Anders could hardly feel Justice's continued aggression, now that he knew to measure out the cups of tea when he began to feel the tickle of rage and disapproval grow too strong. With every pot, the little enraged sensations swirling at the back of his mind ebbed further back, fading to mere memory. Now that he knew the cause for Justice's distance, it seemed easier to make sense of the occasional flare of emotion emanating from the spirit. The frustration, and anger could be attributed to the spirit's inability to connect with his host. He could also sense that Justice was fearful of the truth of Hawke's words, that the fade spirit worried he would come to crave the lyrium and little else given time.
And so much anger at being tricked, contained.
It make Anders uncomfortable to taste the resentment turning to hate towards Hawke, though he had tried to calm the spirit, defend Hawke's actions. Whether Justice was equally cut off from Anders's mind and thoughts he could not tell, but the spirit was not to be cajoled into understanding, the rage was too strong. He hoped that there was enough tea left to keep Justice from emerging, and venting such harsh hatred upon Hawke, and himself... It was cruel, he knew more than anyone, to keep the spirit restrained via the lyrium, but the fear of what Justice would do once free pulled tight around his heart.
The mage did feel remorse at what Justice's fate would be if the spirit was kept subdued permanently (which was a growing possibility). Uncomfortable sensations of guilt tugged at his mind like bramble thorns. The tea however, seemed to help with that also.
It might have been better to give proper consideration to the implications of getting a fade spirit addicted to lyrium, but the truth was that his body was bone-weary, and he could not afford to be distracted as he strove to remain vigilant that Justice was truly unable to steal control from him. For the sake of his lover, he could not allow that to happen. When they had found somewhere new to settle, perhaps he could talk with Hawke and see about easing Justice into a rational discussion. Till then, the tea made it easier to to ignore the reality of what he had done to the spirit he knew as Justice. A spirit he had once called friend.
He also knew he should be concerned that Hawke had essentially drugged him for the last two months, but now he knew, he could see a sort of sense to the rogue's actions. He had no fear that he would wake in the night, screaming about darkspawn and their continued taint upon the land. The ache in his muscles from walking countless hours seemed duller, more manageable, and even his usual anxieties that Hawke would one day leave him flared less often. It was hard to protest against the brew, when it put his mind at such ease.
Hawke was sick of walking, of struggling to haul a heavy pack past trees unthoughtfully spaced too close together. After three nights where the slightest noise would have both him and Anders alert and ready with dagger and staff, only to find a terrified hare or pheasant staring back at them, he was not exactly rested. During the day, trudging onwards, they spoke little, both understanding that when tempers and bodies were so tired even light conversation would drain their energies further, or erupt into blazing arguements that neither would be able to adequately contain.
He was grateful for the silence, however. Since the night where Justice had tried to choke the life from him, Anders had a look of steadily growing discontentment. He could practically see the words hovering on the mage's lips, and did not know how he would best answer accusations of drugging, or lashing out while drunk, or even murdering defenceless farmers. He was guilty of all these things, even though he did not feel particularly guilt-ridden. Everything he had done, was because he loved the mage. Such fierce feelings would drive any man to drastic measures, to keep them together when all of Thedas seemed intent on tearing them apart.
That Anders had willingly started to drink the tea again seemed like grudging admittance that although the mage might not approve of his methods, the results were worth
it. Hawke was glad he'd been able to make Anders see sense, even if he had used some outright emotional manipulation to get Anders to swallow the concoction down. They'd had to ration it, and the foodstuffs, but even then supplies were getting low. Neither Anders or Hawke were fast enough to trap an animal to roast, and while Anders had spotted and collected some elfroot, any other foraging seemed beyond him.
In light of their meagre meal, Hawke decided to call a stop early. The land was strange to him, and the forests disorientating, but Hawke was hopeful that tomorrow they would finally find the coastline. He held onto that hope, unsure of what he would do should they fail to find a source of food, or, perhaps more importantly, lyrium soon. He set down his pack by a tree, and began to clear a space for a small fire to ease the chill from fingers and toes. Anders, familiar with the routine, started to set out the pot of water for his tea.
"There is not much left." he commented quietly, placing a pinch of the leaves into the clay pot. Even though they were miles from the main road, both men spoke is soft whispers, as some small attempt to keep the peace.
"I know."
It was difficult, to keep their waterskins full enough to take into account the water needed for brewing. When passing streams, both men would stoop and drink their fill, knowing that they would not be able to carry much liquid to quench their thirst. Anders had suggested that he chew on the leaves to conserve their watersupply, but Hawke quickly dissuaded him from that notion, saying that the boiling water helped reduce the sheer toxicity of the additional ingredients he'd added to the tealeaves.
Anders had paled at the reminder that he was essentially drinking dilute poison, but said no more on the subject. Hawke wondered that Anders was not just a little addicted himself to the mixture. It would not have surprised him.
The fire set, with Anders's magical assistance, and both settled close by to benefit from the flame's warmth. Anders filled the thick clay pot, and placed it by the side of the embers to heat.
Hawke turned, watching as Anders carefully nudged the pot, to stop one side getting too hot and risk the container shattering.
"Do you still hear it?"
Anders looked up from his task, and shook his head. "Justice? No, he is quiet... For now."
Hawke took a deep breath, and shuffled a little closer to the mage.
"Do you miss it... Him..?" Hawke's adoption of Anders preferred pronoun for Justice made the mage jerk his head up, surprised and caught off guard by the question.
"Sometimes... "
Hawke said nothing, waiting for Anders to continue. Unsure, Anders stared into the fire.
"We might not always agree, but it feels as if he is the only one who truly understands the plight of the magi. The only one willing to stand up and fight for a better future. Its like having a kindred mind, and when we worked together, I could feel his power flowing through me. It felt... good, it felt *right*."
Pausing to use the end of his staff to pull the pot from the fire, and then bunching his hand inside his cloak to protect his hands pour the brew into a cup, Anders glanced up to check on Hawke's reaction.
There was no disapproval, nor contempt on his face. Such feelings were carefully masked as the rogue gave a slow nod to show his understanding. He rested a hand on Anders's shoulder, as the mage stared at the brew. The mage seemed wistful for the spirit's presence, and Hawke was suddenly aware of how much he was relying on Anders to continue to keep the spirit subdued. Mind quickly clicking into action, he swallowed, and, with measured care, let a small trace of doubt favour his voice.
"He changed though, you said yourself..."
Anders glanced up, and gave a small sigh.
"Yes... He is not the friend I once knew. Sometimes its fine, exactly as I remember. Those days are good... But other times he is so domineering, so angry. Its like I'm with a stranger. A dangerous stranger I'm almost scared of. There are times I can hardly recognise him at all."
Hawke leant closer, and placed a kiss on Anders's cheek, reassuring the mage of his presence. Anders relaxed visibly, and rested his head against Hawke's chest.
"It'll be fine, you'll see." he said, voice confident and clear. Anders, happily curling into Hawke's protective form, smiled as he brought the cup to his lips.
To Hawke's visible relief, they found the coastline in the early hours of the next morning. He'd slept better, despite being woken twice through the night by nocturnal beasts hooting and rustling close to their camp, and the heavy weight of his pack did not seem such a burden.
They ate at a small fishing village, the hot meal filling their stomachs pleasantly. Hawke was aware that between rent and food and lyrium, he had not saved as much coin as he would have liked, but when he heard that the harbour was only a couple of hours away that pleased him, and he sought to at least reward the tavern owner for such jubilant news by tipping an extra copper piece.
Energy renewed, they made good progress to the harbour, seeing the boats upon the water before they laid eyes on the town. It was called Glutter's Cove, or something similar, the local dialect brisk and difficult to follow. The name did not matter, not when within a couple of hours of enquiries, they found a small but cheap property to rent, available to move into immediately.
Packs were dropped to the floor with an almost ceremonious clatter, and Hawke allowed the pent up tension of the last few days ebb from his body as he surveyed the room. Anders walked up beside him, letting his arm rest lightly by his side.
"Safe at last..." He sighed, and smiled to his lover.
Hawke would have returned the sentiment, grinned at finally meeting the end of their journey, but he was making a conscious effort not to relax his guard. This was a house they were renting, not their home. Homes hurt too much to lose, and during the long hours spent trailing the hidden paths of the forests and grasslands, he had decided that he would not allow himself to expose what was left of his heart to such pain. This was not safe, this was temporary. Even his daggers, that he'd spent much too much time polishing and reminiscing for what had been, were merely items. Useful to have, but should they need to escape in a hurry, he would have no qualms about leaving the blades behind. All he needed was himself, and Anders.
He looked to the mage, hair plastered down against his skull, fingernails ridged in dark grime. Even after days of travel, the blonde was devastatingly handsome, but he knew that they both would benefit from a wash. He bit down on his coiling arousal, and a particularly cutting remark of the complete lack of safety they could except from a strange town, and instead went to fetch a water basin.
Anders balanced by one of the walls, and kicked off his hardened leather boots, toes flexing gratefully as Hawke pulled a sweat-soaked tunic from himself, dumping it in a pile to be laundered later.
Water, heated-by-magic water, felt like the maker's blessing itself, as he poured it over grubby skin. Even as he let himself appreciate the sensation, he caught sight of Anders, eyes drifting across the body slowly becoming cleansed. With a sly grin, he flexed his shoulders, and took a certain amount of devilish pleasure in the way Anders appeared to forget how to breathe.
He dipped the rag, and dragged it deep across his chest. He was more careful when tackling his neck, wary of the faint bruises Justice had left. He let the cloth drop into the water, and then with a deft set of fingers quickly undoing the fastenings, let his trousers likewise fall to the floor. He kicked them away from the basin, so they would not get wet, then bent gracefully to retrieve his washcloth, continuing to run it over every muscle, water soaking the sweat from his skin. His audience was suitably enraptured by the sight of him, bare except from his smalls, and pleasantly damp and clean. Satisfied that the worse of the travel was purged from him, he tipped his head to the side and beckoned Anders over.
When Anders tried to embrace his sodden lover he was met with a hand, firm against his still covered chest. Hawke gave a grin, and tipped his chin out.
"You're still filthy... Get out of those grubby garments and stand in the basin."
Anders looked like he might protest, but Hawke was already easing a hand under his tunic and lifting it upwards. The heavy smell of sweat and musk was not entirely unpleasant, but it could be definitely improved upon. He knew Anders found his lopsided grin difficult to resist, and his eyes flashed with the promise of mischief should the mage complied. Shaking off his inhibitions, Anders shucked his breeches from him, and stepped into the water, the heat creeping up his legs and easing aching feet.
"There now, isn't that better?" Hawke all but purred, pushing his own smalls down, noting with pride the state of Anders's erection.
Anders, trying not to move his hands to cover himself, was inclined to agree, reluctantly.
Hawke knelt then, and began to use the rag to wash Anders's right thigh. The mage's underclothes were quickly soaked as the clothe was dipped and repeatedly ran over the dips and grooves of worn muscles. Water rained from his skin, the chill of air on wet skin making Anders uncomfortable, feeling more than naked, exposed. He squirmed under the attenions, torn between his own arousal still stiff from Hawke's display, and the growing sense of his dignity being striped from him, washed away like so much mud.
He was about to step from the basin, and reclaim the ability to at least take care of his own hygiene, when he saw the look in Hawke's eyes. Intense, and wholly focused on the task, the rogue was ensuring that the mage was cleansed as much as the dirtied water and now greying washcloth would allow. On seeing his legs tense as if to move, Hawke paused in his task, the rag held in his hand dripping, and glanced up at Anders. There was adoration, open and honest, and Anders felt his reservations about the strange situation slip away. He gave a small smile, and Hawke continued, unhurried.
Hawke rose on his knees to reach Anders's torso, his mouth so close Anders's could feel every breath leech heat from the damp skin. He could not help but twist so that he could bare witness to Hawke's face as he attended him. The look was familiar, the same concentration Hawke would wear when oiling his daggers. Anders felt a spark of joy lance through his whole body, that he could be the subject of such tender ministration. Unwilling to risk breaking Hawke's engrossment, he desperately tried not to react as Hawke moved to run the clothes up the curve of his backside, the rough fabric pressing firmly along the crease of his buttocks.
He almost succeeded.
Hawke blinked slowly as Anders settled down again, grinning shyly that he had arched quite so suddenly. A tight line of disapproval met him, and he muttered a soft apology, and doubled his efforts to allow Hawke his immersion in the task. Hawke seemed intent on not making it easy, slowly rubbing against every piece of flesh before him, and then pulling the drenched smallclothes down when Anders could felt his entire body tingle, refreshed. Knuckles brushed against his sac as Hawke tackled the deep crevice of his thighs, and only through sheer determination, and biting down hard on the inside of his cheek, could Anders stop himself from both calling out and tipping his body into that touch.
He did not hear Hawke rise to his feet, but could feel the warmth of the rogue's body so close to his shift upwards. The clothe, cooler now the water had started to lose its heat, swiped over shoulders and neck, and a hand curled from behind to cup under his chin.
Hawke was smiling, though he did not make eye contact with Anders. Instead his eyes tracked the path of the clothe, as he stroked it over cheek, then down the line of his throat. Anders shuffled, starting to feel increasingly cold, and brought his arms close in, demonstrating his discomfort. He grinned that even in the face of such a intimate moment as being washed by a lover, physical reality intervened. Hawke, drew the washcloth over his lips, as if trying to wipe away his expression, before suddenly seeing the faint tremble that had started to take hold of Anders's hands. He blinked, then gently pulled Anders forward out of the water into an embrace, pressing his own heated torso against the mage, hands and arms claiming as much skin as possible.
Anders felt hips press into his, Hawke's own erection digging deep into the flesh of his side. He knew if he was to break away, he would see Hawke's eyebrows raised in a suggestive arch, and so dipped his head so he would not have to see the disappointment that would surely follow his next words.
"Let me dry first, get warm..."
"Anderrrrrrs..." It was a plea to continue, but spoken in a tone that held no room for refusal. Anders tried to move, his feet starting to cramp from the cold wet floor, his skin unpleasantly cold and damp. Hawke seemed not to suffer the cold, and his own naked flesh was heated, enticing Anders to give up on finding a towel and just let Hawke warm him with the heat of the rogue's body. He then realised that there was no towel to be had, that their few possessions were limited, and did not include such things.
Rather than catch chill, he decided that he and Hawke's goals were not so dissimilar, both hardnesses a testament that there were other ways to stave off the cold. He lent into Hawke, wrapping his own arms around the muscular form, fingers splayed and clutching. He felt Hawke's chuckle, deep in his chest, and rubbed his cheek against the bare expanse of skin. A hand curled round the back of his head, under the ponytail, and gently placed Anders's ear right against Hawke's heart. He could hear the heartbeat, pace steadily growing rapid, as Hawke ground his hips solidly against Anders, causing the mage to sway under the stronger man's will.
Hawke was hardly being subtle, he was practically growling as Anders had to pull away in order to regain his balance, wet feet not providing as secure a base for Hawke's insistent pelvic thrusts as was needed to keep the rogue from toppling the pair of them over into the wash basin.
"The bed then, before you have us both on the floor.." He said, and made a move towards the sagging and stained straw mattress. Hawke held him back, scowling.
"No. That thing probably has lice by the look of it."
Anders could agree that he'd rather lay on the floor than the mattress, but the wash basin had not managed to contain all the drips, and the floor was sodden, the wooden planks dark with tracked mud and ingrained dirt.
"I'll sort the little blighters. A quick lightening hit should kill them off..."
"No." Hawke's reply was instant, sharp. "You'll cause too much light and the curtains are threadbare. It might get seen. We'll smoke them... later. For now... Here, against the table."
He might have protested the discomfort, and inherent risk of trust both their weights to such a simple looking table, but Hawke's eyes were near black with lust, and Anders found himself reassured that after all he had put Hawke through, the man could look upon him with such unrestrained desire. He let gentle hands guide him to the rough surface, and sat on the wood. Encouraging Anders to lift both knees around his hips, Hawke leant forwards, hot breath ghosting over the mage's face before lips firmly started to touch and tease. Hawke's tongue flicked at the edge of his mouth, and he granted it entry, opening his mouth wider so allow the thick wet heat delve deep. Too soon, Hawke broke away, wiping his moth with two fingers, then licking at the digits, wetting them with his salvia. Anders watched, and could not stop the tension creep up his spine.
"There is no oil...?" he hated the tone his question has adopted, almost a whine more than a coherent dialogue between adults.
"No... And I'm much too far gone to head out to the market to buy some." A joking reply, and went Anders did not smile in kind, he gave an apologetic shrug, gesturing to his spit slicked fingers, "This will have to do for today."
"Hawke... I'm not sure."
"Anders," The tone was now plaintive, and Anders saw Hawke's head dip to his, silently begging for the permission to continue. He could no more deny that look of *need* than he could cut the magic out from his body. He took Hawke's fingers into his mouth, and slowly drew them out, letting his own tongue add to the salvia. Hawke gave Anders's shoulder a tight squeeze of thanks, and then dipped his fingers towards Anders's entrance, smearing and spreading the salvia as best he could.
It was not the first time a lack of oil had caught them off guard in the heat of the moment, but Anders could well remember the sting, the need for healing afterwards. Even when Hawke was not half lost to lust, it was uncomfortable. He braced himself, even as Hawke's finger started to push in and out, the friction already causing a heat he had not wanted to build.
When Hawke started to line up the tip of himself with Anders, preparation forgone to feed the urgent colour of his straining member, Anders yelped. Hawke bent his head, resting it against Anders's heaving chest.
"Please... Bear with it... Please, I need this... You. Please..."
The words were like fire to his nerves, both burning and bright, inflaming his own longing and bringing to light that Hawke would not cease till the deed was completed. He held his tongue, unable to tell Hawke to stop when the man was obviously so in need of this. He had not realised how hard it must have been, on the road and unable to think of anything but escape. The least he could do was grant the man he owed his life to several times over his release. Air whooshed from his lungs as Hawke continued to urge his cock deeper, not stopping to allow Anders time to adapt to the sense of being spilt apart, his tight muscles hot and pained at the intrusion. As hips finally met, Hawke's hardness firmly planted, the rogue looked to the squirming mage.
A hand, fingers soft and tender, tracing down the curve of his cheek, and Hawke's wide, deep eyes gazing at him.
Suddenly, he felt the strength he needed to bare it out, found reason to hold back the wince that begged to show itself on his face. For Hawke.
Resolute, he rolled his hips. Hawke grunted in response, the effort of not pounding the mage bloody telling in the thick tight cords of muscles around his neck and jaw. Anders reached, brushing hair from sweat beaded forehead, and willed himself to clench around the intrusion, the heat almost too much to bare. The rogue's composure faltered, and he pushed hard against the table, making it creak alarmingly. Anders arched, and let Hawke catch him, strong hands under the small of his back, holding him steady as Hawke began to draw out.
"Slow..." Anders whispered, the pain lacing through. Hawke, breathing heavy panting breaths, spat on his hand, rubbing it between the join of their bodies. He worked feverishly, as if he had not heard Anders. His brow was knotted, his restraint clearly fraying.
He thrust, and only his grip on Anders's stopped the mage from managing to wriggle from the sharp sting of his insides being stretched too fast, too much. What little salvia had been used was not enough to ease the burning friction of skin rubbing raw against skin, and Anders keened out, trying to bit his lip against the pain, but unable to stop his body jerking and twitching to get away.
"Slow!" he gasped. Hawke made an incoherent noise, something between a pant and a battlecry, and plunged in again, making Anders's vision flash white. He could hear Hawke, murmuring a string of syllables, punctuated by grunts and groans as he selfishly forced his way deep inside the mage, slower, but no less painful.
Anders held on with his knees, to stop himself kicking out at the man, so lost in lust he did not seem to see the hurt he was causing. His crys became noiseless as Hawke slapped flesh against flesh, fingers digging into the bone, all reason and control fled from the former champion's eyes.
He felt the orgasm take Hawke, hips juddering to a stop, face falling lax. The seed filling him, slick and hot, made it easier for Hawke to pull out, but the salt of it stung the places where skin had stretched to breaking. Anders let his knees release their hold on Hawke, trying to catch breath that would not sate his lungs. He could feel his eyes water, blinked rapidly to clear the tears before Hawke could see. Hawke looked at him, eyes dipping down to his own untouched arousal, flagging slightly as he relaxed that the ordeal was over. Almost as an afterthought, Hawke closed his hand over Anders's erection, bringing the blood flooding back. Jerking up and down in a unskilled, yet functional, fashion, Anders had to cling to Hawke to stop him falling backwards. Sensation, edging over and over on much too much, overwhelmed him, and he could not even speak the words to get Hawke to slow or stop. Release spurted quickly, and Hawke sighed happily at the achievement, touching against the slippery liquid with a finger, stroking against Anders's chest as the mage drew deep, almost painful breaths.
"There now... Not so bad was it?"
Anders did not have the heart to correct the rogue, eyes now soft with satisfaction. There was sincere concern in his voice, awaiting an answer, but everything in Hawke's posture said he was spent, emotionally as well as physically. Anders doubted the man could properly deal with the idea of the damage he had caused in his haste and savage desire.
He forced a grin, "Not bad at all... " Hawke barked a short laugh, and dragged a cloak over to the wall, where it seemed they would rest until the bed was smoked free of parasites. He leant heavily, every breath carried a soft noise of contentment. He looked up at Anders, still on the table, and held an arm out from him to join him.
Anders carefully lowered himself to the floor, so that Hawke would not see the blood stained seed drip from him. He'd heal himself once Hawke had drifted off, as the rogue always did after a vigorous bout of love-making. Hawke's eyes closed, as he rested arm and head on Anders, drawing the mage close.
Later, once magic had eased the aching at the base of his spine, and the twinge of torn flesh had dulled to a mere tenderness, Anders joined Hawke in sleep.