Hawke stroked Anders's hair slowly, letting it run through his fingers like a golden waterfall as he slid his hands through the silken strands all the way from the sleeping fair-haired man's head to the very tips. He smiled to himself, part in happiness as he watched the slumbering mage on his pillow, and part in disbelief that this beautiful man whom he had loved for so long, so long that it ached, was finally here, finally with him, and he swore to himself that he would never, ever, ever let Anders go. Propping himself up on one elbow while his other hand continued to stroke slowly and carefully through Anders's hair, Hawke leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss on the other mage's pale, high forehead, sighing happily as he recalled the previous night.

Kissing Anders again caused the blond mage to stir and wake. Warm brown eyes smiled up at Hawke, and his pale, smooth hand reached up and pulled Hawke closer. Their lips met, and then their tongues, and Hawke sighed again, lost in bliss as the kiss deepened, tongues tasting and exploring each other's mouths as if for the very first time. His stomach went soft again, his heart thumped, and his head emptied of everything except the amazing sensation of the man next to him. It was Anders who broke away, with a final, tender kiss on Hawke's lips as they parted, and spoke.

"Well," Anders began, trying to sound casual despite being breathless, "someone's looking pleased with himself this morning."

Hawke smirked. "I have a hot, sexy piece of mage in my bed. What's not to be pleased about?"

Anders chuckled. "I could say the same. Except… for the 'in my bed' part, obviously."

Hawke smiled, and nuzzled in Anders's red-gold hair, breathing in the familiar scent of herbs and soap and honey. "My bed is your bed any time, Anders," he said. He dropped a kiss on Anders's temple through his hair; he could lie here all day kissing Anders and it would never be enough. "So beautiful," Hawke murmured distractedly. "So, so beautiful. Anders…"

Anders reached his other arm behind Hawke and pulled the dark-haired man to face him, capturing his lips in a sweet, slow, languid kiss again. Hawke closed his eyes and pressed up against the paler man's body, skin against skin, wrapping his leg around Anders's waist to hold his lower body as close as their upper bodies were entwined… and oh Maker, that felt good… so, so good…

Making love to Anders in the morning was every bit as wonderful as it had been last night, and as they collapsed back on the pillows, fully spent, for the longest time Hawke just held him, never wanting this moment to end. Breathless and flushed, the pair of them stayed like that until Anders shifted position from inside Hawke's arms, keeping his own arms tightly wrapped around the dark-haired mage as he did so, to look into his eyes.

"I love you," Anders said gently, and Hawke's heart swelled to bursting point. "I've been holding back from saying that." Hawke's face split open into a grin; he couldn't help it.

"I love you too, Anders," Hawke answered as he kissed him, relieved that he no longer had to hold back, relieved that he could finally say it, even if those three little words weren't adequate to describe all that he felt for the blond mage in this moment. "So much. I always have."

Anders sighed, and instinctively Hawke wanted to ask "what's wrong?" but Anders got there first. "It's just that… you should have a normal life, not be tied down to a fugitive with no future."

Hawke shook his head. "Anders, my life is as far removed from normal as you can get," he told him, voice gentle, one hand smoothing through Anders's hair again. "And I've always been a fugitive. I'm a mage too, remember? Just because my wealth and nobility protects me from Kirkwall's templars sniffing too close to home now, doesn't mean it will always be this way. My father escaped from the Circle as well, and our family spent most of our lives on the run. No matter how comfortable or good life might have been for any of us at certain times, we always knew to be looking over our shoulder, to be ready to pack up and leave at a moment's notice if we needed to. Anything you are, Anders, anything you've done… it doesn't matter to me."

Anders snuggled closer to him, looking somewhat reassured, but the worry lines didn't completely vanish from his forehead. He bit his lip. "I don't ever want to leave you."

"Don't ever leave."

"Do you mean that?" The expression on Anders's face turned surprised, yet tentatively hopeful. "Would you have me here, living with you? Would you tell the world, the Knight-Commander, that you love an apostate and you will stand beside him?"

Ignoring, for the moment, the swell of happiness that once again threatened to engulf his chest and thumping heart, Hawke tried to smirk. "Would you?"

Anders chuckled at that. "Point taken."

"You'll forgive me if I don't tell Knight-Commander Meredith personally, I hope."

Anders nodded, still amused, and Hawke brushed his hand through his hair again. "I want you right here, Anders," Hawke told him, seriously this time. "Anything you want from me, it's yours. Always."

Anders touched his face; soft, tender caresses that Hawke was sure he would never tire of. "For three years, I have lain awake every night, aching for you," he confessed, eyes still full of wonder as he gazed at Hawke. "I'm still terrified I'll wake up."

And Hawke kissed him then, their arms entwining around their bodies beneath the silken bedcovers once more as their lips moved lovingly and yearningly against each other's, partly because it felt like the best response to give him, but mainly because he felt exactly the same way.