Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Age or any of their characters and sadly, I do not make any profit from this story whatsoever!
"Down in one, Hawke!" A large tankard was slammed down, carelessly spilling ale over the rim to add yet more stains to an already heavily marked wooden table. The Hanged Man, though his entourage's favourite hang out, was not the classiest of places – they insisted the dirtiness just added to it's charm but Hawke sometimes wondered if he held the same opinion. The newly acclaimed 'Champion of Kirkwall' eyed the beverage before turning curiously to the dwarf at his side.
"Another one?" He asked, "I've barely finished the last!" Varric grinned widely.
"Only the best for the Champion! Maker knows you deserve as many drinks as you can stomach tonight!" He cheered, causing several of the other party members around the table to join in with the contagious outburst, erupting in celebratory woops and jeers.
"Go on, y'big pansy! Down in one!" Isabela taunted playfully, waving her own mug in front of him to demonstrate its emptiness. Hawke held up the illusion of irritation, sighing as if drinking ale were a chore but raised the tankard to his lips nonetheless.
It wasn't a difficult feat to finish the mug in one breath, but his friends clapped excitedly, shouting encouragement as the foamy beverage slipped away with every gulp. Triumphantly, Hawke slammed the now empty tankard back down onto the table.
"Who's next to buy the Champion a drink!" Varric shouted, patting the warrior firmly on the shoulders. His friends burst forth with more joyous yelling and Aveline leapt up from her seat, eager to get the next round. She shot him a kind smile as she strode past towards the bar.
"It's really not-" Hawke began, but was quickly interrupted by a swift punch to the arm. It hadn't hurt at all, but he still rubbed at it with the opposite hand and turned to glare playfully at the fiery woman sat to his left.
"If you dare say it's not a big deal, I will hurt you." Isabela scowled at him. Hawke had, in fact, been about to play down the importance of his felling the Arishok that very afternoon – but both he and Isabela knew how serious the actual event had been.
Hawke still hadn't quite gotten over the shock of her return with the Qunari relic. He had honestly expected the rogue to leave him high and dry, yet she had come through for him in the end. He shot her a look that he hoped conveyed his emotions. The uncharacteristically soft, appreciative smile he received in return informed him he had.
"Oh, get a room you two!" Merril giggled, taking a sip of wine from her glass. Both her and Fenris flat-out refused to drink ale with the rest of the party. Hawke concluded it must be an elf thing.
"Oh please! Darling, been there, done that!" Isabela grinned devilishly at the warrior. Hawke smiled uncomfortably as Merril's mouth fell open forming a small 'o' of surprise.
"Seriously?" She squeaked. The table rippled with laughter.
"By the Maker Daisy, where have you been?" Varric chortled, throwing back a large mouthful of ale as he gracelessly stumbled into his seat to the right of Hawke at the table.
It wasn't so much that the warrior was embarrassed of having slept with Isabela, or that everyone seemed to know about it (her doing, he guessed – he certainly hadn't told anyone!)... He glanced across the table.
Anders, seemingly sensing the man's gaze, caught his eye from across the rim of his tankard. Hawke was relieved to see a sparkle in the blonde's eye, one that told him he was harbouring no hard feelings about the Champion's previous 'relations' with the rogue. Everyone knew Isabela played fast and loose with her bedroom companions – it was hardly a surprise they had shacked up.
Besides... That was before...
Unlike his one-time encounter with Isabela – no one knew about his reoccurring encounters with Anders. Thankfully, they weren't a likely pairing in the eyes of his other friends and their very real attraction to one another went unnoticed.
"Here, drink up!" Aveline placed yet another drink in front of him and Hawke smiled at her kindly. She returned it before skirting carefully back around the table to her empty seat. The warrior pushed his empty tankard into the centre of the table with several others before lifting the new drink to his mouth.
The Hanged Man was bustling, much busier than usual due to the masses celebrating the defeat of the Qunari leader. Other than the occasional few passing words of genuine, heartfelt thanks – Hawke had been pleased the other patrons were not bothering him too much. It wasn't like he'd done anything thus far for charity – he believed and protected a cause as he saw one.
The table broke into separate conversations, the noisy chatter in the inn made it near impossible to chat across the table, so most turned to whoever they were sat closest to.
Varric was attempting conversation with a typically broody Fenris, Aveline and Anders were caught in a half-baked, long-winded tale of Merril's about a Dalish celebration tradition involving some sort of small, furry animal and Isabela...
"Spending this evening alone Hawke?" She husked, leaning in close; her ample bosom brushing suggestively against the warrior's arm. He looked down at her inquisitively.
"I thought we agreed it was a one time thing." The warrior replied, deliberately not answering her question.
"Well, actually, we only spoke about feelings; more so, the lack of them. I never gave you a quote for how many withdrawals I'd allow you." She grinned, leaning closer still. Her voice was low now – if he hadn't known her better, Hawke would have sworn she was trying to be secretive...
"I can't. That time... Was enough." The warrior finished inarticulately. He never did have a way with words; much preferring to just lay his opinion out there. He could feel Isabela's dark eyes boring into him, but he continued to avoid her gaze.
"Do I get a say in this? I do believe there were two of us involved."
"No." He answered simply, taking a lengthy sip from his tankard. Isabela sighed and leant back once more. Hawke risked a glance across at her.
"So... Who is it then?" She smirked, crossing her arms smugly. The warrior paused, he was caught off-guard by her accurate observation but determined to keep his cool.
"Who is what?" He replied, looking away.
"Don't lie to me, Hawke." Isabela grinned, "You can tell me – I swear, rogues honour I won't tell a soul!" She raised a palm, as if swearing her allegiance.
"Rogues honour?" Hawke snorted and shot her a disbelieving look, "Does such a thing even exist?"
"Well, if you'd asked me yesterday – I would have said no." She replied, her face falling suddenly serious. They weren't talking of petty romances now... "But now? I guess a leopard can change it's spots after all."
Isabela met the warrior's gaze once more, large brown eyes filled with genuine emotion. Hawke sighed heavily, took a large gulp of ale and pivoted his body to face her.
"I couldn't have done what I did today without your support." Like words, emotions weren't his strong suit either. He hoped that came out the way he meant it.
"Well, like I said to you at the time – this is all your fault!" The tense, serious mood suddenly evaporated as the woman's face broke into a smile and she raised a warning finger at the Champion. "Your honour is contagious! You should warn a girl before she gets involved with you!" Isabela teased, before leaning in closer still.
"Does personal space mean nothing to you?" Hawke laughed, despite his growing concern for what a certain healer at the table might think. A quick glance at Anders, however, told him he was far too preoccupied with Merril to notice.
"Hawke, I'll be back." Varric slurred, suddenly leaning across the table. His breath was heavily laced with the smell of alcohol and he swayed a little as he stood.
The warrior wasn't sure if Fenris had haughtily refused to entertain the drunken dwarf, or if Varric had simply gotten fed up trying to encourage a conversation with the brooding elf – needless to say, neither was looking particularly amused. "I've just seen a man who still owes me money from cards..." He made his excuses and with that, the dwarf was gone – disappearing into the bustling crowds.
"He looked a little worse for wear..." Hawke laughed, "I thought Dwarves were meant to be good at holding their drink?"
"Well, he has been drinking since we got back this afternoon... And a lot more copiously than anyone else... He's going to regret it in the morning!" The rogue giggled.
There was a pause, Hawke almost groaned aloud as he felt the onslaught of questions starting up again.
"So – seriously? Who is it... I know you." The rogue grinned wolfishly, "You wouldn't turn down a guilt-free, harmless shag if you weren't already involved in something... Or at least wanting to be! Spill!"
"Can't a man just be too tired?" Hawke smiled apologetically, knowing his answer wouldn't hold up but still attempting to evade the question.
"Not that tired. Besides, you know me – I like it on top." Isabela laughed, "There's something you're not telling me... I'm like a bloodhound when it comes to these matters Hawke!"
"Well, you're barking up the wrong tree on this one." The warrior replied. He attempted to use his usual biting tone with her, but failed miserably. The defeat of the Arishok, all his friends around, an abundance of ale... Even he couldn't be too snippy.
"Ah, but I'm not. Your defence over the matter has told me all I need to know! There is someone; and I must know them otherwise you would have just told me outright."
"Maker, did you ever think of a different line of work?" He sighed in defeat and Isabela smiled mischievously.
"No, it's far too interesting being your friend, Hawke." She nodded at him, "So? Who?" The rogue turned her attention to the table and studied the members around it carefully.
"I don't know why you're looking at this table – they're not here." Hawke lied.
"Bullshit. If you're that determined to keep it secret, that means they're important to you. Of course they're going to be here! It's a celebration party!" She argued logically, narrowing her eyes - as if warning the warrior not to even attempt to deceive her.
"Maybe I didn't want them to have to endure all my ridiculous, drunkard friends." Hawke muttered with a smirk, "Although, I suppose you came in useful this afternoon. I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't-"
"Stop trying to change the subject." She scolded, interrupting him. Hawke just drained his mug in bitter defeat. She really was too good at this.
"Oh! Hawke!" Merril piped up, nearly knocking an innocent passer-by to the ground as she stood hurriedly, "Would you like another drink? I'm sorry, that's so rude of me to have not gotten you one yet! I hope you don't think badly of me for it!"
"I could never think badly of you, Merril." Hawke raised a palm to her in an attempt to stop her worrying so frantically. "I would like another drink very much." He smiled. The Dalish woman was one of his few comrades who was spared the worst of his mood swings - it seemed unfair to inflict any more stress on the elf than was necessary. She did a good enough job of worrying herself to death without him bullying her too.
"Oh, yes! Of course!" She beamed and hurried off into the crowd, clumsily knocking into people in her haste. Aveline sighed heavily.
"I'd better go with her, I don't want her getting lost... Especially with your ale, Hawke!" The Champion laughed and Aveline grinned before squeezing through the crowds in the direction Merril headed in.
"Hmm, no - it's not Merril. I did wonder for a moment there – I'm sure she's got a crush on you, but she's much too innocent in her knowledge of human interaction for your tastes..." Isabela mused quietly, as if talking to herself.
"And what is that supposed to mean?" Hawke frowned and Isabela gave him a playful wink.
"And Aveline is far too forceful and independent. And you've known her too long – if you wanted to get her under your sheets you would have done it by now." Isabela mumbled.
"You really aren't going to give up are you?" He sighed.
"No, but don't tell me... I'm enjoying working this out!" She grinned, "So, that's Aveline and Merril out... And myself..." The rogue trailed off and Hawke felt himself growing hot.
There was a short, confused pause.
"Well... To state the obvious, that would leave us with just male comrades." Isabela said, "Now that is a surprise. I didn't know you went that way Hawke – kinky, I like it!" One glance at the woman's expression was enough to tell the warrior she wasn't even joking. He sighed.
"You take that to your grave." He husked menacingly, "And don't forget how soon I can send you there if I have to."
"Now, now darling – no need to get defensive. I can keep other people's secrets just fine, it's my own that I struggle to keep to myself." She smiled, glancing back out at the table, "So, it's either... No, there is no choice – it has to be Fenris, right?"
Hawke nearly choked just thinking about it.
"What makes you say that?" He coughed. It was no secret the elvish man was growing steadily displeased with the warrior's actions of late. The two had come close to a conflict several times already. How she could even think that...
"Hm. So it's Anders." Isabela giggled, "Men – you're all so easy to deceive. I have to say, I am surprised though Hawke. I wondered why you were suddenly willing to defend the mages with such... ferocity." She winked.
"My sister is a mage." Hawke replied icily. He resented her thinking he was willing to throw so much away just to impress Anders. It ran much deeper than that... The healer's appreciation was just a perk.
"I bet he helps the decisions along though, eh?" Isabela laughed, shooting him a knowing look, as if reading his mind. "So, have you guys... You know...?"
"I don't see how that is any of your-" Hawke began.
"Here you are Hawke!" A blissfully unaware Merril interrupted, leaning over them to place a drink in front of the Champion, and another in front of Isabela.
"Thank you sweetheart." She smiled at the elf who dipped her head shyly.
"Thank you Merril." Hawke glanced at Aveline, stood behind the Dalish girl. She just shook her head and shot him an exhausted look. The elf was an indispensable part of his team of friends, but the warrior knew how much trouble she could be at times.
He nodded a silent thanks to the guards woman as she, once again, made her way to her seat. As his gaze followed her, Hawke found himself glancing down at Anders.
The man was eyeing Isabela curiously now. Apparently, now he was freed from Merril's conversation – the apostate had had time to notice just how close the rogue was still sat to the Champion.
Hawke suddenly felt ice cold fear grip his stomach, catching a faint hint of concern on the man's face as Isabela leant in to whisper in his ear.
"Come on, you can tell me!" She husked, "Gossip is like air to me, I swear I won't..." She drifted off, leaning back in surprise as Hawke's shoulders stiffened uncomfortably. After a pause, she glanced at Anders. The healer was on his feet now.
"Where are you going?" Hawke asked. His voice was strained as he attempted to sound casual. The others at the table turned to look up at the apostate curiously.
"Oh, don't worry – I'll be back." Ander's smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. There was definitely something amiss. As the healer slunk away through the hoards of people in the inn, Hawke held back more questions that he desperately wanted to ask, but couldn't. Not in front of everyone.
"What's going on?" Isabela asked quietly, conversation between the remaining members picking back up around them, "Is he okay?"
"I'm not sure..." Hawke answered truthfully, a knot heavy in his stomach now. He turned to the full tankard in front of him and threw it back. No one paid attention to his drinking skill this time.
Though eager to chase after the apostate, Hawke waited patiently so as not to arouse suspicion – clinging to the only positive observation. Anders had headed further into the inn; not towards the exit, which meant he had no intention of leaving just yet.
"I'm just going to, um... Yeah." Hawke muttered absent mindedly to Isabela as he got to his feet, having waited as long as he could.
"Where's he going?" He heard Merril ask as he made his way through the people.
"Little boy's room." Isabela answered casually. Though Hawke was annoyed with her over-familiar attitude for having caused this mess in the first place, he found himself (for a second time in one day) immensely grateful for the woman's loyalty.
As Hawke moved through the crowd in the direction Anders had headed in, he realised being branded as 'Champion of Kirkwall' had it's advantages. Patrons parted respectfully for him... Even the drunkards who innocently stumbled into his path were deeply apologetic. Hawke wondered if his desire to hurry and catch the apostate was obvious or if the masses would always be like this around him from now on.
Thanks to his speedy journey through the crowded room, Hawke quickly found himself at the base of the stairs heading to the second floor of the inn. The rooms that could be rented out for coin were situated along a long corridor, Varric's room being the only exception. The dwarf, who lived permanently at The Hanged Man, had a large room separate from the others.
Hawke felt his heart fall as he ascended the first flight of steps. He hadn't seen any sign of Anders at all... The warrior had hoped to catch up with the healer before he disappeared into the warren-like back rooms of the inn.
He stood, indecisively at the landing between Varric's room and the others. What if he had missed him? It was entirely possible the man had given him the slip and had left the inn after all. Hawke wasn't sure where to look first!
With a disgruntled sigh, he turned to check Varric's room first – figuring it to be the simplest place to start his search.
And how right he was.
"Ah." Anders looked up in surprise as Hawke burst into the quiet, candle-lit room. He was sat stiffly on the edge of the dwarf's large wooden desk.
"Here you are." Hawke muttered, walking further into the room and shutting the door carefully behind himself.
"Sorry, it was a bit crowded down there." The healer offered an apologetic smile. The warrior eyed him suspiciously.
"Are you alright?" Hawke asked gently, using a tone he reserved only for talking to the apostate. He took a few tentative steps into the room, closer to the man.
Surprisingly, the apostate was smiling to himself – almost secretly, like there was some joke the warrior was missing out on. He took a few more steps until he was stood only a few paces in front of the healer.
"I'm fine." Anders laughed. Hawke was relieved to see no traces of the concern he'd caught on the man's expression at the table. "Better for seeing you. Alone anyway."
"Hn," Hawke muttered, closing the last few feet of the gap between them quickly. It suddenly crossed his mind that the mage may have planned his disappearance to get the warrior to follow him. "If you wanted to get me up here, you only had to ask."
"I feared Isabela might try to invite herself along." Anders chuckled softly, "She jokes too often about orgy's... Half of what people joke about is actually truth, you know."
The warrior didn't answer, instead just cupped the healer's face in his hands before planting a soft kiss on his lips.
"I thought you were upset with me." He murmured between chaste kisses.
"About Isabela?" Anders asked, "Of course not. I could take her." The next kiss was mostly teeth as both men failed to hold back their grins.
It wasn't long before their kisses grew steadily more heated. Hawke, gaining an advantage from his standing position, grasped Anders firmer; hands having slipping from his face to tug the healer to his feet. The warrior strategically placed a hand behind the man's head, fingers pulling hair loose from it's binding and kissed him harder and rougher.
Anders responded well. It thrilled Hawke to feel the usually stubborn, purposeful man grow complacent and submissive in his arms. He supposed that said a lot about the kind of man he was, but the warrior tried not to dwell on it. Instead, he gripped tighter and groaned with frustration as the mage turned his head away to free his mouth.
"Not here." Anders husked breathlessly as Hawke dipped to latch onto his neck. He ignored the healer's protest, pushing the man backwards with a little more force than was necessary, using the large wooden structure and his own body to fence the mage in.
Keeping his mouth suckling the sensitive spots along the mage's neck, Hawke began to fiddle with the various catches and buckles that kept Anders' strange feathered outfit in place.
"Hawke." The healer sighed, "This is Varric's room..." Though clearly uncomfortable, the man made no real effort to prevent the front of his heavy coat from being opened. The warrior grunted an acknowledgement, but continued – carefully dropping down onto his knees before Anders.
Though the sleeves were still covering his arms, the mage's chest was bare and Hawke made quick work of latching a skilled mouth onto a sensitive nipple.
"Fuck..." Anders sighed, seemingly forgetting the importance of location in an instant and leaned back a little on the desk, supporting his weight on his arms. Hawke kissed down the mage's bare torso slowly, hands quickly undoing the belt that kept the man's coat tight around his waist.
Neither man said anything whilst Hawke shifted the heavy material out of his way to reveal his steadily hardening goal.
The warrior didn't waste any time. Though the ale he had consumed was more than helping with false courage – Hawke was more than aware Ander's spoke some truth when he was concerned about their location. They didn't have a lot of time to spare.
The blonde, clearly thinking along the same wavelength, shifted his weight up off the desk to tug his underwear down – holding out his cock, offering it to the younger warrior.
Hawke took the healer into his mouth eagerly but made sure to exert some form of dominance by pinning him back against the table forcefully by the hips. Mages may have been powerful foes at a distance; but there was no denying the warrior had a much larger advantage when it came to brute strength – a fact the Champion often exploited; especially during sex.
The warrior sucked firmly and persistently, quickly bringing Anders to full hardness. It wasn't long before Hawke was getting a distinctly saltier flavour from the apostate, the blonde gasping and growling with the frustration of being prevented from thrusting up into the Champion's hot mouth. Instead, Ander's compensated by grabbing a fist full of dark hair – an attempt to gain some control.
"Do you have-" Hawke pulled his mouth free and glanced up at the mage, pleased to see him flushed with a glazed, needy expression.
"Yes." Anders answered breathlessly before he got a chance to finish his sentence, releasing the warrior's hair to dig through the small leather pouch attached to his belt. Mostly he carried it for urgent first aid, several small vials filled with various remedies for emergencies where magic wasn't a suitable option.
Lately though, another small jar had found a permanent home within – a strange, slippery oil ground up from a pleasant smelling plant.
Hawke wasn't sure as to where Anders found such materials, but he was certainly thankful. He took the vial from the blonde and tugged the cork stopper out with his teeth – not caring where it landed when he spat it out. The warrior hastily tugged his heavy leather gloves off, throwing them haphazardly into the room to join the cork and dipped his fingers into the glass jar. He ensured they were coated liberally in the slimy substance before handing the vial back to Anders.
He took the apostate's cock back into his mouth, drawing a deliciously needy groan from the man and forcefully pushed against Anders' right leg. The mage shifted his weight onto the opposite leg before allowing Hawke to lift and spread the appendage – resting it over a wide, heavily muscled shoulder.
The warrior hummed appreciatively as Anders leant further back still to expose his sensitive, puckered entrance to him. Hawke ran his lubricated digits gently up and down the crevice, spreading the oil around – delighting in the way the ring of muscle instinctively tightened and shied away from his touch.
He pushed forward, there was no time for hide and seek today - not only were they in a compromising location, but Hawke doubted he had the patience. His desire was escalating dangerously with every pant and groan he drew from the apostate splayed before him.
With his free arm, the warrior reached around Ander's raised leg to hold the man in place on the desk, simultaneously taking a greater mouthful of his cock - drawing a long, desperate groan from above. The apostate suitably distracted, Hawke pressed firmly against the pucker with a single slimy digit.
The finger slid inside with little trouble – though the tightness surrounding it gave little hope for the next digit to be so easy. Hawke didn't complain though; the work of stretching his partner out was worthy of the reward he gained at the end. That same tightness, though a formidable challenge on occasions, was a prize worth working for.
"Uhn, Alexander... Fuck." Anders moaned softly, followed by a thunk as his weight fell back against the table once again. Hawke groaned around his mouthful in response – it wasn't often anyone called him by his first name... The apostate in particular only ever did when they were intimate.
Need for release rising exponentially, the warrior pressed his finger in purposefully, right to the knuckle; pulling his mouth away from the blonde's cock. He traced the ridges and angles of the sensitive head with a delicate pointed tongue, whilst dragging his digit back out of the man's body – searching the inner walls for his prostate.
When Anders jolted with a choked gasp, Hawke knew he'd found what he was looking for. Ignoring the apostate's uncharacteristic whimpering, the warrior rubbed his finger insistently back and forth over the sensitive bundle of nerves.
"Maker... Please, ahn!" Ander's cried, a hand fisting in the warrior's hair once again. "We really shouldn't..." He gasped.
"It's far too late for that now." Hawke smirked, "Just keep your voice down." And with that, he took the mage's weeping cock fully into his mouth once more whilst ruthlessly pushing the second finger inside.
Anders hissed, pain and pleasure wrestling for who got dealt with first. Hawke sucked mercilessly on the mage, patience growing thinner still. He knew he couldn't press forward until he had prepared him fully, but the Maker was testing his staying power...
"Ngh," The blonde grunted, "You're so rough sometimes..." He laughed hoarsely, confirming to the warrior that it wasn't a criticism in the least. Hawke pulled his mouth away, pushed the mage's leg off his shoulder and got swiftly to his feet, being careful to keep his fingers steady inside Anders so as not to hurt him.
"The moment I hear you complaining, I'll change." He growled, pressing his body forward against the apostate and claiming his mouth roughly. Anders shuddered, clawing desperately at him as Hawke drove his digits back and forth relentlessly – pressing firmly against the man's sweet-spot.
Given more time, the warrior might have tested Anders' willpower – teasing and pushing to see how far he could get the man to go, waiting until the mage's pride broke down and he begged for him. As it was, they didn't have that luxury.
Hawke pulled free from Anders' grasp, hurriedly unbuckling his belts. The familiar noise caused the mage to sit up.
The man quickly took advantage of the momentary control he had over the warrior and began trailing kisses down Hawke's exposed throat.
"Where's that vial?" The warrior huffed, impatiently ripping away the various layers of armour and underclothes whilst scanning the table for the small glass jar.
"Not yet." Anders purred, taking an earlobe gently between his teeth. Hawke shuddered visibly as the apostate's strong hands joined his own in the struggle to free his body from the heavy armour.
Between the two of them, it took less than a few moments to release the Champion's straining arousal to the cool air and the man immediately started searching the heavy folds and pockets of Anders' open coat for the bottle of oil.
Contrary to his partner's haste, the apostate was calm and collected – ghosting his fingertips teasingly over the warrior's erection and nibbling at sensitive spots along his neck.
"Where did you put it?" Hawke groaned in frustration, glancing down his body at Anders' hands, "And by the way? That's not helping."
"Is it not? I'm sorry." The apostate retorted. He was clearly not concerned and didn't still his actions for a second – earning himself a warning growl from the Champion.
"If you're not going to tell me where you hid that vial," Hawke sighed, leaning forwards to rest his forehead against the mage's, "At least do something... That tickling is driving me crazy."
"Hn, what would you have me do?" Anders replied, voice low and gravelly with passion. He dropped a hand to grasp Hawke's balls – tugging gently and rolling them in his palm.
"I've got some ideas..." The warrior grunted, bringing his mouth close to brush his lips softly across the apostate's. Though the blonde immediately opened his mouth invitingly, Hawke refused to give in to him – instead choosing to hover agonisingly close, just out of reach.
Anders panted, attempting to pull the warrior forcefully closer – only to be greatly overpowered as his partner's strong arms fought against his wish.
"Hawke!" He hissed, frustration finally getting the better of him. The Champion grinned before flicking his tongue across Anders' bottom lip and within the same breath, quickly catching it between his teeth. It wasn't a gentle gesture by any means, yet the man beneath the warrior groaned – pained, but in just the right way.
Mouths firmly locked together now, kissing deeply and hungrily, Anders grasped at Hawke's hard cock and guided it between his thighs. Unwillingly at the mercy of the man that had a hold on his most delicate of body parts, the Champion allowed himself to be lead – only to grunt in irritation, realising the apostate's destination for him was too far north of where he wanted it to be.
His disapproval was fleeting, however as the mage brought their cocks together, trapping them against one another in a gentle fist. Hawke broke away to glance down at their joining, chest heaving, breathless from the deep kiss and inexplicable desire.
As Anders' hand began to slide back and forth along their lengths, the warrior buried his face in the blonde's neck. Hot, humid panting against the apostate's skin just served to fuel the fire – growing steadily more impatient, he stroked firmly and groaned as Hawke reclaimed his mouth once more.
They pressed hard together and Anders shifted his weight - wrapping legs around the warrior's waist and a free arm around his neck. The Champion, on the other hand, was forced to keep both hands on the table – holding his weight up and supporting the mage's somewhat awkward position on Varric's large table.
"F-fuck..." Anders shivered, his arousal soon peaking to dangerous levels. He turned his head to the side, exposing a strip of throat to the warrior which was quickly descended upon.
Hawke sunk his teeth firmly into the soft, pale skin; ignoring the mage's weak protests about leaving marks.
"Ahn, Maker..." Anders murmured, biting down on his kiss-swollen lower lip, "I'm not going to last much longer."
"You're not coming like this." Hawke stated boldly, restraint plummeting to suddenly hit an all-time low. The warrior jerked out of the apostate's grip and quickly pinned the man by his wrists. Anders hissed in mild irritation as his orgasm was ripped out of his grasp.
"Where's the vial?" Hawke asked, his tone much more serious than the first time he had asked. The mage didn't answer, just nodded his head in the direction of his hands and relaxed his fist to reveal the bottle. He had a finger gently pressed over the rim to stop it spilling.
After snatching the bottle eagerly, Hawke stood up straight, releasing Anders from his grasp and took a small step back to give himself room. He poured a liberal amount of the liquid out onto his palm and hastily applied it to his length.
Still leaning back against the table, Anders waited patiently for the Champion. He spread his thighs in preparation, wantonly inviting the man back to him. Hawke growled, expression darkened with raw, unbridled desire.
Within seconds they were on one another again, the table making a loud screeching noise as the force of Hawke's embrace caused it to move backwards a few inches. A book hit the floor with a heavy thud, knocked flying off the desk as the mage sat up eagerly to meet him. Anders gripped at him, their mouths pressed together with crushing passion.
"Hold on." Hawke instructed gruffly and slipped his hands under the healer's ass, hoisting him up off the table and into his arms as if he were made of feathers.
"Ngh, you're too strong for your own good. Show off." Anders muttered, wrapping his legs around the Champion's waist and gripping him tight. The warrior slammed him roughly against a wall and without a word, lowered the apostate onto his length.
Despite the low moan it drew from him, Hawke managed to hold off from thrusting up into the impossibly tight heat he was now balls-deep within. The burning of Anders' fingernails in the back of his neck as the mage clung to him, struggling to adjust, was reminder enough to be considerate.
"Are you..." The warrior managed to huff, "Okay?"
"I'll live." Anders muttered through clenched teeth, "Just... wait a moment." The Champion, using the wall to support most of the mage's weight, held himself still inside the other man. After the bliss of, finally, being fully sheathed began to ebb away; Hawke leaned back a little to give the healer room to breathe.
"Take the coat off." He instructed, pressing a soft kiss against Anders' cheek. The mage shifted a little, attempting to get comfortable.
"What if someone walks in? I think the coat would-" He began.
"What? Detract from the obvious fact that I have my dick up your ass?" Hawke asked bluntly, cocking an eyebrow.
"Maker's breath..." The apostate winced, face growing hot with embarrassment, "You really don't mince your words do you, Hawke?"
The warrior didn't reply, just licked and nibbled at the man's ear; simultaneously tugging at his coat sleeves. Anders squirmed, shrugging his arms out of the heavy clothes, gasping as his movement caused Hawke's cock to slide a few millimetres deeper inside him.
The coat hit the floor with a dull thud and Anders crushed his mouth against the Champion's once again. The warrior moaned and, as the last grains of self-restraint slipped from his grasp, pulled his hips away – only to snap them back in, forming the first, tentative thrust.
The mage's muscles clenched around him, drawing another growl from Hawke. He rolled his hips again, and the healer broke their kiss with a sharp intake of breath. The two men clung to one another, Anders hooking his chin over Hawke's shoulder whilst the man pumped himself back and forth inside him.
"Nn... Anders..." He groaned into the apostate's hair, thrusting growing steadily more forceful. "Fuck you're tight..."
Anders gasped as a particularly hard push inadvertently brushed his prostate. Despite himself, the healer cried out and Hawke, ever the observant and vigilant lover, deliberately angled himself the same way for the next, and the next... Until the mage thought he might go crazy. It wasn't nearly enough.
"H-hawke, ah..." He panted, grabbing blindly at the man's back for some sort of leverage, "More... I can't... It's... Nngh!" He finished weakly, words pooling on his tongue in a muddled mess.
"You don't like it, ahh, against the wall like this?" He grunted, shifting Anders' weight in his arms, the exertion of holding him up apparent in the sheen of sweat covering his skin. Hawke brushed his lips over the healer's ear. "Y'know, someone could burst through that door any second..."
"Don't even..." The mage gasped, "Don't joke about that!" He screwed his face up, just imagining the shame of it. The warrior laughed, turning his head to glance across at the door then back to Anders.
"What would they think?" He husked, biting down briefly on the healer's abused lower lip, "Nn, seeing you like this? Hot and gasping with me inside you...What does Justice think?"
Maybe it was a step too far, or maybe it was just Anders truly losing control of himself in the heat of the moment, but the thoughtless comment was already made. The mage's skin crackled and scorched under Hawke's touch, illuminating the room with an eerie electric blue.
"He would think you were a weakness and a hindrance on the path of purposeful and moral duty. I swore my dedication to the cause. Acts of carnal desire, and the subsequent emotions derived were the sacrifice I made to-"
A look of suffering and pain crossed the apostate's face and he cried out as the benevolent spirit was forced back into the cage he struggled to restrain him within. Well, the worst of it, at least... The blue light faded as quickly as it had appeared, stripping away to the familiar pale skin and soft brown eyes.
"Not... The time to be asking questions." He groaned, hooking one arm around Hawke's neck for security whilst he rubbed his face with the palm of the opposite hand.
"Sorry." The warrior replied, "I didn't think and got a bit carried away... Are you-"
"Don't... Just, don't talk about it. Keep going." The mage interrupted breathlessly before pressing a kiss against his mouth. Hawke didn't need any encouragement.
He continued to thrust up into Anders, ignoring the protest from his weakening muscles; fuelled by the need to erase the awkward moment with Justice.
Finally, however, the cramping became too much to ignore and the Champion hoisted the man firmly into his grip before turning decisively back to the wooden table, not breaking contact for a second.
Neither spoke now, the desire for release prominent in both men's minds. Hawke laid Anders down on his back on the table top before roughly grabbing the mage's thighs, just behind the knee, and spreading them wide to accommodate his body.
The healer arced his body, pushing his hips up off the table, as a silent invitation. Hawke pounded into him almost ferociously now; the room filled with harsh panting and the dull, repetitive thud of their movements against the hard, wooden surface.
Sensing Hawke was fast approaching his end, Anders pried a hand between their bodies to locate his almost painfully hard cock. Paired with the Champion's accuracy when it came to stimulating his sweet-spot (whether that was accidental or deliberate, the mage would never know) the extra friction would be enough to push him over the edge.
The two men pushed against one another, Anders fisting his length with fresh determination. He clamped his teeth down hard on his lip, muffling a moan. Feeling the mage's inner muscles beginning to clamp down around him, Hawke slowed his pace – long, languid thrusts. It helped him claw back from the edge a little, but it was also just what the healer wanted from him.
Anders closed his eyes, brows knitted as the final change of pace pushed him to his end. The apostate shuddered and, a small gasp aside, came silently. The strong, rhythmic contractions were too much. Hawke groaned.
"Can I...?" Was all he managed. Luckily, the healer knew exactly what he was asking.
"N-no," He whispered, "I have to walk home tonight and there's no where to get clean here..." The Champion growled in frustration and pulled himself carefully out of Anders' body and stood up straight.
The apostate, despite only wishing to lay back and bask in the after-glow, shifted forwards – taking Hawke into his mouth. The man groaned and grabbed a tight fistful of blonde hair as the healer sucked the last stamina away.
"Ff-uck..." Hawke hissed, finally allowing himself to give in to the pleasure. He knew Anders wasn't a fan of him coming in his mouth, but a needs a must. He couldn't feel too guilty about it.
Worn out, the Champion slumped forwards to rest his head against the mage's. Anders sat further forwards still to wrap his arms around his waist.
"That was great." Hwake spoke first, clearing his throat after a long, comfortable silence.
"Don't get used to it..." Anders muttered with a small smile, "Upstairs at parties is so tacky." The warrior shot him a wry grin before peeling himself away and began to do up his belts – muttering a few faint curses as he noticed the mess the apostate had made on his chest was now smeared on his armour too from their embrace.
Getting shakily to his feet, Anders leant forwards to grab his coat from the floor. He dusted it off and threw it onto the table whilst tidying his underclothes into a more comfortable position. As he shrugged the feathered article onto his shoulders, there was a sickening clunk.
Both he and Hawke turned to the table – the vial of oil on it's side, it's viscous contents seeping into the raw, untreated surface of Varric's desk.
"Shit!" They hissed in unison, Anders grabbing the bottle before the entire contents were drained – Hawke floundering looking for something to mop it up with.
Finding nothing suitable within grasping distance, the Champion lurched forward with his sleeve – but it was too late. Though the material served to soak up the excess, the oil had already sunk into the wood; leaving behind a dark, very obvious stain.
Both men stared at their mess, willing it silently to disappear before Anders sighed heavily. Despite himself, Hawke felt a grin tugging at his mouth.
"He won't know who did it, right?" He offered helpfully, the mage shot him a wary look.
"You won't be saying that when he's using you for target practice..." He replied quietly. "Where did you put the stopper?"
Hawke paused, and began scanning the floor. The apostate cocked an eyebrow.
"You don't even know where it is, do you?" He asked dryly, "You'll never find it in such poor light..." Before Hawke could suggest anything a huge ball of fire hurtled from the mage towards the empty fireplace, exploding violently against the wood stacked within.
The warrior grinned, it was useful having mage companions. Just as he turned his attention back to searching the floor, another noise stopped his heart. A deep, loud roaring...
"Oh... Fuck me." He muttered, looking across the the source of the rumbling. There, tucked under a mess of sheets – was Varric. Flat on his back, snoring like a walrus.
So that's where he got to...
Both men stood stock still, jolting as the dwarf thrashed out at the sheets before rolling over. The search for the cork stopper was over. Anders tucked the vial away, regardless of the mess it would make inside the leather pouch, and Hawke crept silently to the door.
As if to make things as awkward as possible – it let out a loud, ringing creak as the warrior opened it. Anders winced before dashing hurriedly through the opening. Hawke followed, being careful to shut the door as gently as he could behind him.
Both men gave each other a look of relief before turning to scuttle away as quickly as they could from their crime scene – back down the stairs into the now much less crowded inn.
Their table was empty, guests having stumbled their way home, a mass of empty tankards and wine glasses crowded at the centre. Hawke smiled, thanking the Maker for some good fortune...
"I'm going to head home now." Anders grinned, the warrior squeezed his shoulder.
"I don't suppose you fancy sleeping in a real bed tonight instead of on the floor at the clinic?" He offered. The mage shot him a knowing look.
"I could be tempted, I suppose." He laughed softly, heading to the exit with Hawke at his side, "We never learn, do we?"
A/N: This was written a really long time ago as a present for a friend :) She enjoyed it, so I hope you guys will as well! I found it on my hard-drive and wondered why I'd never posted it up here! Thanks for reading and pleeease leave me some love to let me know what you thought :D