Chapter Text
Clearing the streets of gangs was routine by now, and the Invisible Sisters were no more of a challenge than most. The challenge, Hawke thought, was keeping his eyes off Anders long enough to stay alive.
Anders moved almost too quickly to follow, graceful twirls of his staff trailing crackling bursts of lightning in their wake, then striking the ground and sending his enemies stumbling back. His body and staff moved as one, twisting and spiralling, the raw power of the Fade coursing through him and just occasionally – just for a moment – a flash of brilliant blue lighting his eyes.
Hawke tore his gaze away to block an attack from the last of the Sisters, cutting her down in an arc of gushing blood – and the square fell silent. Hawke turned back to Anders and caught his eye, grinning as he spotted Anders’ gaze flicker up and down his body. Still in with a chance, then – despite Justice’s presence and all Anders’ warnings, neither of them could deny the heat between them.
Hawke’s heart was pounding from the fight, and his mind was still flooded with the image of Anders’ elegant movements – imagining his agility put to different use, the way he would twist and writhe and bend under Hawke’s body. Hawke wiped the splattered blood from his lips with the back of his hand, trying to calm his racing pulse and quickened breath, but Anders’ eyes were still on him and all he could think of was grabbing him by a fistful of his coat and hauling him into a nearby alley, bending him over a crate and fucking him until he screamed.
“Everything alright, Hawke?” Varric’s voice seemed very far away as Hawke took a half step towards Anders, noticing the way the mage’s lips parted slightly, imagining biting that lower lip and making him yelp, stifling a groan into his mouth as he pinned him against the wall and…
***
“Hawke?”
That got his attention – Anders found he could breathe again, freed of Hawke’s intense gaze as Varric led him away to loot the bodies. For a moment there he’d thought it was really happening – if Hawke had seized him, claimed his lips, dragged him back to his estate in that moment Anders knew he couldn’t have refused, couldn’t have even thought of it. Hawke was streaked in blood, heavy armour coated in it, eyes wild and breath ragged and Maker, how could Anders not want him?
“I’m going to head home,” he heard Hawke say as he straightened up, pocketing a handful of coins. “Here, Anders?”
Anders glanced over in time to see Hawke throw a purse towards him, and he caught it easily, feeling the heavy impact against his palm.
“Seem like a fair share?”
“I think I can trust you,” Anders grinned, stuffing the purse into his pocket. “I’ll just – get going, I’m opening the clinic early tomorrow and…”
“Come back with me,” Hawke said, and Anders’ breath caught. He felt Justice flare just below the surface, ready to object if Anders dared give in – but it was tempting to try, tempting to throw himself at Hawke and let himself be led back to the estate, pinned against the door with Hawke’s hands in his hair, holding him in place as Hawke’s tongue invaded his mouth and bloodied lips were crushed against his.
“I…”
“The tunnel,” Hawke said quickly. “Streets aren’t safe, you can head out through the basement – get you home quicker without running into more of these.” He nudged one of the corpses with his foot.
“Your face, Blondie,” Varric smirked as he passed.
“Offer goes for you too,” Hawke called after him.
“I’m good,” he said, patting his crossbow with a chuckle. “Wouldn’t want to make Bianca jealous.”
Anders let himself be led, following Hawke through the front door and glad of his bulky coat to hide how desperately hard he was – blood running hot after the fight, alone with Hawke in the darkened entrance hall, listening to the warrior’s rough breaths and smelling the sweat and blood from his skin. It would be so easy to give in – Anders knew Hawke would take the chance if it was offered – a touch, a word, and he could feel Hawke’s hands on him, tearing his clothes away as if they were made of paper and groaning against his lips as a hand reached down to wrap around his cock.
“Are you holding up alright?” Hawke asked as he unlocked the door to the basement, glancing at Anders’ face with his brow furrowed. “You’re…”
***
“…shaking. And glowing, a little.”
Anders looked down at his own hands with a frown, and the faint blue glow faded.
“Justice is – it’s hard to explain.” He smiled faintly and shook his head. “Supervising me.”
“He thinks we need a chaperone?” Hawke let the basement door fall open but he didn’t move aside – watching Anders’ face carefully. He didn’t want to push too hard but he needed to make sure Anders understood – he hadn’t given up, not quite.
“It’s just the fight,” Anders said quickly, effortlessly diverting the conversation the way he always did. Hawke felt a pang of guilt – was he making him uncomfortable? But the way Anders leaned towards him slightly as he passed, the way his eyes raked over Hawke’s body and lingered on his lips, told him that their mutual desire was still very much mutual. “He’ll make sure I get home safely – I know things are – well, it’s hard to be friends with someone you can’t talk to. But he tries. He looks out for me.”
“I know,” Hawke said, swallowing the words he wanted to say as he stepped back. He helps you resist. He tells you this is a bad idea, but I don’t have a voice in my head to do that for me, and I wish you could ignore yours.
“I’ll see you tomorrow?” said Anders, pausing with his hand on the doorframe.
Hawke nodded, and watched Anders vanish into the dark before closing the door after him.
He was up the stairs in seconds, hands working at the buckles holding his armour in place before he reached his bedroom door, tearing off one gauntlet and loosening his armour just enough to slip one hand down inside his clothing the moment the door slammed shut behind him. Hawke turned to brace his hand against the solid wood, panting roughly as his fingers found his aching hardness and he stroked firmly, quickly, biting his lip as he imagined Anders on his knees with his lips wrapped around his cock. He imagined they were in the clinic, door wide open for anyone to see them, Anders’ coat open and tunic torn, eager moans muffled by the slide of Hawke’s length into his hot, wet mouth.
Hawke groaned, thighs shaking as his hand moved faster, picturing the drag of Anders’ lips around his cock, the way his cheeks would hollow as he sucked hard, reaching down to wrap his fingers around his own erection and stroke in time with Hawke’s steady thrusts, long, elegant fingers curled around his cock, pumping hard, whimpering eagerly and…
***
…Justice faded to the back of Anders’ mind, knowing what to expect, judgement trailing in his wake but knowing well enough not to try to advise against this. Anders could deny himself a lot but he was still a man – still mortal – still driven by flesh and desire and desperate, aching longing.
Anders shed his clothing quickly, practised fingers loosening buckles and ties, stumbling as he kicked off his boots and let his trousers and underclothes swiftly follow, tossing his coat over the back of a chair and dragging his tunic off over his head, knocking his hair tie loose. Anders was naked by the time he reached his bed, snatching a bottle of oil from the rickety table beside it and slicking two fingers to slide them into himself roughly, urgently, pressing his face against the pillow and panting harshly. In the dark he could pretend he’d never left the estate – that he’d let Hawke drag him upstairs and throw him onto his bed, ready and willing and painfully hard as Hawke braced over him and nipped at his shoulder.
He tried to pretend it was Hawke’s fingers pumping roughly into him and stretching him ready for his cock. The idea of being naked and vulnerable beneath him with Hawke still in his blood-splattered armour made it even better, imagining his rough growl as he added another finger. He was rushing and he knew it – burning around the intrusion but beyond caring, pleasure building fast and making him shudder with every thrust of his hand. Anders let his chest fall against the bed and reached his other hand between his legs to stroke his cock, imagining Hawke gripping his hip hard enough to bruise as he pulled him back to rock against his fingers.
“Is that what you want?” The voice in his mind he’d created so many times, Hawke’s deep chuckle as his fingers curled within him to make Anders squirm and gasp. “I want you stretched open for my cock, ready to take it rough and deep. I’m going to slide into you – let you feel every inch – then fuck you hard and make you beg for more.”
Anders shuddered, silently mouthing yes against the pillow as he worked his fingers faster, back arched to present his ass, imagining Hawke’s approving smirk as he lined up his cock and dug his fingernails into Anders’ hip.
“I’ve wanted this so long,” Hawke’s voice whispered in his mind. “I want you, Anders – I want to see how you look with my cock pounding into you.”
Anders’ breath caught, he spread his legs wider and rocked forward under each thrust of his fingers, his eyes closing as he imagined Hawke’s cock nudging against his entrance, the bruising grip on his hip, the way Hawke would groan as he rocked forward, driving into Anders’ with his full force, the weight of him driving him down against the bed and…
***
In Hawke’s mind, Anders threw back his head and screamed. His loose blond hair hung around his flushed cheeks, and he drew his lip between his teeth as every thrust rocked his body between Hawke and the wall. His torn clothing framed his lean, pale body, the freckles and sparse hair Hawke had always imagined lit gold in the low candlelight, hands pinned above his head in Hawke’s grip. Hawke thought of how his other hand would hold his ass tight, fingers digging in hard enough to leave bruises, feeling the muscle clench under his grip as every thrust jolted Anders and dragged sharp, urgent whimpers from his throat.
Hawke tried to slow down, trailing his fingers from the base of his cock to the tip, but he couldn’t draw this out – he’d been teased enough, he let himself fall into his fantasy and forget that it was just him and his hand, that it was his own bedroom door he leaned against and not the wall of Anders’ clinic. He groaned Anders’ name, voice hoarse with need, meeting every stroke of his hand with a rough thrust of his hips as he imagined the loud slap of skin on skin as he drove into Anders’ body. He pictured his cock plunging into him, the way Anders’ cock would throb between their bodies, aching to be touched and leaving a trail of fluid across Anders’ skin. He’d deny him his touch for now – leaning in close to bite and suck at Anders’ arched throat, leaving dark bruises in a trail from his jaw to his collarbone, making him whimper and writhe and beg.
Hawke remembered the scent of elfroot that clung to Anders, imagined inhaling sharply against his skin, releasing his hands to rake his nails down his chest and pinch a nipple. Anders would arch in to the touch, keening desperately as Hawke tugged and teased and then bent to soothe with a gentle swipe of his tongue over the hardened peak. Hawke’s fist tightened around his cock, imagining the way Anders’ body would tighten, shudder, twitch in his grip as he finally slipped his hand between them to stroke him in time with his thrusts.
Heat and tension coiled at the base of Hawke’s spine, low in his belly and throbbing in his cock – he was poised on the edge, every stroke of his hand sending white-hot pleasure jolting up his spine and making his head swim. His pulse roared in his ears and his arm shook, tense muscles trembling as he thrust into his fist and groaned Anders’ name, imagining how it would feel to come with his cock sheathed within tight, slick heat, with his hand skimming over Anders’ ass…
***
… Hawke’s grip on his hip shifted in Anders’ imagination – fingers trailing over his ass, teasing, letting anticipation build before the first hard slap made his knees give out and leave him sprawled face down on the bed, with Hawke’s weight driving him into the mattress as he continued to slam into him roughly. Anders gasped, shuddering, his hand trapped between his body and the bed as he continued to stroke his cock, thrusting helplessly down against his palm and back against the unyielding fingers buried in his ass. His breathing was ragged, hanging right on the edge of breaking into moans as he quickened his pace. Anders writhed against the bed, imagining Hawke’s approving growl as he spanked him again, then gripped his ass and quickened his powerful thrusts.
“That’s it,” Hawke would snarl, fingernails biting into Anders’ skin. “I love how you take my cock.”
That was how he wanted it – sharp, rough thrusts with hands gripping his hips hard enough to bruise, wandering up his back to force his shoulders down, tangle in his hair and shove his face down against the pillow to muffle his gasps as Hawke fucked him hard. Anders felt a slight flutter of discomfort in the back of his mind and groaned in frustration – of course Justice didn’t understand, wouldn’t want to understand. He could get away with a little roughness in his fantasies, but if he pushed it too far Justice’s panic interfered.
Anders shifted position, turning onto his back and resuming the thrusts of his fingers, fucking himself on his hand as he stroked his cock and arched his back. He drew his thighs back, imagining Hawke’s fingers splayed across the backs of each leg forcing – not literally forcing, Justice, pushing – them up, hooking Anders’ knees over his shoulders to drive into him hard. Anders shuddered and thrust into his hand, breath catching as he felt the beginning of his impending orgasm, electric bursts of pleasure flickering over his flesh as he tried to capture every last detail his imagination supplied. He remembered Hawke’s intense stare and imagined it pinned on him, imagined the rasp of Hawke’s breath as it had been after the fight, but in his mind he was in Hawke’s bed and those rough gasps were for him alone .
How would Hawke look during the last few desperate thrusts – how would he sound on the brink of his own climax? Anders imagined him biting his lip but – no – Hawke wouldn’t be afraid to let Anders hear him, his groans would be deep, desperate, hungry as his grip tightened and he sped up, lip curling as his back arched and his fingers tightened on Anders’ thighs.
“Fuck, Anders…” he imagined the catch in Hawke’s voice – but he wouldn’t acknowledge the tenderness in it, bit his lip hard to ground himself in the building rush of pleasure, he didn’t need anything more – “I… I…”
***
“…Anders.”
Hawke thought of Anders’ hips jerking against him, the mage’s back arched as he came hard and in reality Hawke quickly followed, gasping Anders’ name again and again as tension snapped, uncoiled, overwhelmed him with raw sensation. His mind went blank – blissfully empty for just a moment – and as the wave of pleasure receded he was hauled back to reality, opening his eyes to his dark bedroom, panting with his head resting against the door and his thighs shaking.
He couldn’t go on like this.
Hawke banged his forehead against the door with a groan. Three years of this was enough – three years of thinking of the same man every night, three years ignoring advances from others, shrugging off his friends’ concerns, coming home to fuck his hand and ache for what he could not have.
Anders had asked him to come to the clinic tomorrow, and Hawke was going to talk to him about this – whatever it was – between them. He was willing to risk whatever chaos Anders brought into his life, he understood now that this wasn’t an infatuation, wasn’t just about Anders’ body – although Maker, he’d do almost anything to get to touch him – you didn’t spent three years pining for a man just because he was good looking. He was in love with him. The most complicated man he could have fallen for and here he was, willing to take on the world and potentially one very difficult, overprotective spirit for a chance to be with him. It was, Hawke supposed, the sort of decision that ran in his family. He didn’t know why he was even surprised.
And if Anders refused him – Hawke swallowed hard, lifting his hand from the door to rake his fingers through his hair as he straightened up. That had to be the end of it. No more of this – he’d waited three years, he’d find a way to get over it, to get over him. He wouldn’t indulge himself like this anymore, filling his mind with thoughts of what could not be. He couldn’t go on like this, he…”
***
“…can’t last, Anders I’m…”
The thought of Hawke’s voice cracking with need, losing control as his cock pulsed inside him, pushed Anders over the edge. He silently mouthed Hawke’s name, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps as he curled his fingers inside himself, stroked his cock and dragged every possible spark of pleasure out of his body. Tension drained from his body as his cock throbbed once more against his palm, and his mind began to clear, the haze of pleasure fading as his breath slowed and his pulse began to slow. He was left – as he always was – alone in the dark, the only company Justice’s hovering presence in his mind. He was spent – but not satisfied.
“It’s been three years, Justice,” he said. He sat up, hunting around for a rag. He felt none of the comfort he’d been chasing – wrinkling his nose as he cleaned himself up and then crawling back into bed with a sigh.
No response came from his mind – there was an easing of the tug he felt when Justice pulled himself deeper, a warmth as Justice curled around his thoughts – but if Justice had anything to say then Anders couldn’t feel it.
“I can’t…” his breath caught and he shook his head. “I can live with wanting. But I…” it was terrifying to say it aloud, and he knew he probably didn’t have to – knew Justice had probably known longer than he had. But he’d come too far to back down now – he would not run from this. “I love him.”
That got a response – a rough flare of worry, a rush of images, that made Anders cover his face with a groan. A doorway left unguarded, a perfect chance to run and never look back – and that night, with Karl’s lips on his neck, no regret at all as his robes were hitched up to his waist. It was not the first time or the last that a chance would pass him by, that he’d tell himself there were reasons why he didn’t go but the truth was there was only one. Stumbling out of the Harrowing chamber, heart pounding, tears on his cheeks – it had been too close – and Karl was waiting for him but he wasn’t smiling and somehow Anders knew, without him saying a word, it was over. They couldn’t take his mind, not now, so they’d taken the only other thing he had.
“Justice, stop.”
Blue light raced across his hands, just for a moment, and when it faded Anders’ mind was locked on one image, clearer than thought or memory, so vivid it was as if he was back there, hands bloodied and shaking, the knife falling to the ground as Karl’s body slumped against him.
“Stop!”
Justice released him, and Anders clenched his hands in his hair and bit back a sob. He brushed away the hum of apology in his mind – unsure if he was angry with Justice or with himself for still wanting, even though he knew how it would end. He had not been born for love – one of the Maker’s rejected children, cursed and deadly, destroying everything he touched. The thought echoed in his mind – he could feel Justice feeling it, trying not to fear, knowing it could only hurt Anders further – they were both beings that should not be, and Anders wondered if perhaps the word abomination was not strong enough.
He dropped his hands into his lap, opening his eyes to look around the darkened room. He took a shaky breath, and Justice knew what he was going to say before he said it but Anders knew some things had to be spoken – he could not bear the silence any longer.
“Hawke knows,” he said. “What I am – what I’m capable of. About you.” There was no venom in the words but Justice flinched all the same, and he wished he knew how to take back the hurt. “I know it’s selfish but – if he chooses this…”
There was a pause, and Anders braced himself for more argument. He felt Justice stirring, uncomfortable and protective. He coiled through his thoughts, emotion bleeding through them both, and then an almost imperceptible loosening.
“Not tomorrow,” he said, and he wasn’t sure if it was his own decision or Justice’s, but he could accept it either way. “We need his help with this – this tranquil solution.” He shuddered, bringing Hawke into a mage underground job was a huge step, but he needed someone by his side on this, someone he could trust absolutely, someone like Hawke. “When this is done – when he’s seen the risks, when he understands – if he’s still interested, I’m not saying no to him again.”
Anders curled up beneath the blanket, feeling Justice’s barely restrained unease lurking at the back of his mind as sleep claimed him. It was new territory for them both, a step he doubted Justice would ever approve of, but through it all he could feel Justice still cared for him. Their friendship had been broken down and twisted, it was a fragile, damaged thing, but it was still there in the silence between them and in the shifting patterns of shared thought. He could not bear to deny Anders this – pain for one of them could only ever hurt them both.
Tomorrow, then. He would show Hawke the ugliest side of his world, the desperate urgency of the cause and then – if Hawke was ready, if he was certain – he would deny him no longer.