Written for RewindedMiracle for the Cheeky Monkeys Holiday Fic Exchange - thanks to Rewinded for the inspiration. Carver was fun to write! And thanks to Oleander's One for the thoughtful beta!

"Look out!"

Carver Hawke had barely registered the words when he felt a violent shove. He flew forward into the cave, milling his arms to catch his balance. By the time he had done so, the entrance was blocked by a giant slab of stone.

"Now what are we going to do?" The impatient voice belonged to his sister, Fausten, named for their great-uncle and that formidable gentleman's equal in temper, from everything he'd heard. She was, of course, on the other side of the stone, free as air.

"We should've brought Daisy," Varric answered her. "She'd have that slab off in a trice."

Fausten grumbled. Carver could just imagine her irritated face. Merrill had offered to teach her to channel her magic into the rocks and the earth many times, and Fausten had always given her a haughty no for an answer—but Carver was still sure she was finding a way to blame this on him.

"Stay there," she snapped at Carver through the stone. He heard Fausten and Varric move away and for the first time considered his own position.

"We appear to be left to our own devices," said a voice in the darkness.

Carver whirled around, startled. "Fenris? I didn't know you were in here." Suddenly he realized that the elf must have been the one to push him out of the way of the falling slab of stone.

"That much was obvious, yes."

"Er, I owe you my thanks, don't I?" Carver stared hard into the darkness, wishing he could see the elf's face. For all that he tried to be stoic and reserved, Fenris had very expressive features. Not that Carver had ever snuck glances at the elf's green eyes, or stared at the lines of lyrium defining the muscles of his arms. No, definitely not. He was a Templar, and Templars were pure of thought and action.

"Perhaps. But no more so than I owe you mine." There was a brief silence, then a small, uncomfortable clearing of the throat. "Your assistance when Hadriana arrived was most appreciated."

"Oh. Um, you're welcome?"

There was a silence. Carver could feel the blood heating in his veins at the thought of being alone with the elf, in the dark. How many times had he imagined this, lying in the darkness of the Templars' dorm? Now that they were here, alone, those fantasies were … well, not within reach, exactly, but— He wiped his sweaty hands on the heavy skirt of his armor. If there were ever going to be a time when he tried to make them come true, it would be now.

What was he thinking? He backed away, stopping only when he hit the wall of the cave. "Do you … Do you think we're alone in here?"

"No doubt if we were not, we would have been attacked by now."

The elf's voice was calm and even, as always. Did nothing ruffle him?

"How long do you think it'll be until they come back?"

"You know your sister. How high a priority will she place on rescuing a Templar and an elf?"

Carver sighed, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back. Fenris had a good point; neither of them was exactly high on Fausten's list. She'd brought Carver along on this mission only because they were checking out a suspected nest of blood mages and she thought he might be useful. Well, that and he'd had a day off from his Templar duties and had made the mistake of coming to the mansion. Not to see his sister—he had been hoping she would be out—but to look through their mother's things one more time, to feel closer to her. Then Fausten had all but dragged him along with her.

Oh, who was he kidding? She hadn't had to convince him, not with Fenris along. The chance to fight next to the elf wasn't to be passed up.

"I see you agree with my premise," Fenris said drily.

"You're absolutely right. We might as well settle in. If we had some light, we could play cards."

"Light I can manage," Fenris said, and immediately a flare of blue lit the cave as his markings began to glow.

Carver swallowed. He should pray; that's what Templars were told to do when the urges of the flesh became too strong. But the only songs in his mind were the filthy ditties Ser Hugh sang in the bathing room, and none of those helped take his mind off the man in front of him. "I, uh, don't have any cards."

"Pity."

The light went out, and Carver held back his whimper of disappointment, but only just. He cleared his throat. "We could count the ways we dislike my sister."

"Why do you allow her such power over you?"

"Power? What do you mean?"

"You speak of her to the exclusion of all else. What is it that you enjoy, Carver?"

It was the first time Fenris had ever spoken his name. "Um, well, I …" Suddenly he frowned. Interrogated about what he enjoyed by possibly the broodiest bastard in Kirkwall? "You first." He grinned smugly in the darkness.

There was a long silence, and then one of those rare surprising chuckles. "You have me there."

"So we're a pair of grumpy buggers, eh?"

"So it would seem."

Silence descended again, silence and darkness. Carver shifted restlessly, trying to control the panic that was beginning to rise in him. Fausten wouldn't just leave them here, would she? Yes, there was no doubt that she would, if she thought she could get away with it, and if she didn't think they were of further value to her. Which they might not be.

Varric, he said to himself desperately. Varric wouldn't let them die here, stuck in a cave.

Carver wasn't aware of having made any sounds to indicate his growing distress, but suddenly he felt movement as Fenris crossed the mouth of the cave to lean against the wall next to him. They weren't touching, but he could feel the heat coming off the elf's body.

"They will come for us. Hawke will no doubt make us wait longer than we would prefer, but they will come."

Taking several deep gulps of air, Carver nodded, forgetting the other man couldn't see him in the darkness.

"Carver?"

"I'm all right. Thanks." His armor was constricting, though, and he unbuckled the heavy chest plate, placing it on the ground at his feet. That felt much better, with only a thin shirt covering his chest and the cool air wrapping around him.

He and Fenris maintained silence for some time, before the elf cleared his throat.

"I am afraid I am not particularly good company for being trapped in a dark cave."

"No, you're fine. I mean—there's no one I'd rather be stuck in a cave with." Carver could cheerfully have bitten off his own tongue. What had he been thinking?

With a kind of pleased-sounding uncertainty, Fenris said, "You are most kind, but surely …"

"Who else would I want to be here with? Another Templar who would offer to sing the chant with me, yet again? Varric and his endless stories? Merrill … well, Merrill would already have us out of here, so I guess there's that. I suppose Isabela wouldn't be terrible—"

"No doubt she would find something entertaining to do with you," Fenris said.

"She's not my type." Carver said it flatly, hoping, but not hoping, that Fenris would ask who his type was.

"Ah. It was my impression that Isabela is everyone's type."

"If you like girls." What was he thinking? Something about standing here in the dark with this man so close to him had Carver's mouth running completely of its own volition. He should move away, that's what he should do—but he didn't. He held his breath, waiting for Fenris's response.

"Hm."

That was it? "Hm"? Carver wasn't sure if he should be relieved or disappointed. He folded his arms together, gripping his biceps tightly to avoid reaching for Fenris. And then he did it anyway—he turned, those same hands closing around Fenris's biceps, his mouth descending … and landing on the elf's nose.

They stood there, frozen, for a long minute. Carver told himself to let go, that Fenris would hate him … but he couldn't let go because if he did this moment would never come again. He bent his head that much further, and the elf's sensual lips were beneath his and he was holding Fenris in his arms and the heat in the cave was absolutely unbearable—

He stepped back abruptly. "I am so sorry. That was unforgiva—"

And then he had the surprise of his life when Fenris's deep voice growled "Shut up" and Fenris's long fingers were grabbing him by the hair and Fenris's mouth was on his, hard and demanding.

"Oh," Carver heard himself whimper a long time later, when he finally got his breath back. Somehow his thin shirt and the top to Fenris's armor were on the ground and the elf's warm, smooth chest was against his.

Distantly, Carver was aware of a cracking sound, and then they were bathed in light as the slab covering the mouth of the cave broke in half and fell away. Blinking in the harsh light, both Carver and Fenris were too surprised to move.

"Oh! Oh, dear," Merrill said in a high, shrill voice, her eyes wide, and then she turned and ran away. Varric took one look at the two of them and began to laugh uproariously before following her.

Carver and Fenris looked at one another. Carver cleared his throat. "I feel like I should apologize."

"No need."

"So … can we do this again sometime?"

There was a warmth in the elf's green eyes that he had never expected to see, and that heated Carver clear to his toes. "You could come by the mansion. For a game of chess, perhaps. Or a glass of wine."

Carver's head swam at the idea of licking drops of wine off the lines of lyrium tattooed across Fenris's chest. "Will tomorrow do?" he asked hoarsely.

Fenris chuckled. "Admirably."