"I don't want you to resist."
She isn't ready for the intensity of his attack, the way his hands grip her head and pull her mouth towards his, the way he devours her, the want and hunger and need in his touch enough to make her knees give out. He pulls back, too soon oh too soon and his breath is heaving in his chest. Hers isn't much better. It takes a moment for her to get her eyes to open to see his face - and his eyes are closed as well, his mouth open. All she wants to do is pull him back down to her and continue what they were doing, but a glance to the side shows her a few patients looking up curiously, one woman with an undeniable smirk on her face, another with stern disapproval. Not to mention she's completely forgotten she'd come in here with Seb… and Fenris.
Oh maker, Saoirse. You are a complete donkey.
"This is a disaster," he says finally, but smiles as he says it, making her heart thud even more powerfully against her ribs. "But I can't live without it. We could die tomorrow. I don't want it to be before I tell you how I feel…"
His eyes are fixed on her face, searching for something, desperate and wanting. She doesn't understand for a moment, how much feeling is there, because she isn't used to seeing it, and she knows what he wants her to say.
"I've never felt this way about anyone," I love you.
His eyes crinkle at the edges, and despite the gravity of his words, she can hear a lightness in his tone she's not heard often. Only Varric and Isabela have managed to bring it out in him, on nights at the Hanged Man, when he reminisces about his time as a warden, or his brief bouts of freedom between escapes.
Or talks about his cat.
"I thought… with Justice… this part of me was over. I can't give you a normal life. If you're with me, we'll be hunted… hated… the whole world will be against us. If your door is open tonight I will come to you. If not… I'll know you took my warning at last."
At home, she paces her room. Tonight is such a vague word. Is he going to appear as soon as the sun goes down? Will he turn up on the doorstep? Just stepping out of the clinic on his own is a danger these days, she isn't blind to the fact that the Templars ignore him when he's with her because she is Hawke, because she is a person of influence… what if she's inadvertently managed to get him captured? The thought of him in the Templars' hands, after all they'd done, after all he'd told her, makes her blood boil in her veins. If they take him, she will burn them all, be damned the consequences.
She will not lose him the way she'd lost Bethany, and Carver... It would be worse, even, if they caught him. She isn't blind to the fact that if they managed to catch him alive (and oh, how much more they would want to do that, after all he had done) they would be merciful enough to kill him. It would be the brand. And someone like Alric would give it to him. And someone like Alric would take pleasure in using him, every day, simply for the crime of existing and wishing to be free.
When he walks in the door her knees go weak with relief - or is it desire? She isn't certain. Certainly, by the time he's walked halfway across the room she is throbbing with three years of suppressed want, no matter what she'd done with Fenris, she'd never wanted as much as when he was in the room.
"You're here," she manages to get out, Maker knows how. "I wasn't sure you would come."
"Justice does not approve of my obsession with you. He believes you are a distraction. It's one of the few things on which he and I disagree."
"If you hadn't come I'd be out looking for you."
He talks about the Tower, about how love is a game, about how Templars will take everything from you if they only get the chance and she steps in closer, wanting to pull him to her, but he looks so forlorn, so damaged by what they've done to him… You aren't going to lose me, she thinks. "This isn't going to fix that," she says. He once told her he would drown them both in blood to keep her safe. She will drown the world in blood to keep them free.
"No mage I know has ever dared to fall in love," he says, cupping her cheek, and she feels a welling of power. He dips his head towards her so she can feel his breath on her lips. "This is the rule I will most cherish breaking," he murmurs, and then those lips are on hers.
Her arms come up and around him, seeking pressure, contact, anything to bring him closer as the kiss deepens. He nudges her lips apart with his tongue and she opens them willingly, gently, nothing like the rough need of their kiss in the clinic, nothing like the desperate desire to feel she'd shared with Fenris, when she thought Anders would never give in to his desires, when she was trying to erase her feeling for him in another man's arms. This was deeper, more passionate, more of everything, and underneath it all, the hint of magic and the touch of the Fade that made him seem so much more alive than any of her other companions, that only she could feel because of her own connection to the fade. When they break apart she doesn't want to waste any time, terrified he will change his mind and try to protect her again. She pulls him back to the bed and he sinks down into her arms, kissing her again with such slow, practiced skill that she wonders at him for holding out this long.
Against her thigh, there is the evidence of his desire, and she lets out a gasp as she feels it, looking up into his face which holds a slightly sheepish grin. "It's been a long time," he says. "I said I thought this part of me was over."
"Anything but," she laughs out, gently moving her hips up against him, delighting to see his eyes drift shut and a shudder pass through him.
"Maker," he breathes. "A long, long time."
She plucks at his buckles. "Is this unnecessarily complicated as a defense mechanism?" she asks.
"Uh…Defense mechanism?" he is adorably distracted.
"To stop me from getting into them," she says. "Three years, I've been trying."
He blinks and looks down at his robes. "Oh these? Well, actually, they're deceptively complex," he grins and pops some studs. The coat falls open, revealing his shirt, clean, but much mended and thin with wear. She touches it, feels the heat of his skin as he shrugs the coat from his shoulders, the feathers making a rustling sound as they slide to the floor behind him.
"The boots are more complicated though," she says.
"For normal people, maybe," he says, and there is a flare of telekenetic power and the laces are suddenly no longer a problem. He kicks them off, and pulls his shirt over his head, and Saoirse is suddenly aware that she is close to something she has wanted for too sodding long and pulls him down for another kiss, and there is finally skin and she is finally touching it. She can't get enough, and presses her palms into the small of his back, pulling him closer and closer…
"There's an imbalance here," he murmurs, between kisses. "Which I intend to rectify." His fingers work under her shirt and slip it from her shoulders. "Maker Saoirse," he breathes as he cups a breast in his hand, fingers lightly teasing the nipple. "If you knew how often I've dreamed of doing this…" he dips his head and gently laves her breast with his tongue, making her head tip back and her mouth open in a gasp. If you knew how often I dreamed of you doing this…
The rest of her clothes are gone, almost without her knowing it, and there is so much more to feel with his long, lean limbs entwined with hers. She wants to latch herself around him, pull him into her, possess him, but he is firm and gentle, catching her wrists in one hand and exploring her body with his mouth, tongue and lips driving her into a frenzy of desire. Her power is waxing and waning, and this time he doesn't drain her, stop her from expressing it, and hazy light surrounds them, no particular spell, just the raw stuff of the fade, making everything blurry in the lamplight.
He keeps his own power tightly in check. She can feel him straining at the bounds of his control, but his movements never lose their gentle rhythm, not even after he's released her wrists to hold her hips and she can't help but clutch his hair and try to pull him closer to her.
"Sweet Andraste, Anders," she gasps. "There. Oh yes. Please."
She feels the beginnings of her orgasm gathering and he enters her with two fingers, never slowing the working of his tongue, pressing up gently, firmly, and she shrieks his name as she comes undone, power flaring, time slowing as gravity pulses around them, extending the moment, slowing everything around them. Anders lifts his head, grinning. "You really must teach me that spell," he says. "Makes my lightning trick seem almost mundane."
She falls back on the bed, gasping for breath, laughing a little as well, remembering Isabela's comment. "My father taught it to us," she says. "And now of course, my mind has made all sorts of associations that I will never be able to unthink. Thank you Anders."
He climbs up and lies next to her on the bed, grin still firmly in place. "Happy to be of service," he says. She smiles at him and puts a hand up to his cheek, feeling the sharp line of his jaw under his stubble. His eyes are liquid in the lamplight, and she suddenly realises she can still feel him, pressing against her thigh, hard and ready. "Mmm. Looks like someone else is in need of servicing," she says.
"Crudely put, but I'm not arguing," he rolls on top of her, dipping his head to kiss her neck. She shivers as he tastes the sweat that has gathered there, feeling him nudge her legs apart with his knees.
"Were you expecting me to turn into a romantic as soon as you saw me naked?" she gasps out as she feels him start to press into her, arching her back and lifting her hips.
"No…" he says, he pulling back and pushing back in slightly - not far enough though, and she groans as he does it again, and again. "I… know you…. well enough not to expect that…"
"You're… teasing," she says.
He nods. "Three years of it… from you… it's only fair you get some of the same."
"You could have fixed that…ah… if you'd only fucking given in…"
He silences her with a strong thrust, filling her completely and letting out a throaty growl at the same time. He is still for a moment, eyes tightly shut, breath heaving, before he begins to move again and she loses herself to sensation.
It isn't gentle, it isn't slow, and she knows now why he'd taken the time to pleasure her before they'd reached this stage. The need in him is breathtaking - she'd caught a glimpse of it when he first kissed her in the clinic, but there is a pool of it so deep that she is frightened suddenly, in the midst of her pleasure, that she won't be able to meet it, that she isn't enough for him.
Is this what it is, to love two people?
"Saoirse," he pants, his thrusts growing quicker, ever deeper, more urgent. "Oh Maker, Saoirse."
She lifts her legs and wraps them around his waist, pulling him as deep as she can, wanting somehow, to match his desperation. His power flares and the hands gripping her shoulders are suddenly alive, burning with sensation and she cries out as it shatters brightly across her vision. He lets out a mighty groan and thrusts impossibly hard and she clenches around him, her own climax so fierce she is afraid they've set the bed on fire. He collapses on her and she gently cradles his head in her hands, letting her legs fall back onto the bed as their breaths heave in their chests and their power gently settles back into the fade.
Was that the lightning trick? she wants to ask, but doesn't. This isn't the time for one of her smart remarks. He's just given her something that she hadn't even realised was precious to him and she wants to hold on to that moment. When he lifts his head and looks at her, his brown eyes full of feeling, she simply smiles, cupping his jaw, brushing her thumb along his cheekbone. I love you.
She sleeps for a time. When she wakes up he is still wrapped around her, warm and smooth and hard in all the right places and she lets out a satisfied sigh, thankful at least, that he's not going to run out the door and leave her. She gently untangles herself from his long limbs and pads to the dresser to drink some water, smoothing her hair and touching her neck where there is an obvious bruise. She calls forth a small shot of healing magic, smoothing the mark away. It wouldn't do for her mother to see it.
She looks back to the bed and sees she's been far from gentle herself - scratch marks mar one of Anders' shoulders. He looks so carefree, sprawled on the bed, more peaceful than she's ever seen him awake. She remembers in the deep roads, how troubled his sleep had been with darkspawn so near, and then of the tiny cot in the back room of the clinic where she had spent that one night - a dark, dingy place with nothing of him in it aside from his work - his herbs and his writing.
What else is there of him? The circle and the wardens have stripped him bare, and now Justice has pared him down to something that is nothing but a purpose… "How much of me is left if you strip both those out?"
She is suddenly aware that she may be the only thing he has ever been able to take for himself and she breathes in sharply. His eyes choose that moment to flutter open and his relaxed expression hardens for a moment before his head lifts and he sees her, by the fire. The sheer relief on his face makes her heart pound.
Oh Maker, Anders. I'm so sorry it took us this long.
He hides the feeling quickly with a lazy smirk that makes her breath quicken, uncurls from the bed and pads over to her. She sighs as he wraps his arms around her waist and nuzzles at her ear.
"I love you," he says. "I've been holding back from saying that. You should have a normal life, not be tied down to a fugitive with no future. But… I don't ever want to leave you."
She smiles, tipping her head back and calling forth a small ball of power in her hand. "A normal life was never really on the cards for me, love," she says, then pokes his rib. "And you're too skinny. Want a sandwich?"
He chuckles. "You'll be an inspiration to generations of romantic poets. And I wouldn't say no to a sandwich."
She leans up and kisses him, then searches for clothing on the floor. It's rumpled, but it's the middle of the night and there's no reason any of the household would be awake. She goes to the kitchen and piles a plate with bread and cheese and apples - then notices pork pies and grabs two of them as well. It wouldn't hurt for Anders to have a proper meal.
He is sitting on the bed cross-legged with a book of hers in his lap when she returns, laden with food. His eyes light up as he sees what she's brought.
"You brought me pie?" he says. The look on his face is comically grateful. "I love you sooo much."
She laughs in pleased surprise. "I didn't know pie was a favourite of yours. You never order it at the Hanged Man."
He has grabbed one of the pies and is busy stuffing it into his mouth. "Yes, well. I like eatable pies. The ones at the Hanged Man are made out of the rats that drown in the whiskey barrels."
He chews and swallows, sighing happily, leaning his head back against the bedboard and closing his eyes. She simply watches him, drinking in how different he is while still being the same man she loves. Relaxed. Happy.
"I want to keep you there, like that, for the next ten years," she says impulsively. His eyes open and he smirks at her.
"Truly? Because the Templars were sniffing around my place yesterday. It's quite possible I'll need somewhere else to go…"
She raises an eyebrow at him, hope blaring in her chest. After all these years of wanting… is he truly…?
"…would here be a possibility?"
"Permanently?" she knows she sounds squeaky. Why does she always sound squeaky when things are important?
"Well… yes. Um. I thought you might appreciate not having to step over the drunkards in Darktown whenever you want to see me…"
"Uh… I …." his face is hopeful and open and truly, where else does he have to go? "Absolutely!" she says.
He puts the pie down on the plate and smiles at her, reaching out a hand to touch her fingers. The jolt of electricity that goes through her has nothing to do with magic.
"For three years I've lain awake every night aching for you," he says softly. "I'm still terrified I'm going to wake up."
She laces her fingers with his and squeezes. "I love you," she says.