This little fic was part of the "Secret Santa" exchange over on Cheeky Monkeys. This was written for Pennies-4-Eyes, who requested a little slash (and I added a little snark and smut to the mix). I've never written slash before, so let me know how I did. Needless to say, this tale is NSFW toward the end.

Merry Christmas, Pennies! I'm glad you enjoyed my little tale.

Why is there a damned dragonling here, and why is he kicking me in the head and breathing fire all over my chest?

Everett Hawke opened his eyes, willing them to focus on making the canopy above him coalesce into one clear object rather than the three shaky and blurry ones they currently were. The multiple canopies moved in unpredictable circles, making his apparently uneasy stomach even more so. He closed his eyes and rubbed at them with shaking fingers and when they opened again, only one canopy was above him.

He was in his own bed at the Hightown estate, covered up to his chin in blankets while a low fire burned in the fireplace nearby. Gingerly, Hawke sat up, fighting another wave of nausea and blurry vision as the blankets slid down to reveal his bare chest. He closed his eyes and took several slow, deep breaths, willing his body to calm itself. Casting a healing spell was out of the question; while he felt sufficient mana in reserve, his pounding head simply would not allow him to concentrate hard enough to weave the spell. Hawked groaned, resting his head in his hands.

"Hawke! It's about time you joined the rest of Kirkwall."

Hawke looked up in surprise; he had not heard the door click open. Anders came into the room, his arms laden with a covered tray. Using his toe, he pushed the door shut and moved to the side of Hawke's bed, placing the tray on the table there.

"Bodahn was kind enough to put together a tray of tea and biscuits for you," Anders said, lifting the cover of the tray to expose a small teapot, two cups with a small carafe of cream, a small jar of honey, and several small biscuits.

Hawke looked at the tray warily, knowing he should eat; his stomach, however, was having none of it. "Anders, I don't think I can."

Ignoring Hawke's protest, Anders poured a cup of tea, the fragrant smell of mint filling the air. "Drink this; it will help calm your stomach. You haven't eaten in a couple of days."

"A couple of days?" Hawke asked, his brow furrowing as he reluctantly took the proffered cup from Anders and brought it to his lips for a tentative sip. The tea warmed him as he swallowed it, the heat spreading through him and pushing the nausea back somewhat. Anders reached behind Hawke as he sipped his tea, positioning the pillows so that he could sit back comfortably. Once he was satisfied that the pillows were arranged properly, Anders poured himself a small cup of tea and sat on the mattress next to Hawke's legs, facing the other mage.

"Yes. You don't remember what happened after we fought Prosper and his damned wyvern?"

Hawke scratched his head in concentration, grimacing at the greasy feel of his locks. "I remember Prosper and his fucking wyvern attacking us; Maker, I wanted to ram my fist into the bloody fool's mouth and muss that annoyingly waxed beard of his."

"Oh, I could tell," Anders said, drinking the last of his tea and turning his attention to the biscuits. He poured a small amount of honey onto one before taking a bite. "What else do you remember?"

Another wave of nausea threatened to overwhelm Hawke's stomach as he watched Anders eat his biscuit. Hawke took another tentative sip of the mint tea as Anders patiently waited for an answer. "I remember being hit with wyvern poison. I remember seeing it on my robes and thinking 'well, at least it's not on me on me; it wasn't on my bare skin at all."

"And you learned the hard way that it doesn't have to be in direct contact with your skin to be deadly." Anders' eyes narrowed at Hawke. "When are you going to learn to stop taking stupid risks? You shouldn't have jumped in front of me! You could have been killed this time."

Hawke waved off Anders' protest. "I also remember Tallis leaving; thank the Maker."

"Didn't get along with her, did you? Good riddance to bad rubbish." Anders took another bite of his biscuit, offering part of it to Hawke; the other mage waved it off. "What was it like running through Prosper's estate with her?"

"She was insufferable," Hawke said, rolling his eyes at the memory of the elven qunari. "She kept telling me 'you're making this harder than it is' or 'are you trying to get caught?' I wanted to look at her and say 'bitch, if you're so good at this, why aren't you sneaking through the estate to get your fucking jewel? Not willing to risk your own ass but willing to let others do your dirty work for you?'" Hawke scoffed and rolled his eyes as he took another sip of the mint tea. "She couldn't even seduce anyone to get a key to the damned estate."

"I don't think seduction is something the Qunari teach their adherents," Anders said, his eyes taking on a mischievous glint. "A shame, really. Seduction can be a lot of… fun."

Hawke found himself responding to that look from Anders, a heat not imparted by the soothing tea beginning to build within his chest. He gave Anders a shy smile, lowering his eyes to his cup of tea. Hawke was normally a confident man; some would say haughty. When it came to Anders, however, Hawke found his confidence uncertain. He felt almost shy. Why did Anders have that effect on him? It was maddening and exciting at the same time.

The more Hawke had turned that thought over in his mind, the more thrilling his burgeoning attraction to the other mage had become. They had developed a casual friendship in the weeks after Anders had agreed to share his maps of the Deep Roads, at first trading stories about their lives in Ferelden. As time had passed, Hawke had sensed a growing attraction between them, but just when he would think their innocent flirtations were becoming something more, Anders would back off. How many times had Anders told him that he had not wanted to hurt him, that they might have had something together before he had merged with Justice? Hawke had lost count, but had found himself undeterred by Anders' protestations. One way or another, Anders would be his.

Hawke knew that part of his infatuation with Anders was due to gratitude. Anders had been a pillar of strength during their last days in the Deep Roads, when Carver had been sickened with the darkspawn taint and taken away by the Grey Wardens. Hawke knew from the brief conversation between the Grey Wardens and Anders that the mage had called in whatever favors the Wardens had owed him by convincing them to take Carver with them. As Hawke had wept bitter tears in camp over the loss of both Bethany and Carver, Anders had been there to offer his quiet support. It was an act that Hawke was both grateful for and knew he would never be able to repay.

Soon after their return from the Deep Roads, Hawke had begun to have dreams about Anders, dreams that often left him hard with lust upon waking. More than once, Hawke had taken himself in hand and closed his eyes, picturing the blond mage in his mind and fantasizing that the hand encircling and stroking his cock belonged to him. Several times, Hawke had awakened to discover his seed drying to a scale on his skin, his fantasies having come to a conclusion as he slept.

Breaking away from his pleasant reverie, Hawke snorted. "After Tallis left, I remember us leaving Prosper's estate to return to Kirkwall. Fenris and Varric were ahead of us…" Hawke's brow wrinkled again, the next memory hazy as if part of a dream. "I remember my vision blurring and your voice calling to me from over a great distance. I tried to respond..."

Nodding, Anders reached out and refilled Hawke's teacup. "Your steps had begun to slow and after a moment, you collapsed. I shouted out to Fenris and Varric to stop. Fenris took one look at you and rushed off to find the ingredients for the wyvern poison antidote."

Hawke brought the cup to his lips, taking a larger sip this time. The cool taste of mint was a pleasant contrast to the heat of the tea. "And then what?"

Anders reached up and pulled the small thong out of his hair, running his fingers through the unbound locks. Despite his weary state, Hawke felt the blood begin to rush to other places within him and had to fight the almost uncontrollable urge to reach out and run his hands through Anders' freed tresses. Would they be silky smooth? Coarse? Oily? Hawke took another drink of his tea and fought to keep his attention focused on Anders' words and not on Anders himself.

"Well," Anders said, tucking the thong into a pocket in his robes, "I focused on healing you, Varric fashioned a travois out of our staves, and Fenris mixed the antidote ingredients. Once we had a bit of the antidote in you, we hurried back to Kirkwall and brought you here."

Hawke nodded slowly, bringing a hand up to his face to rub his stubbled chin; while Hawke liked having a bit of growth on his face, the current length of it was driving him to all levels of insanity. "And I've been asleep the entire time?"

"Mostly," Anders said, popping the last of his biscuit into his mouth and taking the empty teacup from Hawke's hands. "You thrashed about a bit at first, so I cast a sleep spell on you." Anders looked away briefly, his voice dropping into a low, husky whisper. "I couldn't watch you suffer, not after everything you've done for me, Hawke... Everett."

Hawke held his breath at the use of his first name; Anders had never called him 'Everett' before, it was always 'Hawke'. As Hawke contemplated the significance of his first name being used, Anders reached up, the tips of his fingers touching Hawke's face lightly, tentatively. Hawke closed his eyes and tried to still his racing heart. Anders' fingers were soft against Hawke's face, moving from the skin near his eye down across the stubble of his cheek. Opening his eyes, Hawke saw Anders watching him; Anders' eyes darkened as the tip of his tongue slowly caressed his lower lip.

Taking Anders' gesture as a positive sign, Hawke leaned slowly forward, his eyes fixed on the other mage as he closed the distance between them. He gently pressed his lips to Anders', the faint taste of honey and mint meeting his tongue. Hawke held his lips to Anders' briefly before breaking the kiss, reaching up to cup Anders' cheek while their foreheads touched. That sat that way for several moments before Anders pulled back, a look of pain crossing his face.

"I can't give you a normal life," Anders said, his voice breaking slightly as his hand clutched at Hawke's face. "You know we'll be hunted and hated; I'm an apostate and it's only a matter of time before I run afoul of the Chantry and templars for the last time."

Hawke pulled back slightly, his hand moving up to tuck a stray lock of hair behind Anders' ear. A lopsided grin crossed his face as Anders' brought his hand up to cover Hawke's. "I'm all but an apostate myself."

"I suppose there's no arguing with you," Anders said, closing the distance between them and pressing his lips against Hawke's once more. Anders' tongue flicked out, gently moving along and probing Hawke's lips. Moving his hand to the back of Anders' head, Hawke pulled the other mage's face even closer, the pressure of their lips against each other hard and bruising. As Hawke opened his mouth to deepen the kiss even further, he felt Anders' free hand move to push the blankets away, trailing up his legs to cup Hawke's hard, cloth swaddled cock. Hawke groaned as Anders' hand firmly massaged him and he adjusted his position, laying back and parting his legs to give the other mage better access.

Impatience began to bloom within Hawke as Anders continued his ministrations with both hand and mouth; Hawke wanted more… craved more. Hawke gasped in anticipation when he felt the other mage's hand tugging at his smalls, impatiently pulling at the barrier of cloth. Hawke broke the kiss long enough to wiggle out of the offending clothing before pulling Anders' face firmly down to his, crushing the other mage's lips with a bruising kiss. Hawke's groan of pleasure was swallowed by Anders' mouth as the other mage wrapped a strong hand around Hawke's cock, firmly stroking the hardened flesh in time with the movements of Hawke's hips.

If this was a dream, Hawke did not want to wake up.