase their potency, well the locals were none the wiser.)
Garrett still insisted on spending his days patrolling the perimeter of the little village. Just in case. There was not much he could do to help Anders anyway and he reasoned it might give them a little bit of warning should they need to make a sudden getaway.
When Hawke left that morning without saying a word about what day it was, Anders knew something was wrong. How could Garrett have forgotten his favorite holiday? He must be more worried than Anders had believed. The mage hoped his plans to surprise his love would go a long way toward restoring some of that lost joy Hawke had once displayed.
Instead of working on restocking his potions that day, Anders spent the time decorating the modest little hut they were calling home for the winter. He didn’t have evergreen branches to hang above the door and mantel, so the healer was forced to use bundles of drying herbs tied together with strips of red cloth he'd cut from one of Garrett’s old shirts. Normally, they lit dozens of little candles to add to the festive air but candles were scarce in the small village. In lieu of candles, Anders got creative and hung tiny magelights all across the ceiling until it twinkled like stars. He just had to hope none of the locals stopped by and started asking questions. Decorating done, he then set to work cooking the duck he managed to trade a chasind hunter for, roasting it with onions, potatoes, and mushrooms. It would be the largest meal they'd had in months and he'd been saving up for it in secret.
Once satisfied with his handiwork, there was nothing left for Anders to do but wait for Hawke to return from his patrol.
So Anders waited.
And waited.
Hawke had been late, before, of course. Anders assumed he'd stopped to talk to one of the villagers. After all, Garrett had grown up traipsing through the surrounding countryside. He had more in common with these folk than he did Anders in some ways.
So the mage puttered about his little worktable and tried to get some work done while he waited, the feast beginning to grow cold. He tried not to think about what else might be keeping his lover out late. It would be just their luck to be driven from this place on Satinalia, forced to flee in the depths of winter with naught but the clothes on their backs.
He began to tense at every passing footstep, his nerves keying up ever higher with the influx of traffic. They were along the main road through town. This sort of traffic wasn't unusual. Or so he tried to tell himself. It was nothing. Garrett would be home soon. He fussed with a few of the lights, moving them around in an attempt to look more aesthetically pleasing before he simply put them back the way they were.
Any minute now, surely-
The doorlatch lifted and hot panic surged into Anders’ gut. He would not go down without a fight. He called upon his magic and backed against the far wall, prepared to throw everything he had at the intruder-
-and was greeted with a fuzzy, whiskered face that turned green eyes on him with a quizzical little mew.
Anders blinked and released his magic as the kitten was carried in by an exhausted, snow-covered Hawke. The dark-haired man grinned sheepishly at Anders and extended the squirming kitten toward the mage.
“Sorry I'm late. Took me some time to track down this little one.” Garrett paused and looked around, noticing the decorations and the scent of roast duck in the air. “Anders…” he said softly, voice trembling with a hint of emotion. “Did you…?”
It was obvious he had and Anders grinned, relief and happiness flooding his limbs until he felt giddy. “Do you like it? I'm sorry I couldn't find real candles and the duck might be a little gamy because they've all flown-”
He was cut off as Garrett swept him into a tight hug and kissed him, the meowing little ball of fluff caught between them and voicing her displeasure.
“Happy Satinalia,” Garrett rumbled, dark lashes framing burnished eyes as he gazed fondly at Anders.
“Happy Satinalia, love.”
Re: gift for Ironspined
Date: 2015-12-22 04:34 pm (UTC)written for: phoenixrei
Date: 2015-12-20 07:02 am (UTC)Not that it helped him hold it when a soft object struck him in the head. In fact, it did quite the opposite - he flung the quill into the air as he jumped, needing a burst of will to keep Justice back from the threat. The awkward yelp he made, on the other hand, couldn't be restrained. Finally regaining control of his senses, he turned his head back toward his assailant.
He only caught a flash of red hair and a wide grin before the pillow came flying back toward his face. This time, though, Warden's reflexes and a well-timed burst of force magic pushed the fluffy weapon out of his path.
This only brought an exaggerated pout from Hawke. "No fair!" she whined, shoving him lightly with the force of the pillow. "Rules say no magic!"
A light snort managed to escape Anders' grip, and he gave Hawke a gentle push back. "Yes, love, but /you/ snuck up on me. So it /is/ fair. Justice said so."
"Justice /said/ so," Hawke mimicked him, surprisingly accurately but no less ridiculous. "We already know that grumpy old spirit doesn't know how to have a good time." After a moment's pause, she lifted the pillow in one hand and lightly smacked Anders' back with it. "Besides...I'm bored."
"You? /Bored?/" asked Anders, in genuine astonishment. "How is that even possible? You've got so much stuff to do out there." He barely flinched when the pillow hit him.
Hawke gave a rather loud raspberry. "That stuff's all just /work./" Continuing in her best impression of a petulant child, Hawke folded her arms over her chest and huffed. "Every time I go out there, someone else wants me to do something." She threw her hands in the air, beginning a light pace back and forth. "Hawke, can you find my wife's ring so her family doesn't cut me out of the will? Hawke, can you rescue my fool of a lover before he gets himself killed by a completely avoidable death trap?" She went on, bobbing her head in the rhythm of her words. "Hawke, I need twelve Deepstalker asses! Hawke, can you walk down the street and say hello to my mother for me? Hawke this, Hawke that, Hawke, Hawke, Hawke." She took out her irritation on Anders by way of the pillow still hanging in her hand, which she now tossed at him. "As for the others...Fenris isn't feeling social today, I gave up trying to get Merrill to come outside, I hear Aveline still isn't over the last incident at the Chantry, Isabela was...occupied, and I'm pretty sure Varric would just cajole me into doing more work. So..." Every one of her next few words was punctuated by a swat of the pillow against his head. "It's. Just. You and me. And pillows."
Anders responded with a light snort of amusement at Hawke's display of frustration, barely wincing as her pillow gently boffed his face. As the last swing came at him, though, he dove to dodge it and rose to his full height. "Alright, alright, love," he protested, dropping and rolling to the other side of the bed and seizing a pillow for himself. Just holding the feather-stuffed sack made him feel like a young child again.
A young child who never had to learn how cruel the world was toward mages. In the space of a breath, the thought of the face of that clean-shaven boy drifted back into his mind. Clad in his apprentice's robes, swallowing the bile in his gut at the sight of an approaching Templar. His fingertips tightened around the fabric of the pillow, and Justice wrapped around the bones of his arms. As he looked up, though, he saw Hawke's pillow coming down over his head once again. Warden's reflexes took control of him once more, and he raised his own pillow to block the descent of hers. A step back allowed him to gain ground, and he finally came in for a counterattack, shoving his pillow right into Hawke's chest. "Oh-/ho!/ Not this time you don't!"
The rogue staggered back at the shove, toppling rather gracelessly onto the bed behind her. Dropping her own pillow, she seized the corner of Anders' robe and tugged him down to fall with her. "If I go down, I'm taking /you/ with me!" Swinging her free arm out to the side, she took her fluffy weapon back and pulled it over to thump the mage in the chest.
"I'll /never/ surrender to you!" Anders declared, barely able to hide the smile that was forming at the corners of his lips. Justice wound around his breath, filling in the spaces between each, as he questioned the relevance of this event to the suffering of mages across Thedas. Anders swatted away the interruption with his pillow against Hawke's head.
Hawke yelped, bursting into laughter that left her breathless. A mischievous little thought surfaced in her head, and she rolled onto her side, taking Anders by the collar. "We'll see about that," she teased, a twinkle in her eye as she pulled him in close and locked her lips against his.
One would think Anders was used to this by now, but it still took him by just as much surprise as always. A bright flush flooded his cheeks, and his eyelids fell closed. Long arms wrapped around his rogue, holding her securely against him as their heartbeats came into sync. Justice pulsed between them as he sensed the adoration Hawke felt for his mortal. The woman was a veritable puzzle to the spirit, who could perceive virtue and zeal within her, though she still behaved in such a distracting manner. Perhaps reluctantly, he would allow this, for now.
Anders' defiant declaration was shoved back down his throat by Hawke's tongue and held there by her arms. Bony fingers tugged at her robe, wrinkling it between them. A moan escaped from between their lips, and he shifted his hip to roll them both to the side, allowing his hand to weave circles of mana into her back. His other hand sought hers out, curling their fingers together and squeezing firmly. At last wanting for a breath, he turned his lips away from hers, taking the air into his chest and feeling his heart flutter. His lips came down next to her ear, spilling the remnants of that breath in a whisper.
"I love you."
He surrendered.
Re: written for: phoenixrei
Date: 2015-12-22 04:35 am (UTC)Art for @notallbloodmages
Date: 2015-12-20 08:03 pm (UTC)Image is NSFW for artistic nudity (read: nipples).
Full image also at http://i.imgur.com/cEI941S.jpg (http://i.imgur.com/cEI941S.jpg)
Re: Art for @notallbloodmages
Date: 2015-12-21 06:31 pm (UTC)Thank you!!!!
-NotAllBloodMages
no subject
Date: 2015-12-20 11:28 pm (UTC)--------
Anders was undoubtedly the most difficult person that Hawke had ever shopped for.
Anders claimed otherwise, of course.
“I am not hard to shop for,” Anders said, personally offended at the insinuation. He huffed. “I like lots of things. You know me well enough to pick something.”
Hawke shook his head. “Anders, we’ve been together for five years. I know what you like. Problem is, I think I’ve bought every single type of coffee that Le Masques stocks, the number of sex toys under the bed outnumbers the days in the year, and we already have 3 cats.”
Anders shrugged, his eyes darting to the couch where Pounce lied curled up in the middle. “Another cat, maybe?”
“No.”
They were not getting another cat. Ser Mittens had utterly destroyed every piece of reachable paper in the house the last time they had been out to dinner. This included both toilet paper and Hawke’s tax returns, though Hawke had been more upset about the toilet paper if he was being honest. Beyond that, Pounce had taken to sitting at the end of the bed every time they had sex, his curious little eyes boring into them as Hawke pounded Anders into the bed. Hawke wasn’t sure what he’d do if another cat joined the audience.
So, no. No more cats.
“Do you want anything other than a new cat?” Hawke asked.
“Not telling you.”
Hawke pressed a finger to his forehead and rubbed. “You are the worst, you know that?”
“I’m sure you’ll think of something,” Anders said, a smirk on his face. He pressed a kiss to Hawke’s cheek, the full beard scratching lightly against his lips. “You always do. You’re the best Satinalia shopper.”
“By some manner of miracle,” Hawke muttered.
****
It wasn’t that he disliked buying Anders gifts. Quite the opposite, in fact; he loved caring for Anders, and giving him the perfect gift was one of Hawke’s favorite ways of showing it. The only problem was Anders’ overwhelmingly niche interests. Hawke was positive that their bookshelf was filled with every book on social anarchy that was available on the market. Their cupboards were overflowing with coffee, as Anders would brew just one cup before moving onto a different type, throwing the other beans behind an old, probably expired box of pancake mix.
So Hawke found himself at an impasse. His usual go-to’s weren’t going to work and he had no bloody clue what to do about it.
His first thought was food. Everyone loved food, right? And alcohol, too, which is how he found himself at a small wine and cheese shop just outside of Kirkwall. Hawke wasn’t too familiar with the intricacies of wine himself, as when he did drink, he usually found himself face down on the bar after a fair amount of well liquor.
Anders liked wine, though, and Hawke liked how Anders’ cheeks grew increasingly rosy with each sip. With an aura of feigned confidence, he grabbed a bottle with an Antivan label and looked it over studiously, pretending to parse the foreign words as a clerk walked by him.
It was red. It didn’t look any different than the other red wines surrounding him, but Anders usually drank red wine, so it would have to do. He then grabbed the most expensive salami he could find and shoved it into the crook of his arm before dropping it in front of the clerk at the checkout. As the clerk asked him if he had tried that particular wine before, he bluffed, though she didn’t seem too convinced.
****
Hawke could have stopped there. Anders would have likely been satisfied, but Hawke knew it wasn’t enough. With the wine and salami stashed safely away at Fenris’ house, where Anders would never find it, Hawke decided to rethink the whole cat business. Anders loved cats. What was a fourth when there were already three? It would make Anders happy and that was all that mattered to Hawke.
With that thought in mind, he made his way to the local shelter where they adopted Pounce. It was cacophonous inside, the cats and dogs alike screeching and barking for a moment of attention. Hawke regretted the decision to enter immediately and soon after turned to exit, but noticed a large shelf of haphazardly placed toys and treats to the right of him.
Maybe a cat was Anders first choice, but Hawke doubted that he’d be opposed to a large pile of various cat toys.
Ser Mittens would love the stuffed nug.
****
Two days later, he approached Varric for drinks.
“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Hawke said. The Hanged Man was nearly empty besides Varric, himself, and the usual Tuesday night drunkards. He brought a glass full of beer to his lips and downed half of it in one gulp. “I just want him to be happy.”
“For crying out loud, Hawke. You’re going to be fine. He likes what you get him every year.”
“But what if he doesn’t?” Hawke asked. “I’ve run out of ideas. I don’t know what to do.”
“Alright,” Varric said. “So, you told me you bought some wine, right? Make a night out of it. You don’t have to always get him a thing, you know. Give him an experience.”
Hawke cocked his head. “An experience? We drink all the time. Wine is hardly special.”
“Then make it special. You know him better than I do. Plan something nice, make a nice dinner, whatever. Get him loosened up with all of the romance, touch him, make him feel loved and then take him to bed and –”
Hawke choked on a mouthful of beer and dropped the empty glass back onto the table. “I don’t need instructions on how to have sex with my boyfriend, but thanks.”
“I’m just saying, you have more options than you think you do,” Varric said.
“Maybe,” Hawke sighed. “But I can’t help but feel like you’re trying to set me up.”
“Oh, come on,” Varric said. “Would I lie to you about something like this?”
“Absolutely.”
Varric hummed. “Maybe to someone else, but not to you. Trust me on this one, alright? Blondie’s a huge romantic sap, he loves this shit.”
Hawke signaled the bartender for another round. “If you’re wrong, all of this is on your head.”
“And if I’m right?”
“Production rights to the movie.”
****
The morning of Satinalia was spent with Hawke’s family, as per tradition. There had been one minor argument over who was on dish duty (Carver), but despite that, the morning had been remarkably idyllic.
Or, it would have been, if Hawke hadn’t been spiraling internally the entire time. He hid it pretty well, but as Anders discussed their own gift-giving that would occur later in the day, his anxiety began to break through his façade.
As they returned home for their own celebration, Anders cornered him as Hawke clicked the front door shut behind him.
“Alright, something’s wrong,” Anders said. His eyes narrowed as they travelled up and down Hawke’s body, searching. “Tell me.”
“Nothing,” Hawke said, a bit too hurriedly. Anders looked unimpressed.
“You can’t lie to me. I know all of your tells.”
“Alright, then it’s nothing important,” Hawke said. He pointed to their tattered old couch that sat across from fireplace. They had lit it in the morning but the fire had dwindled, tiny little flecks of embers crackling and leaping off of the smoldering ash. “Go sit down, I’ve got something for you.”
Though Anders was completely unconvinced, he nevertheless followed Hawke’s instructions, throwing his coat on the rack before settling onto the couch. “I’m sitting,” he said, his voice a low drawl.
“Congratulations, you can follow directions,” Hawke said. He took a few steps forward until he was standing directly behind Anders and he placed his hands at the base of his shoulders. He began to rub, paying extra attention to the bony knobs of Anders’ spine. Anders spent most of his days working long, hard shifts at the hospital, and as a result his back creaked and cracked like a 70 year old woman’s.
A few minutes passed and Anders groaned. He tilted his head to the side so he could catch Hawke’s gaze. “Maker, have you taken classes or something?”
“If you consider YouTube a class, then sure,” Hawke said. There hadn’t been any time to take any real classes before Satinalia, but thankfully a few videos seemed to be doing the trick.
Anders laughed. “Well, my thanks to them, then.”
Hawke continued his motions, alternating between rubbing the pads of his thumbs into Anders’ shoulder and gently caressing the base of his neck. As his fingers began to ache he leaned down and nipped as Anders’ jaw, causing a shiver to run through him.
“Oh, just trying to get into my pants then?” Anders asked. He rubbed at the gooseflesh that Hawke’s kiss had left behind, a contented smile on his face.
“Maybe,” Hawke said. “I’ll be right back.”
Fenris had dropped the wine and meat off the previous day while Anders was at work, and Hawke had managed to keep the wine suitably hidden behind a rarely used tower of plastic containers while the salami sat behind a bag of untouched mushrooms. He grabbed the wine and a pair of thin stemmed glasses before returning to the sitting room where Anders sat, his left eyebrow cocked expectantly.
“Wow, someone really is trying to sleep with me.”
With a smirk, Hawke slipped next to him onto the couch and gave him the bottle. “You can have the honor of opening it.”
Anders looked it over. “Antivan teroldego? I’ve been wanting to try this one! How the hell did you know?”
Internally, Hawke preened. “You know. Satinalia magic.”
“Satinalia magic meaning a lucky guess, right?” Anders chuckled. “You have a supernatural ability to know just what I want.”
A light flush coated Hawke’s cheek and he couldn’t even blame it on the wine yet. “As I said; magic.”
“Sometimes, I have to wonder if that’s true.” He uncorked the bottle with relative ease and poured a half glass for each of them before setting it on the coffee table. He brought his glass up to Hawke’s, clinking them together. “To my boyfriend, who is acting incredibly weird despite the wonderful wine and massage he has given me.”
“So you do like it then?” Hawke said. He quickly brought the glass up to his mouth before any other words could fall from it.
“Yes, of course.” Anders paused and raised an eyebrow. “Wait, is that why you’re acting so weird? You thought I wouldn’t like…what, you pampering me?”
“Well, I usually get you something more substantial,” Hawke admitted.
“You’re ridiculous, Garrett,” Anders scoffed. “Of course I love it. I love you.”
“We’ll see if you still believe that after I give you your next gift.” He sat his glass of wine onto the table and grabbed a poorly wrapped, lumpy looking gift from underneath their small tree.
“Ah, I was wondering about that one,” Anders said as Hawke dropped it into his lap. He offered the glass to Hawke. “Hold this for me.”
Hawke did and Anders opened the gift, a small burst of giggles escaping him as he unwrapped the life-sized stuffed nug. “Maker,” he said, choking back another laugh. “It’s not a cat, but it’s the next best thing. Mittens will love this.”
“Maybe she’ll stop destroying the damn toilet paper if she has a friend.”
“Doubtful.” He set the plush onto the floor next to him and took his glass of wine back from Hawke. “Now come here,” he said, patting the cushion next to him. “We can open the rest later.”
“I like where this is going,” Hawke said, a playful grin on his face.
Anders leaned forward and pressed his wine-stained lips to Hawke’s own. “Mm, the alcohol has undone my tightly wound chastity, I think.”
“Well, thank the Maker for that.”
!!!
Date: 2015-12-21 05:14 pm (UTC)gift for eijentu!!
Date: 2015-12-20 11:32 pm (UTC)Prompt: anders and hawke wearing bits of each other's clothes after they have to get (re)dressed in a hurry.
↓
http://i.imgur.com/LDIavGM.jpg
Re: gift for eijentu!!
Date: 2015-12-21 05:08 am (UTC)ahhhhhhh thank you so so much for such a beautiful gift! i love absolutely everything about this: hawke's lovestruck grin and their interlaced fingers, anders in hawke's huge shirt and that christmas cat t-shirt. just. is so amazing i want one so badly tbh. isabela is stunning in her modern party dress and merrill is utterly adorable and and and???? ahhhhhh! i'm trying so hard to be coherent, but this is just so gorgeous i'm totally failing!!! i love the light and the colours and just the warmth between these two that you always bring to your art.
basically i love everything about this. thank you so much. <3
delivery for @un-shit-yourself!
Date: 2015-12-21 12:03 am (UTC)http://i.imgur.com/i3DlS8c.jpg
Re: delivery for @un-shit-yourself!
Date: 2015-12-21 12:05 am (UTC)Re: delivery for @un-shit-yourself!
From: (Anonymous) - Date: 2015-12-21 10:04 pm (UTC) - Expandno subject
Date: 2015-12-21 01:29 am (UTC)Something fluffy, with a little hint of "learning to live together" mixed in...!
Link: http://i.imgur.com/PbYnUMR.png
Happy Satinalia!
no subject
Date: 2015-12-22 12:25 am (UTC)for hufflepuff-doc
Date: 2015-12-21 01:43 am (UTC)Happy Satinalia!
Hawke had six hours to write two thousand words and there was someone sitting in his favourite study spot. He stopped still in the library corridor, barely conscious of someone stepping around him with a pointed ‘excuse me’.
Hawke’s favourite spot on Kirkwall University Campus was deep down on the third basement level. It was all fluorescent lighting and yellowing beige carpet and had the particular musty smell of an old building. But it was a short walk to the Law section and there were a pair of vending machines right around the corner.
More importantly, there was one particular table in the section with a powerpoint underneath, which, on the dated Kirkwall campus, were as rare and valuable as silverite. His laptop was at 17 percent. He needed that spot.
“Are you using that?” Hawke found himself standing over the desk, autopilot motivated by the pure concentrated panic of the approaching deadline.
The blond guy jerked his head up, hand splayed out to keep the page of a dog-eared textbook. He glanced about to check if Hawke was actually talking to him. Which was—fair, seeing as Hawke had just rushed up and started demanding things.
“Using what?” he asked, adjusting a black wristwatch so battered the face was almost opaque.
“The powerpoint.”
“Oh. No,” he said, and looked back down at his notes.
That was it? Hawke cast about for something to say, uncharacteristically speechless at this unexpected conversational dead end. Around them people were starting to stare, perhaps waiting for Hawke to start yelling and throwing books.
Hawke took five seconds to entertain a fantasy about throwing a books, then took a breath.
Well. If if this guy wasn’t using it, then presumably Hawke was free to use it. He wasn’t using it, he said so, that was how that worked. No matter that it was definitely a breach of some unspoken library etiquette, if not the actual library rules, to sit at a study table someone else was currently using.
Hawke thought of the dwindling time he had left to write his paper and set his bag on the table. He went to fetch a chair and when he came back the guy was gaping at him, probably speechless.
Hawke set out his books, carefully adjusting the other guy’s papers like it was the most normal thing in the world.
“Please, make yourself comfortable” The guy said in the driest, most cutting tone and Hawke shrivelled up inside in a great wave of mortification.
“Thank you.” Hawke ducked under the table to plug in the laptop and with too much panicked vigour knocked his elbow into one long jean-clad leg. The remaining husk of his dignity gave up and disintegrated entirely. “Sorry!” he said and knocked his head and his elbow on the underside of the desk while clambering back out.
The guy was still looking at him like he was mad.
“Don’t let me distract you!” Hawke said, sounding insane even to his own ear.
“Oh, of course not.” Even the light in his clear brown eyes looked sarcastic. Hawke hadn’t known that was possible.
*
Either out of some truly spectacular stubbornness or saintly patience, the guy didn’t move or leave and they ended up studying knee to knee. After a while Hawke stopped being so conscious of every breath and squeaking shift in his chair. The other guy was writing notes on an anatomy textbook in cramped but even cursive and had a marathon concentration span. Hawke found himself writing just for the sake of keeping up with him.
“What’s another word for incorporates?” Hawke said sometime later, the flow of his sentence having hit a snag. He looked up from his screen at the ensuing silence and abruptly remembered he wasn’t studying with Aveline or Varric. Given he kept knocking knees with the guy, it was impressive. Oops. “Er, sorry.”
“Integrates?” the guy said, eyebrows raised like he was humouring him.
“Hmm, nope,” he said. Varric would have given him five better synonyms right off the bat, though this guy was a long sight better than Aveline, whose usual answer was ‘Hawke, I’m trying to concentrate’. “Oh, encompasses, that's perfect. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome,” he had a sound in his voice like he was trying not to smile. When Hawke looked up he was frowning at his textbook again.
Despite the frown, it was a nice face. His burnished gold hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail and his jaw was shaded with stubble. His nose was long, but in a sort of charming way.
He was quite attractive, Hawke thought with sudden horror.
“You’re staring,” the guy said, without looking up. Then he looked up and Hawke felt himself going slowly red. Fuck.
“Er,” He rarely felt so off step, any other time he might have said ‘well, you’re very good looking’ and meant it. Bethany had called him shameless more than once with both amusement and frustration, Carver the same with rather more judgement implied. But after his earlier performance he found himself faltering. “I was just—I just realised I don’t know your name.”
“Anders.”
“I’m Hawke, well Garrett really, but most people call me Hawke,” he couldn’t stop talking, why couldn’t he stop talking.
“Right.”
Garrett wondered if he could kick himself without Anders noticing. Given the measly ten square inches of free space under the table, probably not.
*
One thousand words in and Hawke’s brain was actively fighting him. Everything was more interesting than his paper. The wood grain of the table, the uneven stain on the carpet that looked like a circus elephant, the way Anders’ held his pen.
He was considering the long lines of Anders’ fingers when he realised that Anders wasn’t working either. He was doodling. Hawke tried to subtly turn his head to make out what it was. A donkey? No, a cat. Or a tiger drawn very poorly.
Before he could think too hard about whether it was a good idea, Hawke dug out a piece of scrap paper and started drawing. Anders looked up at his movement and Hawke shifted the paper into his field of view.
“My sister had a halloween party once,” Hawke said. “She paid me ten bucks and two weeks of sole possession of the remote control to paint black cats on forty invitations. I got pretty good at drawing cats.”
Anders was following the assured movement of his pen. There was a quirk to his mouth that Hawke thought might almost be a smile. Hawke scribbled out the slit pupils, the fuzzy arch of the back and the bottlebrush tail of the archetypal halloween cat.
“The remote control?” Anders said.
“Yeah, that was a big deal back then. Haven’t you ever had to fight for the remote control?” at the shake of his head Hawke continued. “Well, Beth and Carver were always into one sport or another, back then it was hockey. It was a glorious two weeks of no hockey at all.”
Anders nodded but didn’t say more. He was definitely smiling now. Hawke started a sitting cat, with a relaxed curling tail.
“I’m out of practise,” he said, when he finished, re-sketching the curve of the cat’s ear.
“No, it’s good,” Anders drew the paper towards him almost protectively. He was still smiling at them, the two poorly drawn cats in blue ink. It was a nice smile. Hawke would have drawn one hundred more cats for a second chance at a first impression.
*
He always forgot how long it took to write up the citations. Maker, he should have noted down what page that quote had come from.
“When is it due?” Anders had put down his pen to observe the final stretch.
“At two,” Hawke said, around the pen in his mouth. “Gotta run it over to the Law School to put the hard copy in though.”
Anders glanced at his watch. “Literally run, I guess.”
“Yes, thank you, Anders.” He ran both hands through his beard and took a deep breath. Just one last scan through for typos and then pray the printer wouldn’t choose this moment to give up the ghost.
Three minutes later he was scrambling under the desk again to pull the cord out, Anders having pulled his chair back to enjoy the show, was openly laughing as Hawke swept pens and paper and books indiscriminately into his bag.
“Okay, done,” he could hear the whir of the printer starting up down the hall, thank the Maker. “This was—fun?”
“Was it?” Anders said. He almost didn’t sound sarcastic.
“Uh,” it was one forty and he needed to go but he couldn’t just leave, “I—we could do this again sometime, if—”
“Oh,” Anders turned back towards his desk and shuffled through his textbook. “No, thank you.”
“Okay, no worries!” People were looking at them again. Hawke turned on his heel and made his way blindly towards the printer, laptop cord trailing sadly behind him.
He collected his assignment and stapled it, resisting the urge to look back. Of course Anders didn’t want to do that again, because it had been terrible. Had it seemed like he was asking Anders about something other than study, like a date? He cringed internally. It probably had. Maker, he was going to put this assignment in and then sleep until next year, when hopefully this day would fade into a distant non-embarrassing memory.
*
Every year at the end of term Isabela threw a weekend-long party at her place down on the Coast. It was a beautiful sprawling house, right on the beach, with a deck out back from which you could see the water.
Hawke had asked her about the place once and she’d said she’d got it in the divorce and tt was Isabela so it was as likely true as not.
“Isabela asked anyone who’s still in town to get ice,” Merrill said, reading from her phone in the backseat. “Is that us?”
“Yeah, that’s us,” they were on the outskirts of Kirkwall, still thirty minutes drive from the Coast. “Fenris, can you check if there’s a service station nearby?”
At midday, after a short stop for bags of ice, Hawke, Merrill and Fenris arrived down at the beach. It was so hot the air above the road was a shimmering haze. The party was already overflowing the house, people sitting in every inch of shade, drinks in hand. Isabela, or someone, had even put up half-hearted Satinalia decorations, brightly coloured strings of beads and tinsel haphazardly sticky-taped inside and outside.
They dumped the ice in the kitchen, where there was about five eskies and a plastic kiddy pool with drinks bobbing in half-melted ice.
Job done, Hawke looked about for Isabela. He didn’t see her, but there were so many people crammed into the house it was hard to see them all.
Then he noticed. Anders was sitting on an arm of the couch, drink in hand, talking to Zevran and Rinna and Mahariel. Hawke did a double take, but it was really him, ponytail and all. He was wearing a light green short-sleeve shirt and jeans turned up at the ankle. Hawke, in his Kirkwall Dragons tank top and red board shorts, suddenly felt a bit underdressed.
“Oh, shit,” he inched slightly to the left, so Anders might not see him through the crowd of people. Probably a lost cause, given his height.
“What’s wrong?” Merrill said, peering around him.
“Okay, you know when you do something embarrassing and you tell yourself it doesn’t matter because it was in front of someone you never have to see again?” Hawke said and Merrill nodded, looking a bit confused. “Well, I was hoping not to see that guy over there ever again.”
Fenris, returning with a beer in each hand, looked amused at Hawke’s misfortune. “Which one?”
“Sitting on the couch, third from the left.” Hawke took a beer, tapping Fenris’ own bottle in thanks.
“Oh, he’s handsome!” Merrill said, leaning on her tiptoes. Maybe he should hide behind Merrill’s broad-brimmed straw sun hat, it was almost big enough.
“Who’s handsome, kitten? said the hostess, appearing between Merrill and Fenris and giving them both one-armed hugs. There was was a cheer of hellos and everyone hugged Isabela. Merrill snuck in twice, first and last.
“Hawke embarrassed himself in front of someone,” Fenris, when it’d all died down, deftly dodging Hawke’s elbow.
“Well, that’s not new,” Varric elbowed his way into the circle, and got a round of hellos and a solid knock on the shoulder from Hawke.
“You didn’t tell me you knew Anders,” Hawke said to Isabela, while Merrill caught up Varric. “I swear he wasn’t on the facebook event, I would have noticed.”
Isabela fished a phone out of a pocket in her tiny denim skirt, “I didn’t know knowing Anders was something worth knowing. Look, there he is.”
Sure, enough there he was, Anders… something. His profile picture was an orange stripy cat, no wonder Hawke hadn’t noticed. “Andrastes’ ass, how do you even pronounce that name? It’s all consonants.”
Isabela shrugged. “Why are you so interested in Anders all of a sudden?”
Merrill was pointing Anders out to Varric with a lot of whispering and actual pointing. Any minute now Anders was going to look over.
“No, reason! Never mind!” Hawke said. “I’m just going to go sit outside, bye.”
“Hawke, you baby, come back!” Isabela called out, loud enough to draw attention. He couldn’t help but look to see if Anders had heard and turned back to see Anders already looking at him. His heart stuttered in his chest, like it had missed a beat entirely. He raised his beer slightly, feeling jerky and robotic, and there was a heart-stopping hesitation before Anders nodded back.
“Well, now you have to tell me the whole story,” Isabela said, grinning at his elbow.
Re: for hufflepuff-doc
Date: 2015-12-21 01:44 am (UTC)“Oh, hello, Hawke, yeah, Cullen’s party, I remember,” Felix said. “Have you met Dorian and Sera?”
Sera, who was wearing short denim overalls and tartan leggings despite the heat, smirked around a huge drink with a curly straw. Dorian was face down on the table but raised a hand in greeting.
“Dorian’s having a little bit of trouble,” Felix said, smiling down at his friend. A muffled ‘I am not’ came up from Dorian’s crossed arms.
“He lost so bad he has to drink it,” Sera tapped a measuring jug half full of murky brown liquid and leaned closer to stage whisper to him. “I put Baileys in and it’s gone all lumpy.”
“Wow, I don’t envy you.” Hawke picked up the jug and swirled it. It seemed to be mysteriously bubbling.
“You can’t be done, Dorian, it’s not even past lunchtime yet!” Felix said, shaking his friend’s shoulder.
Sometime later, Dorian admitted defeat and left to take a ‘tactical’ nap in the shade and Hawke had been cajoled, along with a couple of unfortunate passersby, to participate in a card game.
Sera was a wildcard and he was actually pretty sure she was making it up as she went along. Felix was good, Adaar was lucky, Morrigan was unreadable and Hawke had a really bad hand.
He was deciding whether or not to discard his serpents when he felt someone lean against him. Expecting Isabela, he half-turned to catch a flash of blond hair and a hint of fancy herbal soap.
“I think you should keep them,” Anders said, setting his drink on the table beside Hawke’s. He was still wearing the battered wristwatch.
“Uh, okay,” Hawke agreed, trying to think beyond the fever warm press of Anders at his back.
Anders stuck around for three rounds, alternating between giving advice, casually brushing against Hawke’s arm whenever he picked up his drink and having a conversation with Leliana behind them.
“Anders!” Hawke said, turning around in his chair when he lost again. Anders was already grinning. “You are the worst card player I’ve ever met.
Anders laughed, “I didn’t tell you it’d be good advice.”
“Whatever possessed you to take advice from Anders?” Leliana said, also laughing. “I’ve never seen him win a card game in my life.”
“He seemed so sure of himself,” Hawke protested, to Anders’s delight.
“Perhaps it was payback,” Anders leant over to pick up his glass and Hawke took a breath right as he leant over. He could feel the heat of him in that single breath. The scent was intoxicating. “You ruined half a day of my exam study after all.”
“Oh, about that,” Hawke started and Leliana, seeming to divine a change in conversational mood, effortlessly turned and began a conversation with Mahariel. “I’m sorry. I was an ass.”
“Well, it was pretty funny.” As the afternoon sun had lowered, more people had come out onto the deck and Anders was standing close enough as to almost be between Hawke’s knees. “I’m glad you finished your assignment.”
“Maker, so am I. What about your exam, how’d it go?”
“It went alright,” he bit his lip, drawing Hawke’s gaze to his mouth. “I guess you never really know til you get it back.”
“Anders!” Alistair popped up behind them. “There you are, thank the Maker, I think Elissa’s broken something, will you come check?”
“Ah,” Anders sighed, “of course.” He downed his drink and set it back on the table, the seam of his jeans brushing against Hawke’s inner thigh. “Shall I talk to you later?”
“Of course.” Hawke nodded and Anders and Alistair disappeared into the house. Hawke was actually pretty sure Anders said, ‘she didn’t fall out of a tree again, did she?’ as he was leaving.
*
He went into the house to find sunscreen and got sucked into a conversation with Sebastian. He thought it might be about Fenris, but it was very complicated and Sebastian kept looking at him like he expected Hawke to contribute in some meaningful way. Hawke just kept nodding and looking serious.
“I find myself somewhat conflicted. I don’t wish the truth of my feelings to be a burden.” Sebastian sighed. “What do you think, Hawke?”
“Oh, well,” Hawke drew deeply on his Maker-given talent for bullshitting, wishing desperately that Varric was around to give him a hand. “If I know Fenris—”
“What?” Sebastian said.
Oh no. “What?”
“I was talking about Bethany?” Sebastian seemed to wilt. “I thought you knew?”
“What!” Hawke spluttered. “Well in that case, my answer is no! Definitely not.”
*
After the Sebastian and Bethany debacle he didn’t see Anders again for an hour or so until they almost literally bumped into each other in the hallway. He kept forgetting Anders was as tall as he was.
“Hello again,” he said, smiling too much. “How’s the broken leg?” He thought Anders might have actually looked pleased to see him. They were both stood right in the middle of the hallway just smiling at each other like idiots.
“A bruised shin,” Anders said, opening the bathroom so they could step out of the crowded corridor. “Alistair’s a worrier.”
“Sebastian Vael has feelings for my sister,” Hawke spilled out, sitting down on the edge of the bath. It was blessedly cool in the tiled, windowless bathroom.
“I’m so sorry.” Anders said, sounding like he was trying not to laugh.
Hawke caught his eyes in the mirror. “You know him?”
“Unfortunately.” Anders pulled out his hair-tie. Hawke leaned his head against the cool tile and watched Anders fix his hair. “It’s Beth, right? Your sister?”
“Yeah,” Hawke said. “She’s too nice. Sebastian is also nice, I guess.”
Anders left his hair in a bun and sat on the edge of the bath next to him. “He’s a bit preachy.”
“He’s sincere,” Hawke protested, though his heart wasn’t in it.
Anders shrugged. Hawke closed his eyes.
“Hawke?” Anders pressed a finger to his shoulder. “I think you’re sunburnt.”
Hawke shot up. “Nope, no, I’m not.”
He stood up and twisted each way in the mirror, trying to see his shoulders. Sure enough, as he moved the tank top there was a clear delineation of red and pale Fereldan white. “Damn.”
“That’s going to hurt tomorrow.” Anders knelt to rummage in the cabinet under the sink, setting sunscreen, deodorant and shower gel on the floor. “Hmm, this’ll work.”
“Is that your medical opinion?” Hawke said, still pouting at the burn. It was going to be such a stupid tanline and it definitely wouldn’t be gone by the time he had to go home for Satinalia and Carver was going to laugh himself sick.
“It’s aloe vera, so yes.” Anders set it on the sink.
“I might need a hand reaching the burn.” Hawke said and then instantly regretted it. That was a dumb thing to say and something he’d say if he was flirting— which he wasn’t because Anders had already said he wasn’t interested. Sort of. The room seemed to stop for a second and Hawke was very aware of the buzz and chatter of conversation just beyond the door. He’d opened his mouth to apologise profusely when Anders picked up the container.
“You’d better take your shirt off,” he said. Hawke didn’t dare look at him or his reflection and pulled his shirt over his head. The silence stretched again and Hawke turned to look at Anders, ready with some half-formed speech about boundaries or inappropriateness or something.
Anders just shook his head slightly and looked up. “Sorry.” He busied himself with the aloe vera.
The first touch was so cold it was almost painful. He flinched, then relaxed at the blissful slick over his shoulders. He hadn’t realised it was hot and painful until it wasn’t. Probably all the beer. It felt so distractingly soothing he almost forgot it was Anders doing it.
Then he turned to look at the mirror and saw the pass of Anders’ hands over his skin. The careful, clever hands and the almost fierce expression of concentration on Anders’ face. The long careful sweeps were suddenly electric. The hair on the back of his neck prickled up and his cock stirred in his shorts.
Their gazes caught in the mirror. Anders was biting his lip.
“Thanks,” Hawke said, mouth dry. If it were anyone else who hadn’t already sort of rejected him, he would have turned and kissed them right there. As it was he shuffled towards his tank top and pulled it gingerly back over his head. Anders stepped back until they were a proper distance apart.
“You should probably drink some water too,” Anders smile was small again. “That’s my actual
medical opinion.”
*
In the hall, a dark-haired girl in a yellow sundress was handing around a plate of jelly shots and cupcakes.
“The jelly shots are raspberry and lime and the cupcakes are chocolate.”
“Which one do you suggest?” Hawke asked.
She beamed. “Why not have one of each?”
Hawke did have one of each and she helped him stack them up on a napkin, which was precarious mostly because they were both laughing so much.
“Those were really good,” he said, after she’d gone and he’d finished. He kind of wanted to go after them.
“They’re alright.” Anders said. When Hawke looked over he was frowning into his empty jelly shot like it had personally offended him.
“Well, I told you to have the raspberry,” Hawke said, fishing for any hint of his earlier good mood.
Anders looked up like he’d almost forgotten Hawke was there. Hawke kept staring for just a moment too long. Yesterday he would have just said Anders’ eyes were brown, but now he could have told you they were amber and in the light they were gold.
“You did,” he said, fiddling with his watch. “I’ll see you later?”
“Yeah,” Hawke said, heart sinking. “Of course.”
*
“Fenris, I think I’m in love,” he draped himself over Fenris, to his roommate’s disgust.
“That sounds unpleasant.” Fenris said, shrugging him off. “You should probably see someone about that.”
“I know what will fix it,” Varric set a beer in front of Hawke.
“That’s it?” Hawke looked at the beer.
“Five more and then we’ll see if you’re still feeling it.” Varric twisted off the screw top for him. “Trust me.”
*
Hawke had quite a few more beers and also a shot of tequila because drunk Merrill was incorrigible and so enthusiastic. Quite a long time later he was feeling maudlin and tired, mostly because all his so-called friends had disappeared off with other people.
Isabela was standing in the light of the open fridge when he gave up on the night and went in. From what he could tell in the dark people had set up mattresses through the whole house, almost Tetris style. All the couches were taken.
“Hello, sweetheart,” she passed him a piece of pineapple. She’d forgone her denim skirt and was just in a cropped t-shirt and underwear, hair all loose.
Hawke ate his pineapple. “Thank you.”
“You look all pathetic.” she patted him on the shoulder. “Why don’t you go see if there are any sleeping bags left. That hallway then first left, linen cupboard, can’t miss it.”
“Okay,” he said, because she probably wanted to take some pineapple back to whoever was waiting for her.
He felt his way along the wall, stepping around a spooning couple and trying not to look to closely at them. He found the hallway and immediately bumped into someone in the dark.
“Oh, fuck, sorry—wait, Anders?” he pulled out his phone and lit it up. It was Anders, looking tired and blinking in the light.
“I was just looking for a sleeping bag,” he said, smiling a little.
“Oh, me too,” he felt very awake all of a sudden. “I think Isabela said it was this one.”
Anders opened the cupboard and they both shuffled around to peer inside.
After some feeling around in the dark Anders said, “oh, I think there’s one left.”
“Ah.” At least it wasn’t that cold. “You have it. I have the sunburn to keep me warm.”
Anders huffed a tiny laugh and Hawke angled his phone to better see his face.
“Or,” Anders was looking down at the sleeping bag. “We could share?”
Hawke’s heart stuttered to a stop. “I’m sorry?”
Anders laughed. “I mean, it worked so well with the study table, remember?”
“What?” his backlight chose this moment to go off, leaving them in relative darkness.
Anders moved closer, his fingers just touching the jut of Hawke’s hipbone through the thin cotton of his shirt. Hawke held his breath. Anders kept moving forward, drawing close enough that Hawke could feel a stir of breath against his cheek.
After what seemed a long time, Anders leaned across and pressed his mouth to Hawke’s. For a full second Hawke was still but for his heart beating wildly in his chest.
He put a hand out to steady himself and found Anders’ shoulder. He slid his hand up to cup the back of Anders’ neck, running his fingers through loose wisps of hair. Anders pressed closer to him with a pleased noise, his tongue touching Hawke’s lower lip. Hawke opened his mouth and the kiss became slick and dirty.
He pressed forward until they were hip to hip, sliding his other hand up under Anders shirt and finding miles of hot, damp skin. Anders broke away to pant against Hawke’s neck and began to grind his hips against Hawke’s.
“Oh, fuck,” Hawke bit down hard on his lip, pressing Anders back against the wall. However, it wasn’t a wall, it was the door to the linen cupboard and it swung back into the actual wall with a crash.
“Fuck,” Hawke said, freezing. Anders laughed breathlessly into his neck.
No one stirred, but mood successfully ruined, they parted. Hawke squinted at Anders, who appeared to be fixing his hair.
“So,” Anders said, after a minute. “I guess that was a yes?”
“To sharing?” Hawke said, trying to not to sound giddy. “Yes.”
*
They opened up the sleeping bag and laid it out on the lawn, just over the rise and out of sight of the house. After ten minutes they had to run inside to get mosquito spray. And then later for aloe vera because Hawke’s shoulders started to burn with a vengeance. Later again for water and the tattered remains of a fruit platter from the fridge.
They were still awake when sky lit up with pink dawn light.
“Anders?” He couldn’t help run his hand over all the golden hair loose in the grass. “You know, I got the impression you didn’t like me very much.” It wasn’t really a question, but it was and this warm dim space before morning seemed like the only place to ask.
“Maybe I don’t,” Anders said, with his a quirk to his mouth that was almost a smirk. Hawke felt sure enough that he was joking to flick him on the arm. “Okay! Well, it wasn’t that I didn’t like you. I just—didn’t know you. And I—don’t like to take chances like that anymore. When I realised you knew Isabela I asked her.”
“Oh no. What’d she say?”
“No, it was good. She said you were alright,” Anders’ sideways glance was almost shy.
Hawke freed his arm to do a fist pump. Thank you, Isabela. Anders snorted.
“Don’t get cocky, I haven’t decided whether or not you’re alright.”
“Well, I’ve decided,” Hawke pressed a beardy kiss to Anders’ neck as he squirmed and laughed. “I like you.”
~end
For judgy-giant-robot (Part 1)
Date: 2015-12-21 09:39 am (UTC)Written for: judgy-giant-robot
Prompt: "The Squad are out for drinks in the Hanged man, and Hawke and Anders sneak away from some lovin' (how nsfw is up to the gift-giver)"
Rating: Explicit. Playful, semi-public smut with some biting.
(Hope you like it! Happy Handers Satinalia ^^)
The night started innocently enough. The gang had gathered for drinks at the Hanged Man, and the tavern was having something resembling a Satinalia party. Well, it was less a party, and more people getting far too drunk, trying to start something, and then collapsing in the corner. Although, to be fair, that wasn’t exactly much different from the usual nights at the Hanged Man. The decorations and drinks were just a touch more festive.
Hawke sipped warm cider from her mug, her gaze travelling along the table as she watched her friends playing the night’s first round of Wicked Grace. Isabela was wearing a predatory grin, and Fenris was about to fall, unsuspectingly, right into her trap. Varric had the same calm, slightly smug expression he always wore when they played cards, revealing nothing. Merrill seemed happy just to be included, even if she still didn’t fully understand the rules, and she kept asking Aveline, who’d arrived after the game had started, random questions and receiving increasingly exasperated answers.
Hawke, too, had arrived too late to be involved in this round, having ended up a touch ‘distracted’ before she, and Anders, had left the estate. Her lover had been teasing her on and off all day, giving her suggestive little smirks and comments when he knew damn well she had far too many things to do, and it had all culminated in a kiss that had gotten just a little too heated as they’d headed out the door. Truth be told, they almost hadn’t made it out at all after that. It had been a while since they’d actually had any ‘alone time’, thanks to Leandra’s insistence on Hawke accompanying her to so many noble parties and Anders’ constantly busy life that Hawke tried her best to be involved in, and that was certainly not helping the mage’s frustration. Anders had been entirely too smug about it, too, knowing just how much he was working her up. However, two could play at that game.
She kept her eyes on the game as she rested her hand on Anders’ knee, feeling his muscles tense in surprise for just a moment and then relax. After he’d adjusted to the affectionate, but innocent-seeming, touch, Hawke began to slide her hand up his thigh, letting her fingers trail along the inside. The touch was firm enough that she knew he could feel it through his layers, but still gentle enough to be tantalizing.
The mage had to suppress a grin when she heard Anders inhale sharply as she slowed, walking her fingertips slowly towards his crotch. It was becoming increasingly difficult to keep a neutral expression, but she did it, even as she traced the outline of Anders’ cock with her finger, causing him to jump enough for the others to notice. She quickly pulled her hand down, but not away, and pretended to be just as confused as everyone else when she saw their gazes snap to the healer.
“You okay there, Blondie?” Varric asked, raising one eyebrow.
Hawke watched Anders with an innocent expression as he took a moment to answer. “Yes, fine, just got a chill, that’s all.”
Varric didn’t look convinced, and Isabela’s mind was clearly working, but they went back to the game nonetheless. Hawke’s hand had ended up resting on Anders’ thigh again, and she waited just until it seemed he’d relaxed before she repeated the journey up.
That’s when he leaned over to whisper in her ear. “What exactly are you doing, love?”
She could no longer hold back her smirk when she whispered back. “Oh, just a little payback for all that teasing earlier.”
Hawke gave the rim of his ear a quick lick before she pulled away, and the glare she got was priceless. His expression wasn’t serious; of course, he wasn’t actually upset. But it did suggest that her teasing was having the intended effect. And when her hand reached between Anders’ legs again and she found him already half-hard, well, that confirmed it.
“Is there a problem, love?” She whispered as she started to rub his cock through his trousers, feeling his whole body stiffen as he tried to act natural.
“You are truly evil.” Anders whispered back, his voice taking on an edge of breathlessness.
The others at the table didn’t seem to have caught on that there was anything unusual going on, so Hawke kept going, relishing in the short, shuddering breaths coming from Anders. She then called on her magic to bring sudden warmth to her hand, causing him to let out a whine so quiet she was sure no one but her heard it, and that sent a bolt of heat straight to her core. He hadn’t even touched her, and yet teasing him was turning her on far more than she’d expected it to. She wanted to take him by the hand, lead him back to the mansion, and press him up against the wall. Or pin him to the bed and ride him till he screamed. Or even just sneak off to the Hanged Man’s wine cellar and ravish each other there while hoping they didn’t get caught.
Actually… She thought, glancing at Anders and not missing the touch of pink on his cheeks as he, to his credit, was still not allowing his expression to betray what was happening below they table.
Suddenly, she took her hand away, drained her mug, and looked for Norah. The waitress was apparently very busy with the other patrons, which was exactly what Hawke had been hoping for. There was no way she’d be making it to their table anytime soon.
“I’m going to go get another drink.” She announced, perhaps just a bit too loudly, before immediately getting up.
“Oooh, grab me one, too!” Isabela called, leaning back with a smug smile. “I’m going to need it to celebrate my win.”
Fenris’ scowl deepened. “You haven’t won yet.”
“Exactly. Not ‘yet’. Which is why I’ll need a drink for when I do.”
Varric chuckled, having already folded. “You don’t know how screwed you are, do you, elf?”
Hawke took advantage of the discussion to lean down and whisper in Anders’ ear. “Wait a few minutes, then come find me in the wine cellar.”
He gave her a look that said ‘seriously?’, and Hawke just winked in return. The healer shook his head, smiling, then nodded.
Hawke tried not to hurry and draw attention to herself as she made her way through the crowds, towards the back where the entrance to the cellar was. Normally, the bartender was guarding it, but it seemed Norah had been overwhelmed and he was now helping to serve the other patrons. It was all aligning perfectly.
She stopped, checking to make sure no one was watching, then slipped into the deserted cellar and out of sight. So long as Anders could manage to get down without any trouble, and no one physically came down here, which didn’t happen too often, they should be safe.
Hawke waited for what felt like far too long, and was beginning to wonder if Anders wasn’t coming, if he’d gotten caught on his way or something. How long should she wait? What if she got caught down here alone? They’d probably think she was a thief. She could simply pretend to be drunk and confused. One mug of cider was only enough for a slight buzz, but she was pretty sure she could fake drunk.
Her anxious thoughts were broken by quiet, but slightly hurried footsteps she knew to be Anders’. They basically lived together now, and she could recognize the sound of his steps anywhere. And, sure enough, he appeared a moment later, a sheepish expression on his face.
“Really, love? The wine cellar?” He asked, smirking, as he walked to meet her.
“Not romantic enough for you?” She said, grinning. “We could throw some rose petals around or something. Though it’s already got mood lighting.”
“I suppose that’s true.” Anders wrapped his arms around her once they were close enough, leaning in just enough to let his breath ghost over her lips. “Assuming I’ve not misunderstood your intentions.”
Hawke answered by kissing him fiercely, pushing him back against one of the casks. Anders responded with nearly as much passion, and it reminded her just how much she loved the way he kissed when he was worked up like this. How he desperately pressed against her, as if he was trying to become one with her. She could already feel the want in the way he clung to her, and the way his hands had begun to wander despite only just having started.
She responded in kind, working on the buckles on his coat. Getting completely naked wasn’t really a good idea, given that this was a semi-public place, but some loss of clothes was certainly necessary. Hawke had made it under his shirt and was running her fingers up towards his chest when Anders broke the kiss and began moving his lips and tongue down her neck.
Hawke let out a shuddering breath, only now realizing how difficult it was going to be to keep quiet once they’d really started. She ran her fingers up his chest under his tunic, pausing to pinch and roll a nipple, and relishing in the slight shudder that ran through him. One of Anders’ arms remained around her, while the other had made it under her own clothes to cup one of her breasts.
She let out a heavy sigh, leaning up to bite the lobe of Anders’ ear as she started moving her hands down. As much as the mage was thoroughly enjoying this, and Anders seemed to be as well, if the hard length she could feel pressing against her was any indication, Hawke knew it was too risky to dawdle. This wasn’t exactly a private place, and someone would come down eventually. And even though the idea of potentially getting caught was hot, actually having it happen would be a definite mood killer.
When Anders bit down on the spot where her neck met her shoulder, Hawke barely suppressed a moan. Her hands had made it back outside Anders’ shirt, so she took one and moved his head to where she could bite his lower lip, and then pull him back into a kiss. Anders all but melted into it, and the kiss quickly became a bunch of shorter ones interrupted with panting breaths as Hawke’s other hand began work on unlacing his trousers.
Anders’ hips bucked on the first stroke of his now freed cock and his breath hitched, the slightest ‘ah’ spilling out. Hawke smirked against his mouth, and then moved so they could switch positions while she was still stroking him. Given their height difference, this would be easier if she were the one pressed against the cask. Anders followed her lead, nipping her lip and shuddering when she swiped her thumb over the head of his cock.
“Please.” Anders’ whisper was hoarse, and so quiet she barely heard it over the sound of her own breathing and her heart pumping in her chest.
Hawke didn’t want to wait any longer either, so she took her hand away and started work on unlacing her own pants, Anders watching her with dark, hooded eyes. She pulled one leg out of both her pants and smallclothes, and decided to leave the other leg half-clothed to save time. Once that was taken care of, she pulled Anders back against her, kissing him again as he slid a finger over her sex.
She let out a small, involuntary moan as he started rubbing her clit, and Hawke then pulled Anders back into a kiss. She wanted him inside her now. The mage wrapped her bare leg around Anders’ hips, pulling him closer and coaxing him to enter her.
“You sure you can keep quiet, love?” He asked, breaking the kiss just enough to get the words out.
Her first instinct was to direct the question back at him, but she knew Anders would have no trouble; it’d taken her far too long to get him to make any noise at all in the bedroom. “I’ll manage. Fuck me.”
Hawke’s voice was breathy, and she pulled him even closer using her leg as Anders lined himself up. The healer let out a shuddering breath as he finally thrust forward, and Hawke already had to bite her lip, hard, to keep her noise limited to a small, needy whimper. They waited for a moment, Hawke loving the fullness and Anders relishing in the sensation of her around him, and then he started moving.
Anders started with a fast but still gentle pace, and Hawke urged him on using the leg still wrapped around him. He was nearly silent, the only sounds leaving his mouth being panting breaths with occasional gasps. Hawke, on the other hand, tried her best to swallow her moans, but just couldn’t keep them all down, letting out stifled cries. She leaned her head forward and began to nibble and suck on his neck, hoping that occupying her mouth would help.
As soon as she gave a particularly hard bite, Anders’ movements stuttered, and he picked up speed, fucking her just how she’d wanted it. She grabbed one of his hands and moved it so he could rub her clit, and Hawke had to fight to keep from biting him too hard when he took the hint, muffling her moans against his skin as she rode out the pleasure. She wouldn’t last long, not like this.
“Fuck, Anders, right there.” She whispered between breaths, only spurring him on further. “I’m close.”
“Me too.” He answered, and his rhythm stuttered again when she moved to bite lower. “Ah, fuck, don’t stop that. Bite as hard as you want to.”
If she’d been in a more present state of mind, Hawke would’ve made a mental note to file that information away for later. Instead, she did as he asked, biting again, and then soothing the spot with her tongue. She then moved down further to suck a nice, dark mark just below his collar. Anders’ breathing hitched again, and it was then she felt him pulling on his magic.
Even though she’d been expecting it, Hawke was still caught off guard when he sent a small shock of electricity through her clit. She bit him harder then, muffling her cry as she came, her hips bucking of their own accord to meet his as she rode out her climax. Anders gave a few more thrusts, and gave only a quiet moan as his own orgasm washed through him.
They stayed like that for a few moments, letting their breathing calm before cleaning up. Hawke insisted on inspecting Anders’ neck and just below to make sure she hadn’t really hurt him, even though he insisted he was fine, and she was pleased to find that though there were marks, none had broken the skin. She tended to be a little rough sometimes, and though he always assured her he loved it, she still worried she’d taken it too far.
(cont.)
Part 2
Date: 2015-12-21 09:40 am (UTC)“Those are gonna be pretty visible, you know.” She pointed out as she pulled her pants back up. “Sorry about that, love.”
“Oh, don’t apologize.” Anders said, maybe a touch too quickly. “If I wanted them gone, I’d just heal them. I like having your marks on me.”
Hawke nodded, smirking slightly at that admission as she attempted to make herself look presentable and like they hadn’t just snuck off and had sex in the wine cellar. Though she wasn’t sure if that was really necessary at this point. They’d been gone longer than it took to get a drink or whatever excuse Anders had given. It wouldn’t take a genius to figure out what had actually happened.
“Think we should even bother leaving separately?” She asked. “I think everyone will already be able to figure out what happened.”
Anders shrugged, redoing the buckles on his coat. “It doesn’t really matter. It’s not like any of them will be surprised.”
Hawke had to laugh slightly at that, giving Anders a small, affectionate peck on the lips. “Fair enough. But we should get going before we get caught.”
When they returned to the table, the previous round of cards was clearly over, and the group had started a new game. As soon as Isabela spotted the couple, however, she stood up suddenly and slammed her hands on the table before pointing at Hawke.
“I knew it!” She called. “I knew as soon as Anders got up and followed you that I wasn’t getting that drink!”
Hawke had actually forgotten that part of her lie, and smiled sheepishly. “Damn, I knew I’d forgotten something.”
Isabela gave her a mock frown. “Well, thanks to you two, I didn’t even have a drink to celebrate my victory with. Now you’re going to have to make it up to me. With details.”
The pirate waggled her eyebrows at them while Fenris gave a disgusted snort, Aveline sighed in exasperation and pressed her forehead into her palm, and Varric chuckled. All the while, Merrill looked between them, confused.
“What kind of details? Where do you think they went?” She then lowered her voice to an excited whisper, turning to the couple in question. “Did you two go do something dirty?”
Hawke sat down and dropped her head into her hands, slightly mortified, as Anders sat beside her with a sheepish smile. “It’s nothing, Merrill. Now, why don’t you guys finish the round so we can join in.”
“You know I’m just going to keep asking. Did you go find an empty room? Or a crowded room?” Isabela continued, her voice nearly a purr as she surely started painting her own image of what they’d been up to. “Oooh maybe it was in a broom closet. Or did you end up in the wine cellar?”
Anders groaned, and Hawke leaned forward on the table, knowing they’d be fending her off all night. Still, it was completely worth it in her mind. Sure, it had been a risky idea, but the results had definitely been fun. It seemed a wine cellar could be romantic enough after all.
(end.)
Secret Satinalia Gift
Date: 2015-12-21 05:08 pm (UTC)Prompt: Hawke gives the Amell favor to Anders the morning after their first night together. Fluffy please (or fluffy and smutty if you like writing smut too.)
Rating: T, almost entirely fluff with mentions of sex
Sorry it's a little last-minute, I'm horrendous at doing things on time!
Anders awakes to a dull red light, and there’s a moment of disorientation before he sees the glowing coals in fireplace and remembers with a thrill of amazement where he is. Hawke’s estate – Hawke’s bed, which is warm and soft, with a heavy brocaded coverlet which rustles when Anders moves, smooth fabric sliding gently over his body. He feels as if he’s slept for years, although when he stretches his legs (his feet don’t even reach the end of the bed!) there’s a certain soreness which he hasn’t felt in a long time. He stares up at the velvet hangings of the huge bed, luxuriating in the unfamiliar duet of comfort and ache.
Why do you enjoy this discomfort? Justice murmurs in his head.
It reminds me of what we did last night, Anders explains, sorting through the memories for Justice’s viewing and feeling the hint of a blush come to his cheeks. It would be awkward, if Justice had any concept of embarrassment, as the spirit dwells with interest on changes that they’ve not heard before in Anders’ voice, on the sensation of another’s hands and mouth on Anders’ skin, on other experiences that are entirely new to Justice and which were only dim recollections in Anders’ head until last night. Justice’s interest is oddly compelling, and Anders edges certain memories forward for examination: the glimpse of himself in a mirror near the bed, head thrown back and body arched; the surprising softness of Hawke’s lips; the sounds they breathed across one another’s skin —
Beside him, Hawke stirs, rolling onto his side, and his eyes crack open. They widen when he sees Anders, and his muzzy smile is gorgeous. ‘You stayed,’ he mumbles. He opens thickly-muscled arms, and Anders feels suddenly warm inside and out as he shifts himself to nestle into the man’s broad chest. Hawke smells of sweat and sex and his beard prickles at Anders’ forehead, his embrace far too hot after just a couple of heartbeats, but Anders twines their legs together and presses himself closer and lets himself be held tight and maybe, he dares to believe, maybe even loved. Justice stirs gently, still curious about this mortal concept of hugging, and Anders lets them examine these sensations as well.
Above them, Hawke makes a quiet noise of surprise, and strokes a big hand over their hair. His hair, Anders reminds himself. This body is his, must remain his however welcomed Justice is. ‘You’re, uh, glowing,’ Hawke says softly. ‘Justice?’
Justice’s attention is suddenly fixated on Hawke with something like shock, and Anders smiles into Hawke’s skin. No one has addressed Justice since they left Kristoff’s body except Anders. It’s all right, he tells the spirit, and aloud, ‘No, still mostly me. Justice is investigating, that’s all. They’re curious. They’ve never been held this closely before.’
‘They’re okay with it?’ Hawke asks carefully, arms loosening a little.
Anders snuggles closer, Justice’s quiet affirmation in his head. ‘They are, yes. New experiences and all that. There have been a few of those recently.’
‘Ah.’ A beat, and then, ‘Wait. Was last night a “new experience”?’
‘Sex? Not for me,’ Anders says, wondering if he was really that bad after years of nothing but his hand. He shifts a little, considers moving away, but the luxury of being entangled naked with a lover has never been one he’s been able to give up if he has a choice. The fact that the lover is Hawke, after all this time, makes it even more impossible. ‘For Justice, though, close physical contact beyond Isabela feeling up my ass is a completely new thing. And before you say anything, they didn’t mind it. Sex, that is.’
‘Didn’t mind it?’ Hawke asks indignantly, although his hand’s still stroking their hair.
There’s the quiet fuzzy feeling that Anders has come to understand as Justice agreeing, the equivalent of a nod. A couple of sensations are pushed forward in his mind: the relief he felt when Hawke welcomed him in last night, the thrill of arousal and sheer happiness as the two of them had collapsed on the bed afterwards. ‘Justice is happy that I’m happy,’ he explains.
‘Oh.’ It’s a small, pleased sound, and Anders buries his head in Hawke’s chest hair and wonders if he might burst from this happiness.
They lie there together, listening to each other and the quiet noises of the household waking up. Anders shifts himself occasionally, still not entirely convinced that this isn’t a dream. The part of him that’s still the farmer’s brat from the Anderfels is cataloguing every new sensation of warm air and soft sheets for when he wakes up; the Circle-raised part is marvelling that he can get up whenever he wants to, perhaps have a bath if he wishes, or choose what to eat for breakfast.
‘I… um… there’s something I’d like you to have,’ Hawke says into the quiet. He sounds oddly hesitant, so Anders shuffles back a bit so that they can look at each other.
‘Everything okay?’ he asks.
Hawke nods, pushes himself up and leaves the bed. ‘Yes,’ he says, but he sounds distracted. Anders moves up to lie on the pillow, watching Hawke pull on a pair of loose pants and pad towards his desk. He really does have a gorgeous ass. He picks up a small wooden box and turns back, holding it in his hands as if he’s scared to drop it. When he reaches the bed he sits down beside Anders, and puts it down on the bed between them.
Anders isn’t sure what to do. ‘It’s not Satinalia for another couple of days, and most people wait until the second date to propose,’ he jokes weakly, but Hawke just pushes the box towards him.
‘I didn’t want this to be a Satinalia gift,’ he says. ‘You… you don’t have to take it.’
Curiosity piqued, Anders sits up, not missing the way Hawke’s eyes slide to his bare chest. It’s odd, having someone admire him this freely. His hair’s a mess, and he runs his hands through it in an effort to make it stay flat, then reaches out, flips the small brass catch, and opens the box.
The inside of it is a sea of red, and at the centre of it is an oval medallion, polished to a bright gold and engraved with the Amell sigil. Anders picks it up, curious, and bunched red cloth comes with it, threaded through slim loops on the back. The cloth’s long enough to wrap a couple of times around his wrist, if he was so inclined, but he honestly can’t tell what he’s supposed to do with it. He makes a quiet sound of approval and looks to Hawke, a little puzzled.
‘We found it whilst we were sorting out the house,’ Hawke says, not looking at him. ‘It was hidden under those rotting floorboards near the dining room; the slavers must have missed it. I asked Mother, and she said they used to call them “favours”, although they’re long out of fashion now. When an Amell started courting, they would give one to the person. That they were courting. And if the person wore it on their sleeve, that was a sign that they, uh, accepted the courtship. That maybe it could be something… more?’
Anders puts the favour down carefully, traces the Amell sigil. It’s a little bright for his tastes, which have run to unobtrusive things since he left Amaranthine, but the idea that Hawke wants him to wear something that so openly declares that they’re together is … well, it’s more than he could ever have hoped for. ‘Doesn’t the night of mind-blowing orgasms generally happen a little way past courting?’ he asks lightly, doing his best to cover the sudden rush of feeling.
Hawke meets his eyes and grins, but it’s a little unsteady. ‘We could always do it again?’ he suggests. ‘Uh. If you want to.’ He looks away again. ‘And you don’t have to wear the thing obviously, I know it’s silly and old-fashioned and maybe you don’t even want that, and even if you do it’ll get in the way and –’
‘I don’t think I want to put it on my sleeve,’ Anders says, thinking aloud, and he realises when Hawke’s face falls that he’s been misunderstood. ‘Not like that!’ He sits up, puts the box on Hawke’s lap and pulls his hair up behind his head. ‘It’ll get dirty there, and probably covered in blood, or damaged. I … I want to look after it.’ Hawke’s looking stunned, and Anders smiles at him, looks up through his lashes and then bares his throat. ‘You’ll have to tie it.’
Hawke’s hands, usually so sure, are trembling as he leans forward and closes the soft cloth around Anders’ neck. He’s warm, and the brush of his fingers on Anders’ skin gives the mage goosebumps. ‘Not too tight?’ Hawke asks when he’s tied the knot.
Anders flexes his neck from side to side, feels the steadying weight of the medallion in the hollow of his throat. The ribbon is soft, a little stretchy; it feels almost as if he’s wearing a collar, and it’ll show clearly above his shirt. Everyone will be able to see it, and from what he knows of Kirkwall’s nobles, every single one of them will know what it means. It’ll be as good as Hawke standing at the top of the Chantry steps and yelling it. No more sneaking around in dark corners, no more being afraid to say that he’s loved, that he loves in return. ‘It’s perfect,’ he says quietly, blinking and wiping at his eyes. ‘Thank you, love.’
‘I’ll get a jeweller to sort out a proper chain for it,’ Hawke says, brushing a kiss to Anders’ cheek before he pulls back so that he can see how it looks. His eyes widen a little, and he swallows.
Anders smirks then, realising how the deep, heavy red must look set against his pale skin. ‘I rather like this, actually,’ he says, gathering his hair in his hand and tilting his head so that Hawke can see the dark band around his throat. He bites his lip, lets his hair fall loose. ‘Anyway… now that I’m yours for all the world to see, I think you should come back to bed so that we can celebrate.’
Hawke grins, and Anders still can’t quite believe that he’s this lucky – this loved.
Re: Secret Satinalia Gift
Date: 2015-12-22 02:34 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-12-21 05:41 pm (UTC)Prompt: Any sort of Jane Austen inspired period romance scenario
Rating: T for a bit of innuendo, but it's mostly awkward flirting and fluff
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Pt. 1/2
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“What time is Carver due home?” Bethany asked, pulling the curtain back as she peered out of the window.
“’Before nightfall’ was all Father said,” Garrett replied, smiling slightly as he dipped his pen in the inkwell. The scratch of his writing was the only sound in the room until Bethany heaved out a dramatic sigh, letting go of the curtain and flouncing to the opposite side of the study.
“Calm down, sister,” Garrett teased. “He will be home soon enough.”
Bethany sat with a huff, curls bouncing around her face as she picked up her embroidery.
“Aren’t you curious about his friend?” she asked casually, sneaking a glance at her older brother.
“I am curious how Carver made a friend, yes,” Garrett replied indifferently.
Bethany covered a giggle as she glanced towards the window once more. The snow was falling steadily, a light coating on the ground already but hopefully not enough to impede their brother’s journey home. Carver had been provided a brief leave from his regimental duties for the holidays, and he had informed his family that he would be bringing home one of his commanding officers. The man had no family to speak of, and although it took some persuading, he had finally agreed to accompany Carver to Kirkwall.
“I should hope they arrive soon,” Bethany sighed. “I want to help with the yule log, but you know Mother won’t let me slosh around in this mess if it keeps snowing.”
“No, but you may be able to persuade Father,” Garrett smiled without looking up from his papers.
Bethany’s reply was interrupted by faint shouting outside. She threw down her embroidery, rushing to the window to peek around the curtain once more.
“Carver!” she exclaimed, picking up her skirts and dashing to the front door. She was met by her parents, Lady Hawke eagerly pushing her way outside to greet her youngest child with open arms.
Garrett put down his pen, stretching before leisurely strolling to join the rest of the family. He stopped at the still-open front door, leaning against the frame and crossing his arms as he watched the scene in front of him.
Two horses stood in the courtyard of the manor, attendants holding the reins as the bundled-up riders prepared to dismount. The larger of the two gentlemen appeared to be Carver, judging by the way Bethany was hopping around the horse impatiently. Their mother stood a small distance away, hands clasped to her breast as she smiled. Their father, however, was moving toward the other man as he brushed off his coat, giving each other a slight bow.
“What’s wrong, big brother?” Carver called out as he climbed the steps. “Too busy to come say hello?”
“Hello, Carver,” Garrett smirked, embracing him once he reached the top of the steps. He stepped back, studying his younger brother as Bethany reappeared, entwining her arm through Carver’s.
“Military life suits you,” Garrett smiled. “You look well.”
“Erm…thank you,” Carver stammered, looking back towards the horses. “But I am forgetting my manners. This is Captain Anders, my commanding officer.”
He gestured at their guest - a tall, lean man with tied-back blond hair and a slim nose. And the most beautiful amber eyes Garrett had ever seen.
“A pleasure to meet you all,” Anders said, smiling as he gave a slight bow to the group. “And I thank you for your hospitality.”
His eyes drifted over the group one by one, lingering perhaps a moment too long on Garrett before reaching out to take Bethany’s hand, giving it a brief kiss. Carver rolled his eyes as Bethany blushed.
“I can see which twin acquired the beauty in the family,” he teased, sending Bethany and Lady Hawke into a fit of giggles. Garrett and his father exchanged looks as Carver’s brow furrowed.
“Yes, well, I’m hungry,” Carver huffed, shaking himself free of Bethany’s grip as he stomped into the house. Their mother hurried in after him, gently chastising him for not cleaning his boots first. Anders held out his arm for Bethany instead, which she took with a shy smile.
“I see Carver’s attitude hasn’t improved much,” Lord Hawke commented to Garrett, following a short distance behind the others.
Garrett hummed in agreement, attempting not to stare at Anders as they entered the parlor.
“She will be fine,” his father chuckled, breaking his concentration. “You needn’t glower.”
Garrett joined in his laughter, relaxing a bit.
“I am protective of my little sister, Father,” he chided. “Perhaps I will speak to the Captain privately…see what sort of fellow he is.”
“Excellent idea,” Lord Hawke nodded, clapping Garrett on the back. “You’re a good boy, Garrett.”
Garrett smiled, the words doing nothing to quell the decidedly not good thoughts stirring in his head.
*****
“So, tell me about yourself, Captain,” Garrett asked later as he handed Anders a cup of hot cider.
“Not much to tell, really,” Anders smiled before sipping his drink. “Second son of a wealthy landowner, pushed into the militia and promoted more through name than action. And here I am.”
“Why are you not celebrating with them?”
Anders paused, unhurriedly tasting the cider before answering.
“My parents are deceased and my brother and I are no longer on speaking terms.”
“Ah,” Garrett replied, sensing his discomfort. “I’m sorry. And no wife?”
Garrett saw a flicker of something on Anders’ face as he opened his mouth to respond, a nervous laugh coming out instead.
“Ah, no. No wife,” he smiled ruefully. “I’m afraid I’m not quite the marrying kind.”
He gave Garrett a curious look, studying him for a moment.
“And you? Surely as the eldest son, you must be betrothed.”
“Why, are you interested?” Garrett quipped before catching himself, face burning with embarrassment. Anders, however, did not seem offended, a small smile playing on his lips as he stared into his cup.
Garrett spoke quickly, in an attempt to do as much damage control as possible before Anders had a chance to speak.
“As you say, I’m not…the marrying kind, either. Much to my mother’s chagrin.”
Anders grinned at that, meeting Garrett’s eyes.
“I remember those lectures,” he chuckled. “Although I was not quite in the same position as you. How have you managed it so far?”
Garrett sighed, glancing around the room to make sure none of his family members were within earshot. Bethany had been staring in their direction, but she quickly turned her attention elsewhere when she caught Garrett’s eyes.
“It hasn’t been easy,” he answered in a low voice. “My mother still insists I just haven’t met the right woman yet. My father isn’t pleased, but he…understands. Somewhat.”
Anders blinked at him, remaining silent for a moment before clearing his throat.
“I, ah…I see.”
“I’m sorry,” Garrett shook his head, taking a step back. “I shouldn’t be speaking so plainly. We hardly know each other.”
“You’re being rude, brother,” Carver chastised, appearing behind Anders before the other man could respond. “Let other people talk to the Captain.”
“Forgive me,” Garrett replied with a forced smile as Carver ushered Anders away with a glare. Anders looked as if he wanted to protest but merely gave Garrett an apologetic smile instead. Garrett decided he liked that smile…and wanted to see more of it.
He excused himself, returning to the study and his stack of papers, face still slightly flushed and harboring an ill feeling that he had made a fool of himself. Which was ridiculous, really, because why did the Captain’s opinion matter?
Garrett lost himself in his work, only becoming aware of how much time had passed when he heard someone clearing their throat in the doorway.
“You’re missing the fun, brother,” Bethany said, hesitantly stepping into the room. “Is something wrong?”
“Just a bit of a headache, Beth,” Garrett smiled slightly, looking up. “I needed some fresh air and quiet.”
“Well,” she began, looking over her should towards the sitting room. “You should come back. We’re getting the yule log soon before it snows much more.”
She paused, cheeks reddening a bit.
“What do you think of the Captain?” she whispered, stepping further into the room. “He’s quite the gentleman, isn’t he?”
“He seems a decent sort, yes,” Garrett agreed, hoping he sounded uninterested. It didn’t matter, however, since Bethany didn’t seem to actually be listening.
“And very handsome, don’t you think?” she giggled. “Charming, too.”
“You sound smitten, sister.”
“Oh, no, I…” Bethany stuttered, blushing once more. “He’s just very interesting, that’s all.”
Garrett chuckled, stacking his papers neatly to the side before standing.
“That he is. Come, let me escort you back.”
All eyes turned towards them when they reentered the room, Anders giving Garrett a small smile when their eyes met.
“Garrett, dear,” his mother said, turning his attention away from the Captain. “Are you ready to help bring in the log? Your father would like to prepare it before dark and I would like you to help me hang this garland afterward.”
“Of course, mother,” Garrett smiled, giving her a small kiss on the cheek.
The group began to make their way to the front room to retrieve their coats before heading outside to find the ceremonial piece of wood.
“It’s been a while since I’ve handled any wood,” Anders remarked casually, dropping into step next to Garrett. “Besides my own, of course. How about you?”
“Ah…no?” Garrett responded, confused. “I have someone do it for me.”
“Do you?” Anders grinned mischievously. “Lucky you.”
“You don’t?” Garrett asked. “You’re a captain, surely you have someone under you to handle such things.”
Anders covered his laugh with a cough, grinning wider as Garrett’s brow furrowed.
“I generally prefer someone over me, but that works too.”
“But why would—oh,” Garrett’s face blanched before turning dark red within the span of a few moments. “Dear Lord, I…I…”
“Forgive me,” Anders said sincerely, although a small smile still played on his lips. He rested his hand on Garrett’s arm, stilling him. “I thought you could use a laugh, I didn’t mean any harm by it.”
Garrett nodded, avoiding his eyes as he shrugged on his coat. Anders followed suit, although his eyes remained fixed on Garrett.
“Are you two coming, or what?” Carver yelled from the front steps.
“Just a moment,” Garrett called back, buttoning his coat with shaking fingers. Anders hadn’t moved, although he had finished dressing, watching as Garrett fumbled with his clothing.
“Did I make you uncomfortable?” he asked, smile replaced with a small frown of worry. “I had gathered from our earlier conversation…perhaps I read it wrong. I thought you would find it amusing—“
“Stop fretting,” Garrett hissed. “You did not offend me, you caught me off guard.” He pulled on his gloves and adjusted his top hat before giving Anders a very obvious once-over with a smirk.
“We can continue this discussion later.”
*****
The log was selected, and upon both Lord and Lady Hawke’s insistence Anders helped with the preparations.
“You are part of this family for the holidays,” Lady Hawke beamed. “And so you should share in the good fortune.”
The house was soon filled with the rich smells of cooking food as dinner approached. The siblings finished hanging the decorations – at Lady Hawke’s direction – as Anders regaled them with stories from both his childhood and time within the militia. Including a few humorous ones involving Carver, which Garrett and Bethany took great delight in.
Garrett snuck glances at Anders as they worked, the other man seemingly always looking in his direction. They would lock eyes, as if Anders was talking to him alone, and Garrett had to force himself to look away more than once so as not to arouse suspicion.
This is madness, he thought, head swimming with a mixture of fear and doubt, anxiety and desire. He had known this man for only half a day and suddenly his mind was consumed by his mere presence. He was barely paying attention to the conversation, inserting a laugh or a quick comment when he thought it appropriate, hoping that his distraction didn’t show.
He might have fooled his family, but he didn’t think he fooled the Captain. The other man would throw curious looks his way, studying him, almost as if he was trying to solve a puzzle. Garrett intentionally avoided his gaze, afraid of giving himself away.
Bethany and Lady Hawke excused themselves to wash up and dress for dinner a short time later, leaving the four men in the parlor alone.
“So, Captain,” Lord Hawke began, pouring them all another round of drinks. “What are your plans for the future?”
“Beyond military life?” Anders smirked, accepting the glass with a nod.
“He wants to know if you intend to marry,” Carver groaned, draining his glass in one gulp.
Garrett turned away, a strange tightening in his chest. He already knew the answer to this question, why the sudden flare-up of jealousy?
“I do not have any plans to marry, no,” Anders replied with a polite smile.
“Ever?” Lord Hawke raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Surely you intend to take a wife at some point. Or are you determined to be a bachelor forever, like Garrett?”
“Father, you know I hold very lofty goals for myself,” Garrett interjected dryly. “Including bachelorhood.”
Anders grinned at the comment before turning his smile back to the elder man.
“I am determined to serve my post and my country to the best of my abilities, my lord. Nothing more.”
“Admirable words,” Lord Hawke smiled. “I can only hope my youngest takes them to heart as well.”
Carver snorted next to him. “I intend to marry, even if Garrett does not.”
He received a steady look from his father in return.
“And to serve my country and be a respectable soldier and such things,” he recited with a sigh. “May I be excused?”
“I’m going to freshen up myself, I believe,” his father replied. “Excuse us, gentleman.”
Garrett opened his mouth to protest, a brief surge of panic in his chest as the two men walked away.
“You don’t have to stay on my behalf,” Anders murmured once they were alone. “Although I would like to…continue our earlier conversation.”
Garrett squared his shoulders, confidence returning.
“As would I,” he replied lightly, refilling his glass. “I’d like to hear more about your experience.”
Anders grinned, stepping closer until they were nearly touching. Close enough that all he would have to do is lean towards Garrett’s ear and…
“I’ve returned!” Bethany exclaimed, nearly skipping back into the room. She stopped short, looking between the two men in confusion.
“I’m sorry, did I interrupt something?” she asked.
“We were just sharing a joke,” Anders replied, giving her a charming smile. “I didn’t believe it was appropriate to be overheard.”
“Oh,” Bethany blushed, looking at her feet.
“But please, join us,” Anders said, picking up a glass and filling it for her.
Garrett sighed to himself, forcing a smile at his sister and resigning himself to what was sure to be a frustrating evening.
*****
Dinner was served, Anders and Garrett seated far enough apart that they were unable to speak unless joined by the others, but still able to shoot each other sly smiles and glances. Several times Garrett would look in Anders’ direction, only to see the man wink quickly before looking away.
The meal went late into the evening until the group returned to the parlor for more hot cider and pleasant conversation before the fire. Garrett was still unable to speak to Anders privately, although he did use the opportunity to stand next to the man as much as possible. He took delight and a special sort of thrill to be so near the Captain, exchanging quiet words in between conversations and private smiles when no one else was looking.
no subject
Date: 2015-12-21 05:42 pm (UTC)-------
However he was becoming impatient, waiting for the rest of his family to retire for the evening so he would have his chance to speak with Anders alone once more. Bethany and Lady Hawke had finally excused themselves, and Garrett knew it wouldn’t be long before his father would follow, at least. And surely Carver must be tired from the trip?
“Well, Captain,” Lord Hawke finally said, clapping his hands together. “Shall I have one of the servants show you to your quarters?”
“Oh,” Anders said in surprise. “I…well, I’m sure I can find it later.” He shot a quick glance at Garrett out of the corner of his eye. “One of your sons can show me, I don’t want to be a bother.”
“I’m going to sleep as well,” Carver said, placing his glass down with a loud thump. “Good night everyone.”
He left the room, the other three men looking after his abrupt departure with amusement. Lord Hawke finally turned to the remaining pair, gesturing towards the stairs.
“Nonsense, it’s no trouble at all,” he smiled. “Garrett will most likely be going to bed soon as it is.”
Garrett wiped a hand down his face, turning away to hide his disappointment.
“Yes,” he smiled. “It’s been a long day.”
*****
Unable to sleep, Garrett threw on his robe and stepped into his slippers before grabbing a candle and making his way downstairs. Perhaps he could work for a bit…if the work itself didn’t tire him out perhaps it would bore him to sleep.
His primary goal, however, was to stop thinking of Anders. He had a sinking feeling that the man was the real cause for his insomnia, nothing more. He needed to shake these thoughts if he expected to make it through the next week without losing his mind. This was an unattainable daydream, despite the indications to the contrary, and the sooner he gave up on them, the sooner he’d be at peace with himself.
Garrett groaned, resting his head in his hands as he tried to collect himself.
“Can’t sleep either?” a voice said from the doorway.
Garrett’s head jerked up, looking for the origin of the sound. Anders was standing in the doorway in loose bedclothes and untied hair – although it was hard to tell in the near-darkness.
“Not really,” Garrett admitted, standing and adjusting his clothes quickly before retrieving the candle and walking towards him. “Is there something wrong with your room?”
“Oh. No,” Anders said in surprise. “No, I just have trouble sleeping sometimes. I thought maybe a bit of air might help. I…didn’t expect anyone else to be awake.”
They stood awkwardly in silence for a few moments, neither looking at the other.
“I can…build up the fire again if you’d like,” Garrett finally offered, gesturing towards the parlor.
“Perhaps just a bit of fresh air, like I said,” Anders smiled. “To…clear my head.”
“Excellent idea,” Garrett sighed, gesturing for Anders to lead the way.
They didn’t say another word as they walked outside, each taking a few deep, full breaths of the frigid air. Garrett didn’t believe it helped at all, especially with the root of his problems standing right next to him in only a single layer of clothing.
Garrett shivered after a bit, Anders following his lead as they returned inside. They made their way back to the study, standing uncomfortably in the doorway once more.
“Does your family know?” Anders asked quietly, finally breaking the silence between them.
“I don’t know,” Garrett admitted. “It doesn’t matter, though, does it? Nothing changes.”
“It might matter,” Anders smiled. “Depending on who you’re asking.”
Garrett gazed at him skeptically for a moment before shaking his head.
“It doesn’t. The—“
His words were cut off by the chiming of the clock in the other room, signaling midnight and Christmas Day. Anders smiled at him once more.
“You know…” he began. “I’ve heard it’s bad luck to stand under the mistletoe without getting a kiss.”
Garrett scoffed.
“Luckily, there isn’t any—“
Anders gently cupped his chin, tilting his head upwards to see Anders holding a sprig of mistletoe in his hand, high over their heads.
“And you were saying?” Anders teased.
Garrett laughed nervously, looking away.
“May I?”
Anders had taken a step closer, free hand now back on Garrett’s face, cupping his cheek.
“Just say the word and I won’t disturb you again,” he said quietly.
Garrett let out a shaky breath, closing his eyes as he involuntarily leaned into the touch.
“Yes,” he whispered.
A second later he felt soft lips ghosting over his own, just barely touching as they met, but enough to send a shiver through his body and a craving for more.
Anders pulled away, brushing his fingers gently over Garrett’s face once more as he smiled.
“Merry Christmas.”
(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2015-12-21 11:59 pm (UTC)https://40.media.tumblr.com/20b0240dd816f0226a4b05dbe36cc64d/tumblr_nzqeivQhz91uyo92do1_540.png
no subject
Date: 2015-12-22 10:49 am (UTC)Art Gift for @lamentaslair
Date: 2015-12-22 12:28 am (UTC)http://i.imgur.com/vX9puui.jpg
Re: Art Gift for @lamentaslair
Date: 2015-12-22 05:59 pm (UTC)*SHE CAN!*
You wonderful person you...you absolutely made my day when I got informed this morning there is a gift from the Handers fairy for me ;u; I was squealing loud enough, I'm sure I woke my grumpy neighbor (which is fine cuz I don't like them xD)
Thank you sosososososo muuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuch I love art stuff and this is just so PRECIOUS I wanna squeeze it and I especially wanna squeeze the living daylight out of YOU, right after I wailed over not being able to reciprocate aaaaaaaas I dunno who you are <3 If you want to message me at tumblr again so I can squeeze and squish and smooch you, I'd be very very very happy!
Thank you so much for this wonderful, unexpected gift! I wasn't sure if you saw me reply to your anon message since you didn't message after <3 And please do not hesitate to tell me a wish of yours in return (though, I can somewhat write, otherwise only draw stick men °u°)
Lotsa loooooooo~ooooooooove
Lamenta
For Fauxfires
Date: 2015-12-22 02:20 am (UTC)I kinda went crazy with the size so it's a little on the big side.
Also for anyone who is interested in this sort of thing, the reason the Ace of Cups is in the center like that is because when that particular card shows up in a reading (in the upright position) it usually means some big life changing family type event is about to happen/is happening/already happened. Like marriage for example. Or in their case, handfasting. :D
I picked the Strength card for Hawke because blue, purple, or red personality Hawke overcomes a lot of massive obstacles. And has a heck of a lot of courage and just keeps going when a lot of other people would just give up.
I picked the Temperance card for Anders because through out DA2 he's trying to make peaceful change. He's trying to bring the world back into balance. And when it finally becomes clear that those in power have no interest in speaking through peaceful means, he speaks to the chantry officials in the only language they willingly respond to. (Sorry for the dark tone there)
TL;DR I matched the tarot cards to their personalities, the card in the center 'usually' means some type of marriage (depending on context).
Handers Handfasting
http://i.imgur.com/u0COpRe.jpg