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The first time they kissed was in camp, stretched out near the low fire. It was a perfect night--clear and late and warm--on the way home from a diplomatic visit to Denerim. Oghren had fallen asleep early, snoring quietly on the other side of the fire. A whiff of earthy tobacco smoke from the Commander’s pipe drifted across the camp from where she sat watch.
Though Anders had been telling a ridiculous story about one of his numerous escapes before, he had gone silent some time ago, still awake but idly listening to the leaves rustled by a mild summer breeze. All Nathaniel had to do was turn his head and they were nose to nose. There was muted adoration in Anders’ half-lidded eyes, a startling contrast to to the cheerfully guarded expressions he wore during the day even after they had become friends. His lips parted as he breathed, and when Nathaniel kissed him it was barely a brush of slow contact, calm and feather-light. Anders said nothing after, but fell asleep mere moments later with his face pressed against Nathaniel’s shoulder.
The second happened the night after they returned, a flushed and mutual agreement in the hallway outside near the dining room after they said goodnight.
And the third was a disaster.
They had been idle for several days while the Commander took care of pressing business around the keep, and Nathaniel was getting restless. Heirlooms and memories haunted the halls wherever he left his room, which had been carefully chosen to avoid such things. The proximity to Anders’ room was not enough to keep his mind off the ghosts. Anders himself had been scarce since they returned from Denerim; he did not come to his room to sleep. When Nathaniel did see him, it was only in passing.
The knock on his door was unexpected and would have been unwelcome if Anders hadn't appeared a moment after. He had the hint of an odd smile playing the corners of his mouth as if he was trying to hold in a giddy secret and there was a bottle of wine dangling from one hand. Once he moved closer Nathaniel could see that the bottle was already open.
Anders flopped on the small couch near the fireplace, setting his bottle on the side table, and Nathaniel joined him. “Started drinking without me?” he teased, picking it up and finding it shockingly light.
Anders shrugged and threw an arm over the back of the couch, head lolling to the side. His fingers twirled the ends of Nathaniel’s hair. “Not much else to do.”
“True.” Nathaniel agreed, letting himself be temporarily soothed by Anders’ fingers in his hair. “I almost volunteered to patrol with the troops just for something to do.”
Anders wrinkled his nose in exaggerated distaste. “I can think of a few things more fun than that.” He leaned in and brushed his lips to the corner of Nathaniel’s mouth, and when he pulled back briefly there was a wicked grin spreading across his face.
With the warmth radiating off Anders’ body and the flutter of Nathaniel’s heart in his chest it was easy for him to lose himself in the moment; he slid a hand over Anders’ ribs and slipped his tongue between his parted lips. The sour taste of old alcohol assaulted his tongue, overlaid with a note of a bitter herb that Nathaniel couldn’t readily identify. Anders’ hand clumsily moved between his thighs, his body unusually loose and heavy against him. “Let’s go to bed,” he murmured against Nathaniel’s lips.
Nathaniel pulled his head back with a frown and plucked the wandering hand off his groin by the wrist. “Maybe not tonight.”
“But I thought you liked me? And I’m pretty good with my mouth,” Anders protested, half-joking, and tried to lean in again, but Nathaniel held him back easily. He felt a hint of nausea creep up his throat as he got a good look at Anders’ unfocused eyes in the firelight.
“Stop. How much have you had to drink?”
“Enough to not realize this was a complete waste of time.” He suddenly snarled a short, vicious laugh before Nathaniel could get a word in. “Changed your mind, did you? Decided you didn’t want used goods after all?”
“That’s not--” Nathaniel felt a flare of anger--undirected anger that he didn't understand--and pushed Anders away rather more roughly than he intended, though Anders didn’t seem to notice. “Don’t be thick. You’re half out of your mind on drink and Maker knows what else. This is not the time.”
Anders stared at him, processing the words far too slowly. Eventually, he grabbed the wine bottle and managed to get to his feet with some effort, stalking towards the door. Just before it slammed behind him, Nathaniel heard him call back, “Don’t go sticking your tongue in other people’s mouths if you don’t mean it.”
After an hour and a couple of shots of whiskey for his nerves, Nathaniel resolutely stopped outside of Anders’ room, calmer and increasingly unsure he understood what had happened the more he turned it over in his head. When the first and second round of knocks failed to rouse Anders, he cracked the door and peered in. The room was dark and unoccupied. As the hour wasn’t terribly late, he left and attempted to get some rest. Unable to sleep, he checked in again near dawn and found the room still worryingly empty, bed untouched. He discovered the next day where Anders had spent the night, watched him slink out of the barracks late in the morning, still wearing the same clothes he’d been in for the past two days.
Nathaniel finally found him hours later on the far end of the battlements, tucked into a corner massaging his forehead with one hand and an empty water skin at his feet. He looked awful. Days of poor sleep dragged his shoulders down and added years to his face.
“Are you sober?”
Anders didn’t react at first, didn’t move or even blink. “Yes,” he said hoarsely to Nathaniel’s boots.
The stillness was unsettling. Slowly, Anders seemed to regain awareness of his surroundings, the realization that he wasn’t alone barely registering in his dulled expression.
“I’m sorry,” Anders said. “I don’t know what I’m doing. You must think me a prize idiot.”
Nathaniel sighed and dropped a hand on top of Anders’ head before settling next to him. “No, but you scared me a little. I came to find you later and you weren’t in your room. Are you alright?”
Anders blinked several times, eyes going glassy. “I wish I knew what you wanted.”
Nathaniel put his hand on either side of Anders’ neck, gently massaging away the tension in his jaw. His pulse jumped under his palms, when Nathaniel leaned forward to press a kiss to his nose and then to his lips. “Just this,” he answered honestly. “To be close to you. Is that alright?”
Anders almost smiled; he looked tired but perhaps a bit relieved, and he leaned forward to wrap his arms around Nathaniel’s waist and press close against him. His reply was almost lost in the embrace. “Yes, I’d like that.”