A chaste fill for the Dragon Age 2 kinkmeme on LiveJournal. Now with much better copy-editing and with the little details spruced up. Enjoy mes chéris. :)

You are at once both the quiet and the confusion of my heart.

- Kafka

If Hawke had been the planning type, he would have taken a very different approach to Anders, if only so that they could kiss somewhere that wasn't very public. Kissing was like breaking and entering, or murder. Best done privately or in the company of people you trusted, if you were into that kind of thing.

Sadly, Hawke was not the planning type. He was much like Kirkwall, as a matter of fact: held together by stubbornness, teetering on the edges of insane levels of violence, and reeling from one crisis to the next, not unlike a drunken sailor. Also, prone to performing intimate acts in public and paying dearly for them later.

He really should have expected word to spread. People did love to talk. At times Hawke found this useful. With Lirene staring at him, her gaze calm and flinty, it struck him as more of a headache.

Hawke avoided her shop as a general principle. Mysterious and large amounts of gold had their way of making it into her donation box at odd hours of the night and occasionally Hawke bought Anders some reinforcements for his ridiculous coat but this was the extent of his involvement with her operation. Hawke knew what he was: a thug, a wastrel, a very frequent murderer, reluctant ally of the Qunari, and a teller of terrible and inappropriate jokes as he ran roughshod over every poor bastard unfortunate enough to cross his path. The fact of the matter was that Hawke wasn't looking for grace and Fereldens deserved better than him for a champion. The truly unfortunate part was that Lirene seemed to know all this whenever she looked at him.

"I've heard of your...exploits, serah," she said delicately, running a rag over the pristine surface of her counter.

"Only a little bit of which is true."

"So Anders tells me."

Ah. Oh dear. Hawke wondered if it was bad form to throw a smoke bomb and scuttle out the door. He cocked a hip against the counter instead. He gave her his most charming smile. And quickly stopped when her eyes narrowed. Lirene frankly terrified him: she reminded him too much of Mother.

"Well," he fumbled. "Anders cuts through bullshit like nothing else so if he tells you something, you know it's true! Actually we were talking the other day-"

Lirene held up a hand. Hawke's mouth shut with a click.

"I won't waste your time, Hawke. Do me the same courtesy."

"Of course."

Lirene took a breath. "We did not fare well before Anders came to Kirkwall. The physicians and healers turned us away, even those that had coin to pay them. Many died from disease or untreated wounds. No one wanted dog lords to succeed."

"And then Anders came."

"He did. And while our lot is still bad, now we may live to better it." Lirene sighed. "Anders is a grown man. He can take care of himself, I dare say."

"I hear a 'but' in there."

Her smile was bleak. "But. I fear for him. He is selfless and stubborn. He doesn't care for himself as he should. We are all grateful for what he does. But it is...distressing all the same. The templars know of him and yet he continues for our sakes. Do you understand what I mean?"

Hawke snorted. "His lack of self-preservation is the bane of my existence."

"Ha. That brings me to my next point." Lirene pressed her lips together. "He has finally chosen to be selfish about something. You."

He stared for a moment, uncomprehending. Then he remembered a week ago: Anders' sloppy kisses and the desperate noises they had made together. It had seemed very loud to Hawke but he had hoped that it was just the tight space and the jangling of his nerves.

"Lirene, I would never hurt Anders or mistreat him or-"

"I just...beg that you take care. If you do anything to him-" She jabbed a finger into his chest. "Taking him along on your escapades is one thing. It gives him coin and fresh air. But this is his heart and that is much more dangerous. If you hurt him, Serah Hawke, I will arrange for your permanent removal."

Hawke remained still for a moment, staring back at Lirene's unflinching gaze with lidded eyes. Then he grinned and clapped her on the shoulder. "You don't have to wrap it up like that! If I ever break his heart, I'll slice my belly open so you can pour in hot coals with your own two little hands. Deal?"

She scowled at him. "This is not a matter for jokes!"

"My dear, I wouldn't dream of it. Here, let me give him a kiss from you. Just for luck?"

She chased him out of the shop.

For all that Hawke was a rogue and capable of moving undetected, his presence in the clinic always a cause a commotion - now more than ever. The familiar wave of chatter was now accompanied by giggles and fingerpointing. Anders commanded too much respect for anyone to make catcalls or bawdy jokes but it was on all their tongues, he could see it in their eyes.

He stole a glance over his shoulder. There was Hawke, holding court at the entrance. Anders' stomach did that small flip-flop again as the man produced a copper from a young woman's ear. He turned back to the broken arm he was tending, trying to concentrate.

But try as he mind, his mind drifted. Hawke always struck you as foolish until you saw him in a fight. There, he never faltered, always found the strength to pull the bow back, no matter how much blood he lost. And he never dropped his smile, not even when he was flat on his back and gray as Hightown stone as you realized just how much an idiot he could be. Maker, he'd nearly lost a kidney in the Deep Roads and still made as many awful puns as possible while Anders pulled a knife out of his flank. It didn't seem to matter a bit where he was or what he was supposed to be doing. Whether bleeding out underground or flirting with girls in broad daylight, the man insisted on being ridiculous.

"Healer?"

"Hmm?" Anders looked up. His patient regarded him with raised eyebrows. "Oh." The lights in his hands went out. "Sorry. How does it feel now?"

"You're smiling," she remarked as she swung her arm this way and that.

"Try to make a fist." He touched his cheek and found it curving up. "Well. How about that?"

"You never smile. You're always really...grim."

"I am not."

"You were really grim," she corrected. "Were you thinking about Hawke again?"

At this her older sister - mother? - stepped in. "Maddie, that's rude! Don't ask questions like that!"

"I just want to know." Maddie didn't look away. Being stared down by a twelve-year old was unnerving. "You didn't used to smile, or laugh, not until he started coming here. Were you sad before?"

"Maddie!"

It took a moment to get his voice working. He'd expected lewd jokes, not - this.

"Well, Hawke is - he's special, you see, he's not quite like anyone else -" Anders realized he was wringing his hands and folded them together. "- and he makes me laugh, which isn't something I do a lot of, it's true, so. I guess you could say that he..."

"'...has lovely eyes and a gorgeous smile that have restored hope to my heart.' That is what you were going to say, right?" Anders rolled his eyes at the repressed laugh in Hawke's voice and turned. The punch bounced harmlessly off his chest and only made Hawke grin wider. "Not bad! Though aim a little lower next time, really grind it into the solar plexus-"

"I'm going to grind something in a minute."

"Promise?"

"Hawke."

"Oh alright. So!" Hawke stepped into what was left of Anders' personal space. It was quite distracting. "Remember the Deep Roads?"

"Unfortunately." Anders breathed in Hawke's scent: iron, blood, leather and beeswax. Intoxicating enough to to hold his worst memories at bay. "Why?"

"You-know-who is back in town. Varric wants to call on him before he bolts. Considered what happened last time, I'd feel better if you were there."

"Oh my. Expecting another knife in your back? Life would be easier if you learned to parry."

"He's shorter than I am! I wasn't used to kicking dwarves then - I was young - innocent -"

Anders snorted.

"I was innocent, once."

He tilted his head to one side. Then he smirked. "No. You were born scheming. Always trying to be one step ahead."

"And when I failed-" Hawke made a stabbing motion. "Anyway, I'm more concerned about something occultish happening. Which you're better equipped to deal with."

"Merrill's fairly proficient with occultish happenings."

"Merrill would turn it into a stuffed animal and take it home. I want it dead." Hawke widened his eyes at him and Anders knew he was doomed. "Anders-love, we're in Kirkwall, of course something terrible is going to happen. What if I had to drag myself down here because I had another knife in my back? All because you weren't there to swoop in and save me!"

"Swooping is bad Hawke, didn't you know?"

"Anders."

He let out a put-upon sigh. "Yes, yes, alright. I'll keep occultish happenings from eating you."

"Great! See you home at eleven?"

"Yes, you will. Now get out, I've got work to do."

Hawke kissed his cheek. "That's from Lirene," he said and darted away. Anders lost sight of him on his way to the door.

Eleven. Home. It was nice to think about, even if it would never settle quite right. Hawke's house was a shelter, a place to weather storms. If anywhere could be home, it was in the man himself.

"Healer?"

"Eh?" And he turned around-

-just so he could jump out of his skin. Maker, how long had they all been staring at him?

He boggled at the shocked denizens of the clinic, speechless from the attention. The moment stretched until someone dropped something in the back.

"Can I help anyone?" he demanded. He didn't feel at all sorry for the way the crowd flinched. A chorus of "no, ser" rose up and a mass exodus began as large chunks of the crowd began heading for the exit, now bereft of entertainment. Something touched his leg and he looked down at Maddie, hugging his thigh. "Hawke makes you happy," she declared before following her relative. Anders waved her off with a small smile.

"Yes," he said quietly, when no one could hear him. "I suppose he does."

After the debacle at Bartrand's mansion, they dropped Varric and Isabela off at the Hanged Man and headed for Darktown. Anders slouched the whole way, resembling an exhausted tabby more than anything else. He didn't unlock the door when they reached the clinic. He slumped on Hawke's shoulder instead and said, "I want out of Darktown. Tonight."

Hawke huffed a laugh. "Would you like a belly rub too? Both can be arranged."

Anders' hands slipped under his jaw and tilted his head up a little. It was easy to forget that he was a little bit taller. Their noses brushed; his breath scattered across Hawke's lips and his knees trembled.

"After that madhouse - with that damned idol and Bartrand and - I want you close tonight."

The rough wood of the clinic door bit into the back of Hawke's head as he thumped against it. It didn't matter. Anders' mouth was warm and soft. Hawke dug his hands into that waist, the arch of his back (the man's posture was obscene) and gathered him close. The door bent and cracked, Anders' teeth came down on his lip, and Hawke tasted blood.

It was a while before his voice returned. "You have a standing invitation," he promised. "You can come and go as you please."

Anders shook his head. But he smiled too and that gave Hawke some hope. "Just let me grab a few things."

Hawke grinned into space as Anders slipped past him.

It was a given in Darktown that you were watched. Hawke had gotten used to it over the years. Sometimes that meant not doing anything violent until the entire back of his neck itched but he'd gotten used to it all the same. He had also gotten used to sharp things being shoved under his ear.

They must have been waiting for him to be alone and he'd been too distracted to notice. (Maker knew Anders had no situational awareness to speak of.) Hawke ground his teeth together. "Neighbor, I suggest you and your friends find your entertainment elsewhere. I'm not in the mood for this tonight."

"Naw, mate." The knife trailed along his neck as its owner moved into view. "We don't want nothin' but a little bit of your time."

Hawke couldn't help rolling his eyes. "And here I thought people who want to talk just talked to one another. Silly me."

"A man of your reputation requires careful handling." Maker's breath, the man had cronies. One for each shoulder. Hawke counted the arrows left in his quiver. Yes, he could take three. He just couldn't miss.

"Now, now, Serah Hawke. Not with the healer so close." (Shit. Were they Carta? Coterie? Varric was supposed to keep them paid off-) The leader tapped the flat of the knife against his palm. "Like I said, we're just here for some peaceful parlay. There's no need for things to get violent. Not unless you get careless."

"Oh, I can't wait to hear this."

The leader began pushing back his cuticles. "The healer's taken a shine to you, serah. I can't imagine why. Your title certainly don't make you any better than the rest of us."

Hawke raised an eyebrow. "Jealous?"

A small flush rose up in the leader's cheeks. "Not the bloody point! Now you listen, and you listen good." The point dug under Hawke's chin. He let it. "This one's special. He's not some plaything for an overloaded Hightown bastard. He shan't be your pet or your mistress and you'll treat him with respect, understand?"

"Of course I'll-"

"I'm not finished. You'll not mistreat him or hurt him. You'll not leave him and break his heart when you get bored. He's not your kept thing so you can't keep him locked up in that fancy house. I know you noble lot with your affairs and other horseshit and I tell you, that won't be him. Or else your house goes up for sale after Serah Hawke's tragic accident. Understood?"

The clinic door opened as Hawke growled "Crystal," through gritted teeth.

"Crystal what?"

Hawke and the nameless man stared at each other. In that split second, they agreed to never speak of what had just transpired: Anders would have both their heads on a stick. Hawke turned and grinned instead. "This fellow was telling me about some new scheme the Coterie's trying. We might look into it. Ready?"

Anders shifted the bag on his shoulder and smiled.

Whatever illusions Hawke harbored about the reach and breadth of Darktown were shattered over the coming weeks. Workers in the docks gave him stony-faced glares whenever he appeared in Anders' company. Mistress Selby got in on the action when she took Hawke's hands, squeezed them gently, and whispered, "I've killed men for less," while Anders hung back and smiled to see them "getting on," as he later put it. Mages in the Gallows said nothing but one by one, they each pointed two fingers at their eyes before turning them on Hawke. The message was clear: we're watching you. Even some of the Hightown merchants gave him long, significant looks as they asked after "your apostate's health, messere."

Hawke could have wept for their weak grasp of subtlety if it weren't for the fact that he was petrified. The entire city knew who he was living with and had an attitude about it. There was no escaping them: the moment someone caught a whiff of Anders possibly being unhappy, that was it. There might even be a mob to tear Hawke into tiny pieces. Bloody, screaming pieces. Oh sh-

"Are you alright, love?"

Hawke jumped. He couldn't help it anymore than he could help indulging in morbid fantasies. Anders frowned at him, which Hawke hated on principle, even before the threat of Kirkwall's limited forbearance running out.

"You're doing it again."

"Doing...what?"

"That thing when you - stare off into space with this look of - vague horror. It's like you're expecting a shade to tear through a wall."

"Shades don't tear. Do they? It's more like they convalesce. Coalesce?"

"It's coalesce, which you know perfectly well. Don't change the subject." Anders puts his hands on his hips. It was just as endearing now as it was three years ago. "You've been acting strangely all week. What's going on?"

"Have not."

"Oh for - Hawke, you've been twitchy and staring over your shoulder and you haven't said a complete sentence for - well, until now. You're frightening me. Something's going on. Let me help."

Hawke paused before answering. It was hard to say 'no' to Anders when he was like this - the sunset's light set off the inexplicable (lovely) red in his hair as it streamed through the window, casting shadows over the sharp edges of his face. He was prettier than a picture and did terrible things to Hawke's heart.

Anders was blushing. Hawke realized he'd started smiling at him as his thoughts wandered. He seized on the opportunity and obfuscated like mad. "Maybe I'm just overwhelmed at having such a handsome mage at my side. Tall, strong, brave-"

"Stop that."

"But it's true! You've completely ruined me for anyone else, you know that? I'm afraid I'm quite taken with you and find you terribly attractive. It's a heavy burden to bear, I know, but I think you caaaaaAHH-hello!"

Hawke realized that flowery compliments did not having the desired effect when Anders seized Hawke's shoulders and shook him. "Garrett," he said in his take-something-seriously-now voice. "Give me a straight answer."

Anders was not the planning type. He thought faster when in motion and preferred the "oh fuck it" strategies. If he were the planning type then Hawke wouldn't have to chase after him as he charged down the stairs, staff in hand, thoughts of lighting Lirene's shop on fire dancing in his head.

"Anders, wait, wait, wait-"

"No, love, I'm ending this."

"What are you going to do? Threaten her? She's defenseless!" Hawke held the door shut as Anders pulled on the handle.

"No she isn't! Let me go!"

"And do what with that look on your face? Forget it."

"This is unconscionable. It won't continue. I won't let them threaten you while I've got any say in it!"

"Maybe you don't have a say." Anders glared at that. Hawke's face softened. "I'm just thinking…"

"What?"

A frown brought a crease between Garrett's eyes. Anders clenched his hand into a fist to keep himself from smoothing it out.

"Lirene's your friend. Don't ruin that on my account."

That persistent feeling of wanting to kiss and kill the man reared up again. Anders took the edge of Hawke's sleeve between his fingers instead with as much gentility as he could muster. "I don't want to ruin anything, love. Just protect what's mine."

Safety. A home. Happiness.

(And one pillock.)