A/N: So I finally got around to watching Iron Man 3 the other day, and I couldn't help myself. ;;
Disclaimer: Tony Stark's tuna sandwich and Dragon Age 2's angsty Anders does not belong to me. I'll put them back; I promise.
Where's My Sandwich?
Lightly calloused fingers idly traced patterns across the smooth skin of a woman's hip, fingers belonging to rough hands that helped to both restore life and take life away. It wasn't always this way. Before the hands of healing ever touched the bitterness of battle and war, their fingers were delicately tapered, nails neat and clean, never knowing what true hardship was.
They were not idle though. The fingers were once upon a time the answer to every woman's secret fantasy, drowning them in pleasurable jolts of ecstasy that had them begging for more. Oh, yes...these hands had certainly been around.
A soft, tired moan whispered into the still night air, the body under the questing fingers shifting restlessly. "Anders, that tickles..."
Anders smiled, his eyes lowering in a gentle expression, gazing into the face of one Marian Hawke. She blinked blearily as she chased away the fog of sleep. Her hair was thoroughly mussed from their earlier exertions, her face still bearing the look of post-coital contentment, and Anders couldn't help the smug smile that graced his features, knowing full well that he put that look there. If his feathered mantle was still draped across his shoulders instead of lying in a heap at the foot of the bed, it would probably fluff up to accompany his shameless preening.
Marian noticed this and rolled her eyes, "Proud of yourself, are you? Because of your stubborn insistence for another go, I think I'll be walking funny for the next week at the very least."
Anders' grin only grew wider, "That's fine by me. The others can take care of all of the requests."
The Champion of Kirkwall growled lightly, "How you interpreted my asking if you wanted a sandwich as 'let's see just how many times I can get her off with that nifty finger...lightning trick' is beyond me."
"You liked it. That's all that matters."
He chuckled as Marian swatted his arm halfheartedly. "That wasn't playing fair," the rogue grumbled, scooting closer to his warmth and breathing in his soothing scent of herbs and magic.
Anders folded his arms around her back, drawing her closer and basking in this rare moment of peace. He hadn't been this relaxed since before he was conscripted as a Grey Warden. Everything that had occurred since that point was just a constant wave after wave of darkspawn, Templars, war, and death. He could remember a time when he would exchange dirty jokes with Oghren and poke fun at Nathaniel's grim expressions, and somehow he couldn't believe that he was ever once so carefree.
Justice hovered in the back of his mind, constantly reminding him of his quest, his mission in life, his hatred for Templars and of their treatment of mages. There was a time where he would rather run to save himself rather than rush to save another.
"Apathy is weakness," Justice had once said.
He had laughed then, raising his hands with a careless shrug, "So is death. I'm just saying."
Now...things were different. Circumstances changed. Karl was gone. The Circle was corrupt. He was possessed by a Spirit of Justice. He was fighting for a cause greater than himself. He was constantly drained to exhaustion. Whether from restoring life or taking it, it didn't matter. It was his fight, and he would see it through to the bitter end, no matter the cost.
Fingers were lightly ghosting across his bare hip, the callouses on fingers and palms much more pronounced than his own. She was staring at him, her thoughtful expression stretching into the beautifully gentle smile that he had come to love. She understood his plight and supported him unconditionally. She was his beacon, the pillar of strength to which he now clung. He sighed into her hair as he buried his face against her bosom, the weight of his responsibilities instantly soothed by her sweet caresses alone. His hope...his light...
Perhaps it would be alright, just this once, to let go, to reach inward and let the old Anders out to play, to show her a glimpse of the man he once was before all of...this.
"You know what keeps going through my head?" he asked, careful to keep his tone neutral. Marian hummed in question, her fingers brushing through his hair as he lifted his eyes to meet hers, a glimmer of mischief shining from behind their amber depths.
"Where's my sandwich?"
End
A/N: Well...she did offer.