aubb - pt 2

[an_ardent_rain]

Title: For Man is a Giddy Thing
Fandom: Dragon Age 2
Author: an_ardent_rain
Artist: pyalgroundblz
Character(s)/Pairing: Hawke x Anders
Written For: au_bigbang
Word Count: ~15,100
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Not mine.

part 1



Aveline clears her throat awkwardly, looking down at the cup of coffee in front of her.

Hawke, puzzled, draws his brows together and glances from Aveline to Anders, looking for explanation. Anders just shrugs. “Aveline?” he asks, almost hesitantly, “Is there a reason you’re having a longer conversation with your coffee than you are with us?”

She looks over at Anders significantly and says “When I asked to talk, Hawke, I thought it would be just you and me.”

“Oh don’t mind me,” Anders says, throwing his hands up level with his shoulders, palms out, looking distinctly unthreatening, “I’d be happy to leave if - “

“Stay,” Hawke says, grabbing the back of his chair and tugging him closer. Anders glares and then moves his chair back. “Stay,” he says again, his tone gentler. He looks to Aveline, nodding his head towards Anders apologetically and Anders is tempted to just up and leave out of sheer exasperation. He is justifiably defensive, he thinks, as it certainly isn’t his behavior that would require an apology. “Aveline, you said several times over the phone that it wasn’t a big deal, that it wasn’t at all important. That you only needed a favor.”

“Well that’s true, Hawke, but it’s a... private favor.” Aveline’s cheeks redden and she shifts uncomfortably in her seat. “It’s embarrassing.”

“I really don’t understand why you’re so eager I stay,” Anders says, not caring that he sounds petulant. “I could get us more coffee. Or I could just meet up with you later.”

“No, it’s...” Aveline says, her usual blunt tongue suddenly hesitant. She sighs. “It’s fine if you want to stay,” she says to Anders - and he doesn’t, he doesn’t want to get involved, he just wants to drink his coffee and go - “but you have to help, too.” Her gaze is stern for a moment before she seems to remember that she’s asking for a favor, and then her face shifts into something more like supplication. “Please.”

“He’d be happy to help,” Hawke answers for him, slinging an arm across the back of Anders’ chair.

Anders just sighs. “Of course,” he says flatly. “I’d be happy to help.”

Aveline looks surprised. “There’s... someone on the guy’s rugby team. Donnic.” She worries her lip between her teeth. “He’s very good.”

Hawke and Anders exchange a look. “And... what?” Hawke asks. “Isn’t that a good thing?”

“Of course it’s good. He’s one of the best players on the team. He’s strong, reliable...”

It hasn’t hit Hawke yet but suddenly Anders understands. He stifles a smile. “And let me guess. Also very handsome?”

Aveline rolls her eyes but nods, the blush coming back into her face. “Yes. And that.”

“Aveline!” Hawke says, sitting up. “You’re in love.”

“Hawke,” she says, brows drawing together, her tone chastising. “No. But I think, maybe, that I... could like him. A lot.”

“Well that’s wonderful!” Hawke says, beating a fist lightly on the table. “Have you asked him out yet?”

“That’s where, um.” She doesn’t meet his eye. “That’s where the favor I need comes in.”

“Donnic?” Hawke asks, coming up to the very man in the campus cafeteria. “You’re Donnic, right? On the rugby team?”

Donnic nods, looking a little confused and a lot uncomfortable at the large, bearded man who seems dead-set on accosting him. “That’s right,” he says. “Is there... something you need?”

Hawke seems to consider the question for a moment before saying “Are you free tonight?” Anders turns his sound of surprise into a dry cough; Hawke might be generally charming, he thinks, but it didn’t seem as though the man would know subtle if it danced out naked in front of him wearing a neon sign. Ander sighs.

Donnic blinks, looking a little caught off-guard. “Are you asking me out?”

Before Hawke has a chance to stick his foot in his mouth - something Anders is starting to believe very firmly he will do - Aveline, who’d been sitting nearby and probably listening, walks over.

“Oh! Hello, Donnic. Hawke.” She side-eyes the latter, letting him know in no uncertain terms that she’s displeased with his performance. Hawke, of course, doesn’t even bother looking sheepish. It only bothers Anders a little that she didn’t greet him, too.

“I don’t want to know for myself, but you... do have plans tonight, then?”

“Oh! You have plans?” Aveline asks, looking disappointed and what Anders suspects is her version of demure. He looks away and crosses his arms firmly over his chest, trying to avoid rolling his eyes. “That’s too bad, I was looking for a study partner.”

Donnic gives her a graceful smile. “As I was just about to tell Hawke,” he says, gesturing to the other man, “I actually don’t have plans tonight. I’d be more than happy to study with you, if you’d like.”

“That sounds good,” Aveline says. “Meet me on the first floor of the library, about seven? Does that sound okay?”

Donnic nods. Aveline smiles at him, and as they walk off together, she shoots Hawke a grateful wink.

It’s times like this, slinking along behind a row of hedges in the dim pull of twilight, that Anders wonders how he gets himself into so many situations. Situations, for example, like this one - where he and Hawke have been following Aveline and Donnic for an hour, making sure nothing on their pseudo-date went awry.

“These hedges are prickly,” Anders whispers hotly, shoving Hawke with the point of his elbow.

Hawke sighs dramatically. “Then don’t,” he says, pushing back, “stick your head between them. Just look over them, like I do.”

“Yes, and then they’ll see us.” Anders slinks down further, his face pinched in displeasure. “And obviously you aren’t worried about it, but I’d rather like not to have to face down a raging, angry Aveline.”

Hawke laughs quietly, the force of his breath rustling the leaves in front of him. “Well of course I’m not worried.” He lets off a cheeky grin. “She likes me.” He ducks down suddenly, putting a finger to his lips. “They’re coming closer,” he mouths.

They sit, silently, behind the bushes, waiting for Aveline and Donnic to pass. Hawke squeezes closer, pressing his side against Anders’. His body is firm and heavy with muscle, and Anders flushes a little, unable to help the small frisson of desire he feels.

As soon as the voices pass, Anders shoves Hawke away. “What is wrong with you?” he hisses.

Hawke just shrugs, brushing a bit of leaf out of his hair. He flicks it over at Anders. “I don’t know,” he says, “but I think Bethany has an annotated list if you’d like to take a look at it.”

Anders grunts at that and decides that maybe conversation isn’t the best way to go about the rest of their evening.

Aveline and Donnic are walking at a slow, leisurely pace, so it isn’t difficult to keep up with them. Anders would much prefer simply to walk a safe distance behind them, keeping safely out of sight, but that doesn’t conform to the kind of hands-on stalking Hawke seems to prefer. He wants to be near enough to hear them, and he even seems to get some sort of sick pleasure out of sneaking around and hiding in bushes. Like they’re having a damn adventure - like it’s fun.

They sprint behind a large tree, and then go around to the corner of a building. Aveline and Donnic aren’t saying much, just chatting occasionally about their schoolwork. It is, Anders thinks, incredibly dull, but something about the way Hawke’s grin lights up his entire face keeps him from complaining too much.

Everything’s going fine until Hawke sneezes.

He covers his mouth immediately, looking shame-facedly down at the ground. “Whoops,” he says quietly. Anders rolls his eyes. It wouldn’t be bad, of course - everybody sneezes - if it wasn’t for the fact that Aveline and Donnic were at a rather isolated part of campus and had apparently thought they were alone.

Donnic whirls around, looking suspicious. “Hello?” he says loudly. “Is anyone there?” Anders and Hawke stay still, out of sight. “I think someone’s following us,” Donnic says to Aveline. “Hold on a moment; I’ll check.”

“Okay,” Hawke says quietly, giving Anders a significant look. “Just follow my lead.”

But before Anders has a chance to ask him just what the hell he means by that, he’s stepping out from behind the building into plain sight.

“Hawke!” Donnic and Aveline say at the same time. Donnic sounds genuinely surprised, but Aveline’s voice is definitely tinged with anger.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Donnic asks. “Were you... were you following us?”

“I just... I just can’t take it anymore,” Hawke says melodramatically. “Aveline, how could you. I thought you loved me, but here you are, out with... him.”

“What.” Aveline shoots him a stony glare. “Hawke, what are you talking about?”

“Your new boyfriend, that’s what I’m talking about!” he says, pointing at Donnic. The whole farce is completely ridiculous and Anders decides that it would be better for all involved - and especially himself - if he just kept out of sight and didn’t complicate matters further. “Did you think you could hide him from me, Aveline? Hmm?”

“Hawke, he’s... not my boyfriend,” Aveline says, obviously growing more confused by the moment. Anders can’t blame her; he has no idea what the hell Hawke is trying to do.

“But you want him to be, don’t you!” Hawke accuses.

Aveline stutters for a second before Donnic says “Is that true?”

“Well... Maybe,” Aveline admits, “but I don’t why it’s any concern of Hawke’s. We’re not dating; we never have been.”

“Aveline,” Hawke says. Anders is, frankly, impressed by the sheer amount of histrionic dismay he manages to shove into that one word.

“Sorry, Hawke,” Aveline says, in a tone that’s close to the vocal equivalent of an eye roll. “I’m just not interested. To be honest,” she says, flatly, “I didn’t think you were, either.”

Hawke bows out gracefully after that, and ducks back behind to where Anders is still hiding as Aveline and Donnic walk away.

“That went well,” he says to Anders, looking far too pleased with himself for someone who had just put on such an incredibly foolish performance.

“Right,” Anders says. “It went... well.”

“Of course it did!” Hawke says with a wide, shit eating grin. “You heard them, didn’t you? They’ll be paired off by the end of the night.”

“If you say so, Hawke.”

Now that their ridiculous mission is over, there’s nothing left to do. Hawke just starts walking as they’re talking, though, and instead of excusing himself - as he knows he should - Anders just follows along. They don’t have any sort of set destination, and the conversation is surprisingly easy. Hawke is still pompous and a bit too pleased with himself overall, but instead of finding him insufferable as he was previously wont to do, Anders finds him truly charming. He doesn’t tell Hawke that, though; there’d be no living with him then.

“Well,” Anders says, pulling out his cell phone looking at the time. He'd forgotten to put on his watch that morning. “I think I ought to be going. This was... fun. I almost can’t believe I’m saying that.” He laughs a little, shaking his head. “But I have a couple of things I need to get done tonight, so. I’ll see you later, Hawke.”

“Before you go...” Hawke gives him a look Anders can’t quite read. It’s almost nervous, he thinks, if a man like Hawke ever has cause to feel anything like nerves.

“What is it?” Anders asks, taking a step closer. “Are you all right, Hawke?”

Hawke just hums out a sort of affirmative sound. “Call me Garrett,” he says after another second. “Not Hawke. I’ve been thinking about it and we’re friends, right? You might as well.” He shrugs and suddenly is back to his old self. “All right, Anders, see you later. Good night!”

“Yeah,” Anders says, half to himself, walking Hawke walk away. He stands there for a second or two longer, not entirely sure how to feel. “Good night.”

“Anders!” Hawke jogs up to him quickly, holding a hand up in greeting, wearing a big, friendly grin. Anders rolls his eyes and mutters a quick apology and goodbye to the student he’d been chatting with. He takes a few steps forward, cutting Hawke off before he could reach the bench he’d been sitting on.

“What do you want?”

“Remember how much you enjoyed stalking Aveline with me the other night?”

Anders adjusts the books in his arms. “If she’s given up on Donnic, that’s her problem, I’m not helping you get her another boyfriend.”

Hawke waves that worry quickly away. “Oh no, no, nothing like that. It’s Isabela this time.”

Anders’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Isabela? I’d have thought that if anything she’d need help keeping more partners away from her.”

Hawke shakes his head, looking annoyed. “Don't be ridiculous; of course it’s not that. It has nothing to do with any sort of relationship.”

“Well then what is it?”

Hawke shrugs, breaking off in a laugh. “I have no idea! She hasn’t told me yet, she just said she needed my help.”

“I’m just wondering,” Anders says, a little too casually, “do you do all the ridiculous favors your friends ask you to, or do you have some sort of monthly allotment?”

Hawke shrugs, looking - to Anders’ surprise - a little uncomfortable. “There’s nothing wrong with being helpful,” he says.

“Oh, er, well...” Anders clears his throat. “That’s true, I suppose.” He feels a little twinge of shame, and it’s that and not any desire to actually help Garrett Hawke - he tells himself several times later, to no avail - that leads him to say “Fine. Damn it, Garrett, fine. I’ll help.”

They meet Isabela that evening in the Hanged Man. Though he doesn't drink often, it's Anders's favorite bar, and apparently Hawke's and all of his friends' as well. It's one of the only bars in town Hawke will even visit, and probably the only one where no one says anything when Hawke brings in a male date. In light of that, Anders supposes, it's not very surprising they never go anywhere else. It also helps that Varric is there so often he has his own reserved table.

Isabela’s already nursing a beer when they arrive, looking much more put out than normal. Anders can hardly recall a time when Isabela has looked so serious, actually, and he’s a little relieved that he made the decision to assist her.

Hawke sits down beside her at the table; Anders slides in across from them. “Isabela. You’re looking less than your usual jovial self. What’s this problem you mentioned? You need something taken care of?”

She sighs. “I’ve told you about Castillon, yes?” Hawke nods. “Well... I may not have told you that he’s not exactly the most reputable man. I think I could myself in a little over my head this time, Hawke.”

“Isabela.” She’s looking down at the table and Hawke turns toward her, an expression of concern on his face. Anders hates himself for it, but he can’t help but appreciate how thoughtful Hawke is towards his friends. “I’m sure it’s not that bad.”

“You know that weird fraternity - the ones who call themselves Qunari?” Hawke nods. Isabela looks up, her mouth twisted in an expression of mock amusement. “I might have... stolen something of theirs.”

“Isabela,” Hawke says, his voice torn between chastisement and worry, “what did you take?”

She puts her head in her hands. When she speaks her mouth is muffled. “Their stupid sacred book.”

“What?!” Anders blurts out, unable to stop himself. Hawke glares. “Sorry,” he mutters, eyes sliding away. “It’s just... Isabela,” he says. “Why would you do something so very, very stupid?”

“More importantly,” Hawke interrupts, deflecting the question and giving Anders a rather significant glare at the same time, “what do you need us for?” He puts a friendly, comforting arm around Isabela.

“I thought that, maybe...” She bites her lip and a spark of adventure lights up her eyes. “We could put it back.”

The plan works out to be this, despite Anders’s many myriad protests: Isabela is going to attend the next party they throw, and make sure that the room where the book is normally kept is empty. She’ll open one of the windows in the room, Hawke and Anders will sneak inside, replace the book in its case, and then get out again. It is not, Anders thinks, a very good plan.

“This is stupid, Garrett,” he hisses, bumping Hawke hard in the shoulder with the flat of his fist. “We’re not going to be able to pull it off.”

“You obviously don’t have my uncanny luck,” Hawke whispers back. “Let’s just get this over with, all right? I’d much rather attend the party than sneak into it and then leave.”

Anders sighs but silently agrees with him. They’re waiting at the back of the Qunari house; there aren’t any hedges this time, so Hawke maneuvered them behind a large tree. They’re pressed close together again, and this time it’s even more difficult for Anders to ignore the feeling of Hawke so close. The people inside are raucous and loud; with any luck, no one will even notice them climbing in the window. Anders rolls his eyes at the thought because the entire plan is ridiculous. And nobody but Hawke would ever do something so patently stupid. It’s a rather large tell of how much he’s coming to like the man that he goes along with it anyway.

After about ten minutes of waiting, and enduring Hawke’s initiation of the I’m-not-touching-you game, despite his thigh being pressed very pointedly against Anders’s, they finally get the signal from Isabela. Hawke’s phone vibrates - they’re so close that even Anders can feel it.

“All right.” Hawke wraps an arm around Anders, pulling him close so his back is against Hawke’s chest. His mouth is right next to Anders’s ear, and he can feel the rustle of coarse beard against his neck. “That was Isabela; let’s go.”

They slink forward, crouching down low as they walk so they can’t be seen from the house. They’d both worn dark shirts, and Anders half expected Hawke to pull out two ski masks. When they reach the window Hawke gestures over, indicating with his hands that he’ll help give Anders a boost.

That causes no small amount of outrage. “What? No,” Anders says quietly but firmly, shaking his head. “I’m not going in there! You do it. It was your idea, and your ridiculous plan in the first place.”

“You’re smaller than me!” Hawke mouths back at him.

Anders raises an eyebrow, meant to convey a very firm “And... ?”

They stand there at an impasse for a moment before finally Hawke rolls his eyes and lets out a quiet growl. “Fine,” he whispers hotly. “I’ll go.” He passes the book to Anders. “Hold this until I’m in the room.”

He places one hand, splayed flat against the window pane and pushes up. It raises in a quick, jerky movement. Hawke glances around to make sure no one has notices, and then slowly pushes the window up as far as he can. There’s a set of plain white blinds; Hawke gestures Anders over.

“What is it?” Anders asks.

Hawke shoots him a quick, annoyed look. “Help me hold the blinds out of the way.” He lifts the bottom bar of the blinds up. It makes some noise, but not enough - Anders hopes - to attract any attention. He takes the bar and holds it up to the bottom edge of the raised window. Hawke puts his hands on the window frame and hoists himself up, rolling into the room with so much grace Anders secretly finds it a little disgusting.

“Hand me the book,” he says, popping up again and sticking his head out the window. His hair is mussed from the climb in and he flattens it absently with one hand, smoothing the fringe of his hair in a messy sweep across his forehead. Anders hands it over to him and Hawke gives him what Anders privately describes as nothing less than a rakish grin, a gleam of adventure spreading like fire in his eyes.

Anders sinks down to a crouch beside the window, tired and a bit hungry and just hoping like hell they don’t get caught. Isabela had said that there was a glass case, but supposedly it would be unlocked, so all Hawke had to do was put the book back in and then get out.

He’s waiting, starting to get a little nervous, when suddenly a large body falls out of the window beside him with a low ‘thump.’ “Did it,” Hawke says, standing up and brushing himself off. He extends a hand to Anders, who takes it and stands, as well. Hawke looks pleased with himself and for some reason Anders finds that incredibly irritating.

“All right, then,” Anders says. He crosses his arms over his chest. “So, I can go home.”

Hawke looks at him, obviously confused. “You don’t have to go now.” He gestures forward and reluctantly Anders follows him away from the qunari house. “We’re still flushed with the thrill of triumph, aren’t we? I thought we could - “

“You thought, hmm. And what? You just assumed I’d go along with whatever your next plan is? I agreed to do this for Isabela with you but that’s where it ends. This was already enough ridiculous for one night. Probably the entire week, actually.”

“So what,” Hawke asks, looking obviously taken aback. “You’re just going to be a gigantic dick, instead? I only wanted to ask you out for a drink, Anders.”

“Well I’m not interested.”

Hawke wets his lips. “Fine. That’s fine. You can just go then."

"Well I will." He shoves his hands in the pockets of his jeans and turns to go. He makes it a few strides before Hawke stops him.

"Anders!" he calls. "Wait." He reaches out for Anders's arm; Anders jerks it away. "Anders, what the hell is your problem? I know I may have come on a little strong, but it wasn't as though I've been completely unbearable."

Anders keeps walking, his pace quick. He feels a little embarrassed at being called out on his bad attitude, but instead of making him feel contrite it only makes him more irritated. "That's your opinion."

They're well away from any of the fraternity houses now, and Hawke stops. He yanks Anders to a standstill, as well. "Anders," he says, "what the hell is your problem? It might have been... ridiculous or whatever you said, all right, but I thought it was a nice night all the same. So what in the world is wrong with you?"

“It's you!" Anders says. The words burst out of him and he feels a little shaky, like something that's been winding up for a long time has finally been sprung. "You’re annoying, and arrogant, and I’m damned tired of dealing with you.” Anders stalks forward, pushing Hawke’s chest hard with the flat of his hand. Normally he isn’t imposing, even though he’s about an inch taller; Hawke is much broader, much more used to using his body offensively, of being aware of the physical space he occupies - but now, Anders is raging, eyes burning, and Hawke finds himself a little nervous.

Or possibly aroused. The jury’s out on that one.

“No one forces you to deal with me,” he grits out, ignoring the urge to push back.

“Ha!” Anders says, and he sways with the force of the word. “I wish that was true. But no. No, you do. You do constantly. I don’t know how you find me - “

“You’re in my home, tutoring my sister a lot of the time,” Hawke says; in his opinion it's a rather sensible argument. Anders ignores him.

“And I don’t know how you... how are you so charming? You are an absolute asshole! No one should like you! But they do. They do. And does... Does everyone like you? You’re always doing favors, and helping out, and you never make a big deal of it, you don’t ask for anything, you just.” He sighs. “You’re a good person.” The way he says it sounds like an accusation.

Hawke, naturally, does not focus on that part. He steps closer and grins, pitching his voice lower. “You think I’m charming?”

“You know you are, you bastard.” Anders’s eyes narrow. “You drive me crazy. And I’m tired - I’m so tired! - of trying to fight that. I can’t resist, not any longer.”

“Then you should stop resisting.”

Anders blinks for a moment at that; Hawke’s expression goes from something close to seductive to something more open - something surprisingly honest. And in the next moment Anders has a hold of him, dragging him closer, slanting his mouth hard across Hawke’s.

There’s not even a second of hesitation or surprise: Hawke immediately responds, his arms surging up to wrap around Anders, pulling him even closer.

"Oh Maker," Hawke says against Anders's mouth, "you have no idea how long I've wanted you."

Anders breathes hard, gasping as Hawke shoves a hand up his shirt, skimming the nubs of his spine. "I might..." Hawke bites at his neck and Anders groans at the feeling. "I might have some idea."

Anders would be lying - which he wouldn't mind, really, not about this, he's been doing practically since he met Hawke - if he said he'd never even imagined this. He had, with the occasional graphic detail. He'd imagined this situation, even, with that final thread of sanity snapping and taking what he'd been denying he even wanted for a long time. And Maker it was good; it was so, so good.

Hawke pulls the band out of his hair, tangling strong fingers in the burnt gold of Anders's hair. His mouth moves in a wet line up Anders's neck, biting and then licking across the indents of his teeth with the warm flat of his tongue.

"Fuck," Anders breathes. "You're good at this."

"Watch your language," Hawke teases. He pulls Anders closer and grabs his ass.

"Really, Garrett?" Anders asks. He pulls away to give Hawke an annoyed look. Hawke just laughs.

"Shut up and kiss me," he instructs. Anders is only too happy to comply.

His mouth meets Hawke's again and it's just as amazing as the first time. Hawke slants his head and cups Anders face; his mouth opens and he runs his tongue along the seam of Anders's lips. Anders groans again and tugs hard, a fistful of Hawke's hair in his hand. As soon as their tongues touch Anders feels a jolt of electricity course through him. Hawke fucks into his mouth with a searching tongue, and Anders presses their hips together.

He decides fairly quickly that the evening is going to end in a lot - a lot, he thinks - of sex.

Anders turns his head slightly and Hawke ends up kissing at the corner of his mouth. It's sloppy and a little wet, but not unpleasant and certainly not lacking in enthusiasm. Anders laughs. "Bed," he says. "I'm not going to fuck you here. We need..." Hawke bites hard at the lobe of his ear and Anders starts to rethink his stance on public indecency. "We need a bed."

"Oh yes," Hawke says, still trying to kiss as he talks. It isn't very successful, but Anders can't really find it in himself to care. He shoves one hand in the waistband of Hawke's jeans. The feel of skin is incredible and Anders is suddenly very, very eager to be naked. "Maker that sounds good." He doesn't make any move to stop, though, and Anders wonders if they're going to make out all the way to his apartment.

"We have to... stop," he says. "Can't... Not going to do anything here."

"You said you wouldn't fuck me," Hawke reminds him. He pulls away finally and grins, his eyes dark and wild. Anders can't help but grin back. "You didn't saying anything about doing anything else. You'd make out with me here."

"That's a little different."

"Mmm, not that much." Hawke slips his hand up Anders's shirt again, pulling it up with his arm. Anders shivers. Hawke undoes the button of Anders's pants and then sinks down to his knees, kissing a trail from his belly button to the band of his boxers. Anders tries to think of a good reason to pull Hawke up again - and he's sure there are reasons, he's sure there are lots of reasons - but none of them currently come to his mind. "Just a few minutes," Hawke says, mouthing at his crotch through the thin fabric of his boxers. "I promise that's all I need."

"Are you sure Bethany and your mother aren't going to come home?"

Hawke's already naked, his pants thrown over the couch and his shirt in a loose pile of fabric on the floor. He laughs at Anders and grabs his hand, pulling him closer.

"Of course I'm sure," he says. He kisses Anders quickly and then starts trying to undress him. "They're gone to... something. Doing something. Won't be home for hours." He bites hard at Anders's lip, pushing his shirt up to his armpits.

Anders pulls the shirt up between them and then throws it off to the floor. "Fine," he says. "I'll shut up."

Anders wakes to a dog’s breath wafting gently on his face. He groans and tries to roll, only to find a heavy body half on top of him. It’s disconcerting, and for a moment he isn’t sure what’s going on. But his eyes open and he sees Puggsley, Hawke’s large, slobbery dog, laying with his head on his chest and his big body wedged between Hawke’s and Anders’s own.

“Oh goddamnit,” he says to himself, head pressing back into the pillow. It wasn’t bad enough that he and Hawke actually slept together, Hawke had to invite his enormous, smelly dog into the bed with them. It is not a way of waking up that Anders ever wants to get used to. Puggsley is awake and he looks at Anders with an expression of dopey happiness.

Anders scowls. “I’m not going to pet you,” he tells Puggsley sternly. “You should be on the floor.” Puggsley lets out a whine and on the other side of him Anders hears a laugh.

“Don’t mind him, boy,” Hawke says, giving the dog a vigorous head rub, scratching him right at the base of his ears. “He’s just grumpy because I kept him up so late.”

Anders grunts.

Hawke looks up at him, obviously amused. “Good morning,” he says. He’s leaning up on one elbow, the sheet down far enough that even with the dog between them Anders can see that he’s naked. Not, of course, that Anders had bothered putting anything on, either, but...

He swallows nervously and mutters “Good morning” back. He sits up and scratches the back of his head. His ponytail fell out and he digs underneath his pillow until he finds the band, and quickly grabs the usual chunk of hair and winds the band around it three times. He gets out of the bed, looking for where his clothes had disappeared to. His underwear probably got kicked under the bed because he doesn’t see it, so he just grabs his jeans and pulls them on.

“Getting up already?” Hawke makes a warm, contented noise and stretches out like some giant cat, arching up luxuriously and pushing his palms against the bed’s headboard. Puggsley sits up, his tongue lolling out of his mouth as he watches his master. “I think there’s stuff to make breakfast in the kitchen. I have... bread, I think. And eggs, maybe. Beer.”

Anders laughs once. “I see what Bethany meant about needing to do the shopping for you.” He turns his shirt rightside-out and pulls it on. Being back in his clothes makes him feel a little more comfortable, a little more grounded; the situation has him a little panicky and he’s wondering how much more conversation he has to endure before he can bolt.

“Hey, like I said, I have bread. That makes toast.”

“I’m not making you toast, Garrett.”

“Please?” He sighs happily and pulls the sheet up to his chest. He slings an arm around Puggsley, who goes quite willingly into the cuddle, licking fondly at his master’s face.

“That’s disgusting,” Anders says, his face scrunching up in distaste. “You don’t know what’s been in his mouth.”

Hawke just laughs, obviously unconcerned. “If you’re not going to make breakfast, then come back to bed. It’s early, we can still sleep in.”

“I don’t think so,” Anders says, his voice halting. He tries not to look at Hawke, guilt pooling in his stomach.

Hawke seems to realize then that something’s wrong, because his easy manner drops and he sits up. “Anders,” he says, almost like a question. “What’s the matter?”

“I’ve just... I’ve got to go,” he says. “I’m sorry.”

It’s clear just from his attitude that Hawke doesn’t regret their night together at all, and Anders knows from his behavior that it’s clear that he does.

“This wasn’t a mistake,” Hawke says, firmly. Anders grits his teeth. “Stop acting like we did something wrong.”

“Look, it was just...”

“You said,” Hawke reminds him, getting up. “That you were tired of resisting.” And he’s still naked - and it’s incredibly distracting, Anders discovers, trying not to stare at someone’s cock as you’re giving him the ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ talk.

“Well I should have tried harder,” Anders says, turning to a low burning anger to cover his embarrassment. “It was just one night, all right? Easy to forget about.” Hawke doesn’t answer and Anders looks around the room, trying to keep himself busy, trying to stop the situation from lapsing into the tension that’s just hovering there threateningly in the background. It doesn’t work, not really, and he clears his throat, shifting his gaze over towards the door. “I’ve got to go,” he says again, and he doesn’t wait for Hawke to speak again before he’s fleeing, shutting the bedroom door behind him in his hurry to leave.

Things with Bethany are, predictably, awkward, though Anders seems to be the only one who realizes it. She’s either blissfully unaware that he was a complete asshole to her brother, or else she thinks well enough of him to hope he’ll sort the whole mess out on his own. Even Varric, a person Anders had always imagined would be notoriously uninvasive, had deigned to give him a disappointed look and had suggested - very gently, of course - that “Maybe you should try talking to Hawke.”

Anders feels low enough without Hawke’s friends reminding him about it, too, and it’s rather disheartening to realize that despite his best attempts to avoid the man his life wound up getting wrapped around Hawke anyway. Even Leandra mentions that he’s been around less.

"I can't help it," he tells Isabela miserably one afternoon in Hightown. It's not a place she comes to often - too clean, she always says - and it's a mark of how serious the situation is that she agreed to come at all. Hawke must have told her that Anders was dodging his calls. "I... I do feel bad about just leaving but. But it was a mistake, wasn't it? Sleeping with him?"

Isabela looks at him, one elegant eyebrow raised. Anders squirms under her scrutiny. "Was the sex good?"

Anders looks down, his mouth twisting into an unhappy curve. "I hardly see how that matters."

Isabela laughs. "Really? That good, hmm? I had always imagined, you know. Tried to talk Hawke into it once or twice when we were both drunk. Never took, though."

"It wasn't... that good."

Isabela's eyebrow, if possible, goes higher, and she opens her mouth a little in disbelief. And perhaps amazement at the sheer audacity of Anders's lie.

"All right, fine," Anders says after a moment, "it was very good. But... But can't sex just be it? That's the end of it, right?"

"Anders, I don't think he's going to waste months of time on you just because he wants to sleep with you once. And for the record, good sex is never a mistake."

"All right well... We'll just make it twice, then. We can fuck again and then forget the whole thing."

Isabela sighs and puts a finger under Anders's chin. She lifts his face up so he's forced to look at her. His eyes dart away, but after a moment of her measured silence he caves and meets her gaze again. "Anders," she says. "He likes you. Whether you like it or not - and Maker knows nobody's quite sure why - Hawke likes you. You should hear Fenris go on about it, really; it drives him mad that Hawke's so smitten. If you don't like him, that's fine. We all might hate you for hurting him, of course, but that's your business."

Anders folds his arms on the table and rests his chin in the cradle they make. He pouts. "I thought you said Fenris already hates me."

"Oh, he does." She smiles brightly. "But Bethany doesn't. And I don't. I don't think Varric does, either. You don't like Merrill much, so I suppose it doesn't matter what she thinks. You don't want us to hate you, do you?"

"Isabela, I thought you just said it was my business what I did."

She nods. "It is. But if you're going to run away, you can't blame us for judging you for it."

"I'm not running away. I just don't want to have a relationship with him."

"Oh, no, did Hawke ask you to go steady?" She puts a hand on her chest, right above her breasts, and puts on a look of fake surprise. "Maker help us all."

Anders glares at her, and Isabela just smirks in response. "We didn't... talk about any of that. It was a bit spur of the moment. We'd just returned that ridiculous book for you - and by the way I don't know if I told you, but it was damn stupid of you to steal it in the first place. And I got angry because I'd started to like him, despite my best efforts not to, and then he was sucking me off behind a tree and." He throws his hands up in the air. It jostles the table and his tea cup rattles in its saucer.

"And you just ran out after one glorious night together like he was some painted trollop you'd picked up in the Blooming Rose."

"Your choice of adjectives," he says, "might be a bit hyperbolic."

"But my point stands."

Anders doesn't respond and for several minutes all the do is sit there silently, drinking and in Anders's case, avoiding Isabela's eye.

"I think it's about time to go," Anders says. He tries to stand up, but Isabela pulls him back into his seat.

"Not so fast," she says. "You can't avoid this forever. If you feel guilty about it - and don't argue, please, because it's obvious you do - then the least you can do is talk to him. You've made him very sad, you know. He even sent you a text message with a frowney face, and you know he never uses emoticons."

"So I just... apologize."

"And tell him you love him, of course."

Anders rolls his eyes. "Isabela," he growls.

She stands up and shrugs her shoulders. "Anders," she snaps back at him mockingly. "Look, just go talk to Hawke, all right? Just talk to him."

"Fine," Anders says. "There's no reasoning with you, is there?"

She shakes her head. "Don't even know what reason is."

Anders sighs and they walk out together. He blinks at the sun, bright in his eyes. "I need to go," he says. "And no, it's not an excuse, I have a class."

Isabela nods. "Before you do, though..." She grins like a cat who's gotten into the cream and Anders steels himself for whatever she's about to say. "Varric and I have a little bet we need to settle. How good was the sex, anyway?"

Anders says "Goodbye Isabela" loudly and stomps off, the sounds of her laughter echoing behind him.

Anders knocks on the door, fidgeting slightly. He's nervous; he can't help it, and he's tried to tell himself that it's just one talk, that it won't change anything, but no matter how many times he thinks it he just can't quite bring himself to believe it. He hears noise coming from the door and steps back.

It swings open, and Bethany appears. "Anders," she says happily, looking surprised to see him. "What are you doing here?"

He looks away from her and scratches the back of his neck nervously. "Hello, Bethany," he says. "Is your brother home?"

Bethany grins to himself, probably knowing exactly why Anders is there. She doesn't say anything, though - thank the Maker for that, Anders thinks - just nods and leads him inside.

"Garrett's in the kitchen," she says. "I think he's working on something for school."

She stays behind him in the foyer and slowly Anders walks towards the kitchen. He sees Garrett standing at the bar, one foot crossed behind the other, a book opened in front of him.

Anders knocks on the door frame, trying to ignore the feeling of unease growing in his stomach.

Garrett looks up; his face instantly shifts to an expression of surprise. "Anders," he says. "What the hell are you doing here? I thought Bethany said you'd been meeting in the library lately."

"I'm, ahh. I'm here to see you!" he explains, his voice falsely cheery. "I wanted to... apologize. For running out on you the other morning."

There's an awkward pause and Anders wonders for a moment if he's going to say anything at all. "It wasn't a mistake, you know," Hawke says finally.

"That's what Isabela says," Anders tells him. "She says that if the sex is good, it's never a mistake."

Hawke smiles and Anders feels something in his gut turn over. Oh hell, he thinks, he really does have it bad. "That does sound like Isabela," he says. Anders laughs.

"I don't... I don't really remember, though," Hawke says. "If it was good or not, I mean. I think I might need a refresher." He clears his throat. "If, of course, you'd be interested. I hear you're a very good tutor."

"You know, if it was anyone else..." Anders walks closer, up to the island where Hawke is leaning. He taps the back of Hawke's hand with the knuckle of his index finger, then sets his hand down on the book. "I might think you were making a pass at me."

"Oh, I would never." Hawke doesn't look down at their hands, but he threads his fingers together with Anders's. "This is strictly business."

"Good." Anders smiles. "I wouldn't want you getting the wrong idea."

"Of course not. And at any rate, there's someone else that I'm rather fond of and I think he's about to come around to my way of thinking."

Anders can't stop himself; he leans in. "It sounds like you've been after for awhile."

"Yes," Garrett says. "He likes to say that I'm... very persistent."

"Oh, I'll bet you are."

And there's really no choice, then, Anders thinks. He kisses him, long and hard - and thinks that maybe he can get used to Garrett Hawke after all.

Thanks for reading! And, again, check out the art post here!