I wrote a thing for the Saturday thread as usual! Read it here or on Reddit!
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The voices, the crowd murmuring behind them hovering in the back of the keep like a captive audience, even Justice’s commanding voice drifting through his thoughts, were all mute. Like cotton was stuffed into his ears, all sound was muffled, heard only vaguely through a stifling blanket of fear that plagued his conscious mind. No amount of urging from the restless Spirit could break the tension gripping Anders while he stood stone-still with eyes locked on his beloved. Hawke skirted around another pillar, already showing signs of weariness by the sweat on his brow and heaving chest as he stopped to lob a fireball at the monstrous Qunari leader. The Arishok had swung, narrowly missing Wyatt by some Maker-granted miracle and the head of his gargantuan weapon had been stuck, however briefly, in the wall, granting the mage with an opening.
Anders’ fingers, clenched frightfully tight into fists at his sides, twitched as he fought the creep of Fade energy. Justice was not content to sit idly by as the man they cared for raced against his own body’s limitations, outmatched by that of his foe. No number of lyrium potions could possibly make up the considerable difference between them.
This is unjust, his spectral companion seethed.
Hawke was fierce on the field, commanding a formidable control over his magic and having a keen sense of combat overall. It showed in his movements, akin to a mesmerizing dance and left many impressed and excited, but -
No. It was not simply unjust. It was agony.
Anders strained against Aveline’s vigilant eye, and though she did not physically restrain him from rushing into the fray, he almost wished that she would. Despite his feelings over such an arrangement, Anders was wise enough to know anyone who dared to interfere would risk not simply their own lives, but could just as easily turn the delicate tide too far in favor of the horned barbarian. Any attempt to help Hawke could mean getting him killed instead.
How quaint. How perfectly poetic would it have been for the healer to lose his head while trying to perform triage? Bile, bitter and acidic, rose into his esophagus and lingered on the tip of his tongue.
Trust! Anders shouted at himself in a feeble attempt to reframe his grim thoughts, repeating it like a mantra as if it would become truth by doing so. Trust that Hawke knows what he’s doing.
They had faced countless dangers together in times past, fought back to back, surrounded on all sides by threats and come out alive and more competent for it. Yet this was hardly a fight, more of a death sentence. Glimmers of fury lapped at his heart, for his love’s plight, for the elf (who dared to call himself Hawke’s friend) and his orchestrating the duel, for Isabela and her theft of their sacred text (the very spark that triggered this entire conflict)-
Anders...
Justice pleaded again. Shut up, the mage wanted to say to him, just let me be angry, but he didn’t have to. He never did. Not when the spirit was so intrinsically tied to him and could infer his host’s feelings without being told.
As steel screeched violently against stone and flesh, Anders screwed his eyes shut and scrambled to reach for less harrowing thoughts.
What pushed through was the ghost of a smile on Hawke’s face when confronted with a startled apostate, freshly mana starved and relying on the inner strength of the spirit within him to maintain even a fraction of a presence after a group of refugees strolled into his clinic.
His own voice echoed ominously in his ears, “I have made this place a sanctum of healing, and salvation. Why do you threaten it?”
Eyes wide and bluer than the lyrium in his potion bottles had glittered with fascination and the tallest of the trio held his hands up in a gesture of peace. “I apologize for bursting in. Didn’t mean to startle you.”
Though his hackles were still raised, Anders allowed himself to lean against the support beam and the grip on his staff loosened just enough, even as Justice chided him for letting his guard drop. Something told him, whispered on the wind that it was okay, but perhaps that would come back around to smite him later…
In through his nose and out through pursed lips, Anders breathed, fighting his own thin patience. He pried his eyes open long enough to see the fight still continued, but ice flushed through his veins when they spied the blood, scarlet life force, trailing behind Hawke whos gait was visibly hindered.
No!
Panic drew his focus away and ebbed at his hold on the here and now while Justice surged closer to the surface, desperation pushing on his subconscious mind. No, this would not do- A squelch, a gruesome sound, followed by the bellow of anguish were the only reason he maintained any semblance of control. Grisly shrieks and jeers from the crowd erupted as Hawke wrenched the Qunari’s blade from his chest (he had been pinned, horrifically, by way of impaling. Maker’s breath how was he still-
Anders! Now!
But he couldn’t move, his legs would not obey his command, his heart hammered away in his chest, and the blood rushing through him was too loud in his ears.
“Damnit Blondie, get out there!” A weighty hand clapped him on the back and he rocked forward but found his pathetic stupor successfully thwarted. Why had he hesitated? Andraste’s ass, if those wasted seconds cost Hawke his life, he would never forgive himself…
Anders swallowed the hard lump in his throat, choked it down so he could find his voice and force his way through the gathered onlookers. “Please, everyone step aside.” Many heeded his request before seeing the blue halo of magic engulf his hands by the time he had reached his lover’s side. Slick with sweat and blood, Anders grimaced but summoned will and mana both, desperate to remain focused and keep the man stable.
“Tha - that’s a lot - blood,” Wyatt mumbled, feebly as his lips quirked with the threat of a chuckle a distressingly sad smile.
Hawke’s penchant for poorly timed humor earned from Anders a whimpered scoff, “This is no time for jokes,” you hopeless, reckless idiot - but his thoughts were derailed by the flash of pain in the mage’s eyes before they quivered and closed. “We have to get him to the clinic! Quickly!”
None dared to protest him howling orders, not when they too saw the gaping wound on Hawke’s chest, and the blood steadily seeping through his leathers. Even now, their kiss before the battle, too hard and too fast (not at all like their first, shared in the clinic some time ago), lingered on Anders’ lips, now humming with the taste of the Fade the closer Justice pushed. For once, he was in agreement - they would need to work as one if there was to be any chance of Hawke’s survival...
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
So I attempted a thing for Valentine’s Day... it became smut. Oops. Posted here but also over on AO3. Technically part of my bigger fic but works 100% as a stand-alone.
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Anders/Dorian Pavus
Characters: Anders (Dragon Age), Dorian Pavus, Minor Ser Pounce-a-lot
Additional Tags: Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Romantic Fluff, Smut, Valentine's Day, Valentine's Day Fluff, A couple lines of sorta angst, because I can't just let them be happy, this didn't start out as smut but it happened..., Modern Thedas, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting,
Summary:
It's been a long All Hearts Day for Anders (why can't people stop getting injured for one day?) but he comes home to a wonderful surprise.
All Hearts Day was a surprisingly busy time at the clinic: everything from burns, to stab wounds from jealous lovers, to injuries to more…sensitive parts of the body. It was much later then he’d hoped by the time Anders was able to head upstairs to his apartment. He felt guilty; he hadn’t even had the chance to call Dorian and planned to do that as soon as he got in. He knew Dorian was excited at the idea of actually being able to celebrate their relationship – something he would never have been able to do back in Tevinter.
He'd barely opened the door to his apartment when he stopped and looked curiously into the room. There was a table just inside the door which shouldn’t have been there. He sent his magelight up and increased the brightness to have a proper look around his apartment. There was wine. Candles. Food on the stove. And was that rose petals leading back to his bedroom alcove? Anders had to remind himself to breathe.
But where was Dorian?
As he shut the door, slipping off his coat, Anders heard a soft snore from the living room. Moving quietly to the sofa, he peeked over the back. The sight that greeted him was downright domestic and it made him smile. He hadn’t expected Dorian to be waiting in his apartment, but it was a happy surprise.
Dorian lay stretched out with a book sprawled on his chest having fallen asleep while he was reading, as he often did. He looked so peaceful when he slept. He was wearing the purple button-down shirt that was one of Anders’ favourites, and the earring Anders had given him on Satinalia winked from Dorian’s left ear. Anders’ smile widened into a grin when he noticed Pounce curled up on Dorian’s stomach wearing a red bow tied around his neck. Red really wasn’t a good colour for an orange cat and it had probably grated on Dorian to put it on, which made the gesture that much sweeter.
Both his boys were dressed up just for him. Anders pulled his phone from his pocket and took a picture to capture the moment. He was acquiring quite the collection of pictures, something he never pictured doing. Memory saved, he moved around to the front of the sofa and set his phone on the table next to Dorian’s. Pounce eyed him but didn’t show any sign of vacating Dorian’s stomach. He did, however, begin to purr.
Dorian shifted, disturbed by the vibrations of the purr, but not waking. Anders crouched down, gently removed the book and added it to the table.
“My love.” He brushed his thumb along Dorian’s jaw and leaned in to kiss his forehead.
“Mmm. Amatus, you’re home,” Dorian mumbled sleepily, peeking through his lashes. He snaked a hand around the back of Anders’ neck and pulled him down for a gentle kiss. Anders sighed, relaxing into it. The kiss deepened and Anders pressed a hand against the back of the sofa to keep from tipping. Dorian twisted and propped himself up on his elbow to get closer, jostling Pounce onto the floor. The cat meowed in protest, making Anders chuckle against Dorian’s lips. Anders pulled back slowly and sat back on his heels with a soft smile.
“You both look so handsome.” He ran one hand down Dorian’s chest, smoothing a wrinkle in his shirt and petting Pounce with the other. “I’m sorry I’m so late. I appear to have ruined a wonderful surprise.”
Anders stood and held out his hand, which Dorian quickly took. Letting Anders pull him up and into a tight hug, Dorian nuzzled his face into his neck, earning a small shiver as his moustache tickled the sensitive skin behind Anders’ ear.
“Don’t worry, amatus. That is a risk one runs when orchestrating a surprise: only one person knows the schedule.” Anders felt Dorian smile against his neck. Dorian was so patient with him and his late nights at the clinic.
“But you put so much work in. It looks lovely.” He stepped back, doing an obvious once-over of the apartment. “Did you cook?” He tried not to sound incredulous.
Dorian’s smile was shy. “I did. With varying degrees of success.”
“Thank you!” Anders beamed, truly happy. He was a firm believer that it was the gesture that mattered, so would be happy no matter Dorian’s success in the kitchen. Holding Dorian’s hand, he led him around the sofa and toward the kitchen. “So, what’s for dinner?”
“A Tevinter peasant dish. I wanted to give you a taste of my homeland.” Dorian extricated his hand from Anders’, going to fuss in the kitchen.
“I’ve already had one taste of Tevinter… and I’m a big fan.” Anders looked Dorian up and down slowly, making sure the other man noticed. That earned him a snort.
“Sometimes I wonder why I love you.” Dorian rolled his eyes even as his cheeks darkened with a blush. He set about reheating the meal, using a touch of magic to speed up the process. Anders leaned against the counter, watching Dorian work.
When the sauce was simmering, Dorian stepped away from the stove and over to the table. “If you would.” He pulled out a chair with a sweep of his hand. Anders smiled and placed a light kiss on Dorian’s cheek before sitting. Dorian pushed the chair in, returning the kiss with one to the top of Anders’ head.
With a small flick of his hand, Dorian called flames to life on the candles in the middle of the small table. Even though he could do the same himself, the act made Anders grin. Always the showman, his Dorian. He reached out and gave Dorian’s arm a gentle squeeze before he could move away.
Candles lit and Anders seated, Dorian returned to the kitchen. Anders watched him move about the small space, grace and confidence despite his unfamiliarity with the act of cooking. He was beautiful. Anders felt he could watch Dorian forever and never tired of it.
“It smells wonderful.” Anders inhaled deeply, enjoying the scent of warm spices.
“It reminds me of Sundays back in Tevinter,” Dorian said a bit wistfully before pulling rice from the microwave, swearing under his breath as he was bathed in steam.
Anders tried not to laugh at the Tevene curse, which he sometimes found himself using these days. Too much time spent with Dorian, not that he believed such a thing was possible. “Do you need my services? You won’t be my first burn of the day.”
“I appear unharmed.” Dorian looked over his shoulder with a predatory grin and added, “However, I may require a thorough examination after dinner… Just to be sure.”
“Assuming we both survive the meal.”
“Oh, ye of little faith.” Dorian finished scooping sauce onto the rice and brought two shallow bowls to the table. He set them down, brushing against Anders’ shoulder in the process. Before seating himself, he poured each of them a glass of wine. With the candles to light their meal, Anders let his magelight go out.
Dorian watched Anders expectantly, obviously waiting for a reaction to the food. Always aiming to please, Anders immediate dug in. Some of the spices were familiar. He tried to separate the flavours but the sauce was well balanced and he found he couldn’t. The chicken buried under the sauce was dry but otherwise the dish seemed to be successful. After swallowing his first bite he smiled at Dorian. “It’s delicious.” He took another bite to underline the point.
Dorian visibly relaxed. He let out a sigh and returned the smile before digging into the dish himself. As he chewed, Anders circled back to a comment Dorian had made earlier. “Why does the dish remind you of Sundays?”
“My father gave the servants Sundays off. This meant there were no cooks in the kitchen to make us our meals.”
Anders knew Dorian often felt guilty telling Anders about his coddled upbringing. Between that and the strained relationship with his parents, it was hard getting him to talk about his past in Tevinter. He smiled encouragingly to keep Dorian talking.
“Not surprisingly, neither my mother nor my father were particularly skilled in the culinary arts. Breakfast was whatever we could grab or not easily ruin – fruit, toast, some nuts. Lunch was a similar affair. But dinner…” Dorian’s face took on a thoughtful expression. “We tried to have Sunday dinners together. It was an informal family gathering. We’d go to the kitchens and I’d help my mother prepare dinner. This dish was the only thing she really knew how to make. A cook that worked for her parents had taught her when she was young.”
While Dorian shrugged the story off by taking a small sip of his wine, Anders was moved, a warm ache permeating in his chest. Not only had Dorian talked about his family without the usual pain and anger, but he was sharing one of his family’s traditions.
“I am sure your mother would be proud at how good this is.” The words were out before Anders knew what he was saying. He recognized his mistake too late, watching Dorian deflate.
“Of course - it was my ability to successfully execute a basic peasant dish which was missing all these years. Yes, this is what would make her proud of me.”
Anders was out of his chair and crouching beside Dorian as fast as his lanky frame allowed. He took both of Dorian’s hands in his, stopping their fussing with the edge of the tablecloth. He rubbed light circles across the tense knuckles and turned Dorian’s hands over so he could kiss both palms.
“I’m proud of you. You’re a kind, generous, brilliant, beautiful person.” Anders stressed each word with a kiss. “The meal is delicious, and this is the most wonderful and thoughtful thing anyone has ever done for me.” None of that was a lie.
The storm which had been brewing across Dorian’s face was chased away and replaced by a small, sad smile. He leaned forward, pressing a kiss to Anders’ temple. “I’m sorry for ruining it,” he mumbled into the healer's rose gold hair.
“When you’re with me, nothing can be ruined.” Anders lifted his chin, stealing a small kiss from Dorian’s lips. “Now let’s finish this wonderful meal so I can give you your All Hearts Day gift.” He released Dorian’s hands after a quick squeeze and returned to his seat.
The mood was more subdued than when they’d started, but after a couple glasses of wine Dorian seemed to bounce back. His excitement over the meal returned with dessert. As soon as Anders had finished his main course Dorian hopped up and rushed into the kitchen.
“This,” he said, holding up a heart-shaped pie with a grin, “This was all me.”
As a healer, there was an extra bit of amusement in watching Dorian cut into a heart and have it ooze red filling. The slices of pie were a mess - broken and sloppy. The edges were crusted with burnt sugar and the bottom crust wasn’t quite cooked through. Anders would go back to the Circle before he’d ever say so though. Instead, he ate his strawberry pie and smiled.
“Wonderful, as expected,” he said, as he pushed aside a mostly empty plate. A small lie, but one he felt was justified. The burnt crust was beyond salvaging and remained. Dorian grinned at the praise, which wouldn’t have been comical except the edges of his moustache were smeared with strawberry filling. Anders mostly loved the moustache but moments like this made him wonder why any man would want one. He leaned across the table, careful to avoid the candles as he reached out. “You’ve got a little something…” He swiped his thumb along the moustache, gathering up the strawberry filling.
Before Anders could pull his hand back, Dorian seized his wrist. He raised an eyebrow in question and when he received no protest, Dorian ran his tongue over Anders’ thumb. The trail of warmth left by Dorian’s tongue turned cool in the air, the change in temperature making Anders shiver. Dorian cleaned the filling from Anders’ thumb with small, tentative licks before drawing the thumb into his mouth. He sucked gently, drawing a small moan from Anders.
Anders wasn’t sure how long he sat frozen in his seat as Dorian worked his tongue over first his thumb and then each finger in turn in the name of “thorough cleaning”. He watched Dorian’s lips slide along his fingers, skin warm and tingling. He wanted more but his shoulder ached from the angle required to avoid the candles and he was forced to pull his hand back. Anders ran his returned thumb over his bottom lip, eyes locked to Dorian’s.
The Tevinter’s eyes were nearly black in the candlelight and followed the sweep of Anders’ thumb hungrily. Anders slid his thumb between his teeth, biting down lightly so his teeth scraped as he slowly pulled his thumb out of his mouth. The left side of his mouth quirked, taunting, as he sucked his thumb back between his lips. Dorian growled, a low guttural sound, and pushed his chair back. He seemed about to rise but reconsidered. Instead, he settled back into the chair, lounging as he watched. He ran a hand down his abdomen before resting it on his leg, rubbing light circles on the inside of his thigh. Anders tried not to grin, knowing Dorian was trying not to touch himself.
With his free hand, Anders removed the tie in his hair. A cascade of blond strands fell across his face, and he pushed them back, drawing his fingers through his hair and then languidly down the side of his neck. He trailed his fingers down, hooked his thumb under the collar of his t-shirt, stretching it down until a there was a hint of blond hair. He repeated the movement, fingers danced over his clavicle and along his neck.
The intensity of Dorian’s gaze made Anders flush. He tried to tease, sliding his thumb in and out between his lips while running his other hand down his chest, but his own touch was quickly becoming insufficient. Dorian must have reached his limit as well, for he was up and around the table. He grabbed Anders’ shoulders and pulled him up into a scorching kiss. Anders groaned against soft lips.
They parted with a gasp, both men having to breathe.
“Come.” Dorian took Anders’ hand, drawing him along the trail of rose petals.
“The candles…” Anders protested, albeit weakly.
Dorian grinned, snapping the fingers of his free hand and called ice over the flames, snuffing them out. “Handled.”
Without the candles, the only light came from the windows and that didn’t reach the bedroom alcove. Light wasn’t necessary, but Anders preferred being able to see his lover. He called tiny magelights to hover over the bed, hoping his concentration would hold as Dorian drew him back in for another kiss.
This kiss quickly became frantic. Anders ran his tongue over Dorian’s lower lip before drawing it between his teeth and worrying at it as he’d done his thumb. Just enough pressure to earn a moan, not enough to draw blood.
Their hands worked at buttons and zippers, the kiss only breaking when Anders pulled his shirt over his head. Dorian carded his fingers through the blond curls on Anders’ chest, nails scratching lightly over his skin and making Anders shiver. Dorian's fingers followed the trail of hair down and down, until they were running along the edge of Anders’ pants, light and teasing.
Anders pressed his hips forward with a tiny whimper and another bite on Dorian’s lip. He loved how Dorian teased, but it had been a long day and he wasn’t sure how much more he could take. He ran his own nails down Dorian’s spine and dipped them into the loosened waist of his pants. Grabbing Dorian’s ass, perhaps a bit rougher than he’d intended, he pressed their hips together. Both men moaned, the sound muffled by their kiss. Anders rolled his hips, earning another moan and Dorian pulled back.
“Amatus,” he gasped, a note of warning in his voice.
“Yes, my love?” Anders grinned and wiggled. Two could play the teasing game.
Dorian huffed, grabbed Anders’ arms and forced his hands away. No more tease. With quick, practised moves Dorian removed their remaining clothing. When they were both naked, Dorian grabbed Anders’ shoulders and pushed him onto the bed, quickly straddling his hips. He leaned down, framing Anders’ face with his hands, and grinned.
“I’m ready for my examination now, doctor.”
“That’s not as sexy as you think it is.” Anders laughed, bucking his hips up and rolling Dorian onto his back. “And I’m not sure I have the patience for a thorough examination right now.” He pressed his hips down. Dorian gasped.
With hands on Dorian’s shoulders to keep him in place, Anders nibbled along his neck and shoulder and worked his way down his chest. He paused at his nipples and swirled his tongue over the darker skin of first one, then the other. He alternated between licking, sucking and gently biting until Dorian was squirming and moaning beneath him. Anders paused to look up to Dorian’s face, thankful he had the magelights to see by. Dorian rarely let go completely but when he did, he was breathtaking. Dorian's face was flush, lips glistening and parted as he panted, eyes hooded as he watched Anders through his lashes.
As he continued his trail of kisses and nibbles further down, Anders was forced to move his hands from Dorian’s shoulders. He drew his nails along Dorian's chest, following his path of kisses until his hands reached Dorian’s hips. He paused again, hovering over Dorian’s straining cock. He glanced up, meeting lust-filled grey eyes.
“But I definitely have time for another taste of Tevinter.” Anders smirked before lowering his head and taking Dorian's cock to the hilt in one quick move. He relaxed his throat and jaw, feeling the twitch of Dorian’s cock in his throat. Anders held still, pressing his fingers into Dorian’s hips while Dorian groaned and tried to arch off the bed.
Slowly, Anders slid back up until only the head of Dorian’s cock remained between his lips. He sucked gently and swirled his tongue over the head. He reveled in the moans and pleas that spilled from Dorian. He was achingly hard just from listening to them.
“Anders,” Dorian gasped, moving his hand down and tangling it in Ander's long, blond hair. He pulled, not painfully but enough to make his point, and Anders drew back, releasing Dorian's cock with an obscene pop.
“What do you need, love?” He slid up Dorian’s body until his lips were brushing Dorian’s.
“You.” Dorian still had his hand wrapped in Ander's hair and used his grip to pull Anders into another bruising kiss. Anders parted his lips, savoring the taste of wine and spices on Dorian’s tongue. As they kissed, Dorian rolled Anders onto his back. He slid his other hand in between them, brushing lightly over Anders’ erection and sending tingles up his spine, before moving lower.
Anders felt Dorian's cool, slick fingers pressing into him and shifted to provide easier access. Until Dorian, he’d forgotten the joys of sleeping with another mage – not just the use of ice or electricity to enhance the pleasure, but even just not having to interrupt the moment to dig around in a drawer for lubricant.
The fingers worked quickly, not needing to open him up, only spreading the lubricant. Anders moaned against Dorian’s lips and murmured, “Please… I’m ready,” and pressed into the fingers to emphasize the point.
Dorian sat back on his heels, stroking himself deliberately to apply the lubricant to his cock. He moved his hand slowly, base to tip, panting as he rubbed his thumb across the head before sliding his hand back down his shaft.
Anders watched, moaning at the sight. He wrapped a hand around his own cock but only managed a couple strokes before Dorian seized his thighs and lifted his legs to rest on Dorian’s hips. He pressed back against Dorian as he pushed inside, urging him on.
Even with Anders’ urging, Dorian took his time. He pressed in slowly, stopping when he bottomed out to allow Anders to adjust. Anders panted, wrapped his legs tightly around Dorian’s hips and pressed until there was movement. Dorian’s thrusts started gentle, barely more than a rolling of his hips. It was intimate and loving but Anders needed more. He wrapped his hands around the back of Dorian’s head and pulled him down until his lips met his ear. The warmth of spices mixed with the musky scent of arousal and Anders took a moment to breathe in the scent that was uniquely Dorian. He bit Dorian’s earlobe and murmured, in a voice hoarse with lust, “Fuck me, Dorian.”
Dorian growled, gripped tight around Anders’ hips and pulled back slowly, before slamming back in. The headboard thudded against the wall. Dorian thrust again, this time angling his hips, hitting Anders’ prostate. Sparks of the nonmagical variety shot up Anders’ spine and he gasped Dorian’s name. He knew there’d be bruises tomorrow from Dorian’s grip on his hips, and he loved it.
At the new pace, it wasn’t long before Anders felt the tight coil of an approaching orgasm. His cock lay between them, untouched and leaking.
“Dorian, please…Touch me. I’m so close,” he practically whined. Dorian rewarded him by wrapping a hand tightly around his cock, matching the strokes to the thrusts of his hips. Dorian’s thrusts quickly lost their rhythm, signaling he was close as well.
“Come for me, amatus.” Dorian pressed closer, biting Anders’ shoulder, sucking the skin between his teeth. Anders whimpered, not sure if he wanted to thrust up into Dorian’s fist or back to meet his thrusts, writhing beneath his lover’s attention.
Voice low and thick, Dorian repeated, “Come for me,” and Anders gasped. The magelights winked out and plunged them into darkness as Anders’ concentration was destroyed. He jerked up into Dorian’s fist, his orgasm rolling through him. He was still riding out the waves of pleasure when Dorian made one final thrust, teeth biting deeper into Anders’ shoulder. Deep enough to leave a mark. Anders was filled with warmth and moaned quietly as he felt Dorian’s cock pulse inside him. He wrapped his arms around Dorian’s chest and pulled him down to press their bodies together.
As the orgasmic haze dissipated, Anders nuzzled against Dorian’s neck, trailing soft kisses along his neck and jaw. “Happy All Hearts Day, love.”
They lay together, Anders’ spend a sticky mess cooling between them, until Dorian shivered. Dorian’s northern blood still hadn’t adjusted to Kirkwall’s winter and Anders’ apartment was on the cooler side. Reluctantly, Anders released Dorian, letting him roll away to flop on his back.
“I’ll be right back.” Anders slipped off the bed, padding into the little bathroom to clean himself up.
He returned to the bed and sat next to Dorian, a damp cloth in his hand warm enough it was sending steam into the cool air. He gently wiped away the hardening mess on Dorian’s abdomen and chest and leaned down to place a soft, chaste kiss on Dorian’s lips. Dorian was starting to doze off.
“Oh no. You can’t sleep quite yet. I haven’t give you your gift.” Anders tapped Dorian lightly on the nose, the same gesture he used on Pounce to get his attention.
“That wasn’t my present?” Dorian grunted, opening one eye.
“Of course it wasn’t. If you recall, I didn’t even start that.” Anders grinned, standing. He tossed the cloth into the bathroom, possibly hitting the sink, possibly not; he’d figure that out later. Hopefully not by slipping in the middle of the night. He walked into the living room, stark naked, to rummage through the bookcase.
When he returned to the bed, Dorian had slid under the blankets and had the duvet pulled up to his chin. Pounce had arrived and was curled up next to him, purring as his chin was scratched. Clutching a package wrapped in paper to hit chest, Anders stopped to watch. Dorian’s hair and moustache were completely disheveled, and his eyeliner was smeared. This was Anders’ second favourite way of seeing him, and watching him affectionately pet Pounce made Anders’ heart sing.
“What?” Dorian arched a brow.
“Just enjoying the view.” Anders smiled, moving to the bed. He settled next to Dorian, legs crossed and elbows on his knees as he handed over the gift. He set his chin in his hands, watching closely as Dorian took the package. It was wrapped in red paper featuring little cartoon cats holding hearts. Anders hadn't been able to resist when he’d seen the paper in the shop window.
Dorian smirked as he turned the present over. He was meticulous even when unwrapping a gift. The tape was removed slowly, not leaving a mark on the paper, and he didn’t unwrap until all corners had been released and folded back. As he pulled back the paper, the smirk grew into a grin. As he turned the item over in his hands, he began to laugh.
The present was a photobook. It had an expensive leather cover with a heart-shaped window which framed an image of Anders in nothing but cat ears and a collar, hair down and messy. His groin was tastefully hidden by his arm as he leaned towards the camera in a crouch. Anders watched Dorian flip through the pages, trying not to blush. The photos ranged from almost innocent poses of him in his tightest cat shirt and briefs to implied nudes, like the cover image. Anders waited for Dorian to say something but got nervous when he didn’t. He’d thought it was a perfect mix of sexy and fun but was suddenly feeling self-conscious.
“What do you think?” He prompted.
There was a moment where Dorian didn’t move or speak, he just stared down at the book. When he finally looked up at Anders, he had a thoughtful expression.
“It’s… wonderful.” He set the book aside, reaching out and grabbing Anders’ hand and squeezed it. “Just tell me you didn’t have Isabela take these,” he said with a grin.
“Never in a million Ages,” Anders laughed.
Dorian pulled him against his chest and wrapped his arms around his waist. He pressed a kiss into Anders’ hair, murmuring, “Thank you, amatus.”
Warm and safe, Anders let his eyes drift shut as he listened to the beat of Dorian’s heart. Steady and strong. Just as he was drifting off, he felt the rumble of Dorian’s voice against his ear.
“Does that collar have a leash that goes with it?”
The Place Where I Belong, Interlude V: The Art of Missing You
Anders jolted awake in the middle of the night to the sound of his phone vibrating on the nightstand. For a moment he stared at the ceiling in a disoriented daze and tried to remember where he was, and then he felt Nathaniel’s fingers sleepily twine with his beneath the sheets. He ignored the clench in his chest and plucked the phone up with his other hand and answered the call curiously.
Silence met his words. He pulled the phone away from his face and stared at the number quizzically. It was a Fereldan number, but he didn't recognize the area code.
“Hello? Is anyone there?”
Nathaniel stirred and clicked on the lamp. “Who in the Maker's name is calling at this hour?” he grumbled.
Part of him, the part that had a tragic tendency to cling to the impossible with idiotically fragile hope, wondered if Hawke had finally come around. If she missed him too, somehow, if she'd finally reached out and simply didn't have the words to say what she needed to say.
Improbable at best. Horribly unlikely. He wanted to say her name anyway. I know it's you, love, please say something. I miss you terribly.
“Must be a wrong number,” he said instead.
I'm not whole without you.
“Hello?” He tried again anyway, and maybe his voice was tinged slightly with manic desperation, but he wanted, wanted so desperately for the impossible to be true. “Anyone?”
Three beeps sounded in his ear. Whoever it was had hung up.
For @oblivianrose as part of the Let it Glow Event by @teamblueandangry. I’m so excited to write for you. :)
Summary: Act II--Anders wakes up in Hawke’s bed for the first time. Inner monologue rambles. Anders’ POV, first person, present tense.
You can read this and my other Let it Glow fills on Ao3 here.
Before I open my eyes, I’m aware that I’m not in Darktown. For starters, there’s a pillow under my head and I’m not mysteriously wet or freezing. More convincing, though, is the slow breathing of someone next to me. It’s melodic, really—a concerto begging for harmony and counterpoint.
I blink incredibly slowly. The first thing I see is red—the bedspread, the canopy, the carpet. And then it’s him—Hawke—the person I’ve secretly loved for three years. And I’m left wondering: how did we get here? ...to the place where my dreams are finally materializing?
He moves suddenly. I’m so shocked I almost fall out of bed. I’m not sure why—he’s a human; it’s normal to move.
“Hi,” he mumbles.
I smile and blink a few more times—just to make sure he isn’t a mirage.
The next second, he’s pulled me across the sheets into his arms and he’s kissing my cheek and nose and lips. Objectively speaking, I’m sure he tastes terrible—we drank too much and made love and probably slept with our mouths open—but I’ve never tasted anything so good in my life. It tastes like the beginning—like preamble to a story we haven’t even begun to write; like the overture to the most moving symphony.
When we separate, I’m ready to run. He’s scary up close—too beautiful and perfect to really look at.
“I better get going,” I mumble against his lips.
He raises an eyebrow, “No…”
I’m flushed—I can feel it.
“I told you I wanted you to stay,” he says. “I meant it.”
As I’m processing what ‘stay’ could possibly mean in this context, I realize my hands are caged in front of my chest—bent and slightly numb. I try to free them without brushing against him, but fail. He treats that as an invitation and rolls me onto my back.
He’s smiling again, “Besides… we’ve only just begun…”
I blink, “Begun what?”
“The process of showing each other all the things we’ve wanted to do for three years…”
He kisses, touches, rolls, and roils. It’s so sweet that I’m having an out of body experience. Justice insists that I need to get up, but I ignore him. I know this can’t last forever—experience has taught me that nothing good ever does. But right now, with Hawke in my arms—his tongue in my mouth and hands in my hair—I can’t pull back. I need this. I need him.
Thanks for giving me an opportunity to write a new pairing! :) I hope you like this gift and have a wonderful holiday! :)
