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pikapeppa · 4 years

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Fenris/f!Hawke smut: A Proper Dinner Party For Adults

Okay. This was just an excuse to write some canon-universe PWP from Rynne Hawke’s POV. It’s set a few weeks after Rynne and Fenris finally reunite in Act 3. You know those first few weeks/months in a new relationship when you’re so crazy about your partner and all you want to do is have sex constantly? Yeah, that.

For @dadrunkwriting Friday. NSFW. ~6300 words. Read here on AO3 instead.

*********************

Rynne was horny.

This in itself wasn’t a surprise. Rynne had always been a lusty sort of girl, and harbouring several years’ worth of unrequited passion for an unavailable man only seemed to have reinforced her urges.

But she and Fenris had been together for almost three weeks now, and they’d been fucking at least twice a day ever since. With how much time they’d been spending twisted together in bed, Rynne thought the constant itch would have lessened a bit by now.

Instead, the opposite seemed to have happened. Instead of a rose-coloured memory of a single blissful night gone wrong, Rynne now had several weeks’ worth of memories of Fenris’s hands on her body. She knew exactly how well his elegant fingers could push her to her peak and just how beautifully his face could twist when he was finding his pleasure. She knew the exact scent that his sweat-laced body left on the bed, and in those moments when he left the bed to fetch a drink or to use the bathroom, Rynne would shamelessly bury her face in his pillow for the sheer pleasure of enjoying the sweet sleepy smell of his hair marking her sheets.

She couldn’t stop marvelling at how gorgeous he looked all naked and sated in her rumpled bed. She couldn’t get over the faintly bitter taste of his climax as it flowed down her throat. Rynne was useless, besotted, completely tied around his lyrium-lined little finger, and if she could have it her way, she and Fenris would stay hidden away in her bedroom fucking each other’s brains out for the foreseeable future, thank you very much.

Unfortunately, Rynne couldn’t have it her way. Orsino and Meredith had each sent a messenger to her house this morning, and when she finally dragged her cranky ass down the stairs, it was to find a frankly alarming pile of letters on her writing desk.

She wrinkled her nose and turned to Orana, who was hovering at her elbow with a cup of tea. “I have a brilliant idea. Let’s start throwing these straight in the fireplace from now on.”

Orana’s jaw dropped in shock. “A-are you sure, Mistress Hawke?”

“It’s just Hawke, Orana,” Rynne said absently. “And yes, I’m sure. I’m almost certain that none of them are important.” She picked up a letter at random. “Look at this one, for example. It’s… oh, it’s from the bank. Never mind.” She gave Orana a sickly smile. “Letters stay on the table, I suppose.”

“If you say so,” Orana said cautiously. She gave Rynne the tea and hurried away.

Rynne sighed and gingerly sipped the steaming tea. She listlessly started sorting the letters by importance, and she was trying to wrack up the courage to open the one from the bank when Fenris’s voice drifted down the stairs.

“Sorting your mail, are you?” he said. “That’s very responsible.” He joined her at the desk and picked up her cup of tea.

She bit her lip. Fenris was standing just behind her, not quite touching but close enough to touch if she leaned back just a little bit. His lovely sexy voice was warm with humour, and his beautiful emerald eyes were smiling at her over the rim of the cup.

Maker’s balls, she wanted to go back upstairs. Could they go back upstairs? Wasn’t it enough that she’d sorted the mail? She didn’t need to actually read it, did she?

He quirked one eyebrow at her lack of reply, and she forced herself to breathe. “How dare you imply I’m anything less than responsible?” she quipped. “I am the epitome of responsible. Just ask Carver.”

He scoffed and set down the cup. “You don’t really want me to ask Carver.”

Rynne mock-pouted at him. “Of course I don’t. Now you’ve gone and called my bluff.”

He chuckled, and Rynne swallowed hard. The sound of Fenris’s laugh had always made her heart skip a beat, but now she knew that laugh in a different context. She knew it as a purr against her ear when she was begging for his touch, and she knew the irresistible breathless chuckle that he preserved for the tender moments of their afterglow. His laugh was ruined now, ruined in the most wonderful possible way, and Rynne wasn’t sure she could hear it anymore without immediately wanting to strip off her clothes.

“What?” he said. He rubbed his nose. “Is there something on my face?”

Oh balls, she’d been staring at him. She quickly shot him a coy smile. “There sure is,” she said, and she popped up onto her tiptoes and planted a noisy kiss on his lips. “Now come on, let’s go to the market and see how my most terrible investment is panning out.”

He clicked his tongue as they made their way toward the door. “I can’t understand why you don’t sell your shares on the Bone Pit back to Hubert. That cursed place reeks of death.”

She playfully chucked his chin. “Aw, you don’t enjoy our little day trips out there?”

He raised one eyebrow as they made their way through the bustling Hightown street. “I never have. You know that.”

“And yet you always come with me anyway,” she said shrewdly.

He shrugged. “I enjoy following you.”

Rynne stopped and gaped at him. Had he really just said something so bold? And in public, no less?

He smirked at her, and the sly look on his face was just… it was too much. She was already struggling to keep her hands off of him, and now he was smirking at her like he knew exactly what she was thinking, and she couldn’t help it: she burst into laughter.

She laughed and laughed and couldn’t stop fucking laughing, and soon Fenris was smiling too, but in a bemused sort of way. “Was it that funny?” he asked.

“No, no,” she gasped. “Not funny, I – I loved it. I’m not really laughing-laughing, I just…” She took a deep and shaky breath, then looked him in the face. “Oh fuck it, let’s go back to the house.”

His eyebrows leapt up. “Wha– why? We only just left.”

She took a step closer to him and grabbed his chestplate. “Because Fenris, I just want to–”

“Hawke.”

At the sound of Aveline’s voice, Fenris stepped slightly away from her – much to Rynne’s disappointment. She shot him a wry look, then turned to Aveline with a smile. “Av! What brings you to this dreadfully fancy part of town? Have the Coterie managed to purchase a mansion hideout in the heart of Hightown?”

“No. Report of a robbery, and I’m shortstaffed,” Aveline said briskly. “But I’m glad I caught you. Did you get my letter?”

Rynne raised her eyebrows. “Letter? What letter?”

Aveline gave her a reproving look. “I sent you an invitation a week ago.”

Rynne stared at her in growing confusion. “An invitation to what?” She grimaced. “Please tell me it isn’t some fancy political dinner thing. I can only stomach so many pleasantries before I want to jam a corkscrew into my own eye.”

Beside her, Fenris let out a tiny cough. Aveline, meanwhile, was frowning more deeply by the second. “Donnic and I are hosting a dinner party,” she said.

“Why?” Rynne asked.

Fenris snorted softly, and Rynne grinned at him. This, of course, turned out to be a mistake; Fenris was smirking again, and Rynne adored his smirk and all the heat it contained, and all she really wanted to do was kiss those smirking lips of his–

Aveline’s reply regained Rynne’s flagging attention. “Because – well, because we thought it would be nice,” she said defensively. “You lot are always going to the Hanged Man, and you know how it looks for me to be seen there, Hawke. And I know your mansion is bigger, but Donnic and I have a perfectly nice home as part of the City Guard allowance…”

Damn, Rynne thought. She hadn’t meant to hurt Aveline’s feelings. “Of course, of course it’s a nice idea!” she said hurriedly. “It’s a lovely idea, Aveline, we’ll be happy to come! When is it?”

“Tonight,” Aveline said flatly.

Double fucking damn, Rynne thought desperately. She didn’t want to go to a dinner party tonight. The only thing she wanted to eat these days was Fenris’s cock.

She forced herself to maintain a bright smile. “Tonight! Fantastic! That’s great!” she said.

Thankfully, Fenris stepped in and saved her from her own over-enthusiasm. “Shall we bring anything?” he asked.

“Yes. Thank you, Fenris,” Aveline said somewhat pointedly. “You can bring a side dish. Donnic is making roast beef and potatoes. Varric and Sebastian are bringing sides as well, and Anders is bringing wine. Merrill said she’d bring something for dessert.”

“I’ll bring my famous punch,” Rynne offered.

“No,” Aveline said firmly. “Your punch is not invited.”

Rynne gazed at her in genuine surprise. “What? Why not? What kind of party is this without punch?”

“A proper dinner party for adults, Hawke,” Aveline said. “Which we all are, in case you needed reminding.”

Fenris turned away and scratched his nose, and Rynne couldn’t look at him. If she did, she’d either start laughing again or she’d say something filthy, and Aveline’s opinion of her was clearly dropping with every passing moment.

Rynne waved dismissively. “Of course! That makes sense. Adult dinner party, Donnic’s lovely cooking, Merrill’s cake. It sounds wonderful. We’ll be there!” She nodded pertly.

Aveline eyed her suspiciously, then nodded and stepped away. “Come for five o’clock. And don’t be late.”

Rynne blinked innocently. “Me, be late? Never!” She saluted Aveline. “Guard-Captain.”

Aveline gave her a tiny smile, then waved and walked away. As soon as she was out of earshot, Fenris leaned in close to Rynne’s ear. “A party without punch? I wonder whether you’ll survive the night.”

She shivered. His lovely voice was quiet but laced with laughter, and the mere sound of it sent a pulse of heat down her throat and into the base of her belly.

She turned and stepped close to him. “The real question is how I’m going to survive a night of sitting next to you and not being able to stroke that lovely cock of yours.”

He scoffed and ran a hand through his hair, then darted a quick look around the street. “Kaffas, Hawke. You will make me blush.”

She smiled slowly. “Can you show me?”

His eyebrows rose. “Show you what? My… blushing?”

“Yes,” she purred. “Every last blushing inch of you.” She leaned into his chest and curled her fingers against his abdomen.

She waited eagerly as his face shifted from surprise to something much more heated. She lifted her chin in invitation, then watched avidly as the tip of his tongue flicked out to wet his lips.

“What about Hubert and the Bone Pit?” he asked. His voice was quiet: an intimate near-whisper, like the kind of voice he would use while murmuring to her in bed.

She pressed herself more firmly against his chest. “Fuck Hubert and the Bone Pit,” she breathed. “Actually, I take that back. I’d much rather fuck you.”

His eyes darted up to meet hers, and Rynne stared breathlessly at him. Then he placed his hand on her hip.

Her breath left her in a sharp sigh. It was so innocuous, really: just the touch of his hand – the mere resting of his palm on her hip. It shouldn’t be affecting her this way; it shouldn’t be raising the pulse at her throat or bringing a thrill to life between her legs. It was just his hand, after all. She’d been groped more firmly than this during the first ten seconds of stepping into the Hanged Man.

But this wasn’t some random smelly drunk; this was Fenris. This was Fenris’s hand on her hip while they were standing in public. Public touching – or any touching outside of the bedroom, really – was something he was still getting used to. But here he was, touching her in public, placing his hand on her body in an affectionate matter right here in the middle of the street…

Rynne was so fucking thrilled that she almost leapt on him on the spot.

He tilted his face closer to hers, and she stopped breathing altogether. “Back to your house it is, then,” he whispered.

She pulled in a breath, then beamed at him. “Good,” she murmured. “That’s all I really wanted, anyway.”

Two minutes later, they were back in her mansion. Five minutes after that, they were naked in her bed. Fenris was pressing her hands into the mattress while his cock slid through the creamy heat between her legs, and Rynne was staring at his parted and panting lips in a deliriously happy haze.

Well, at least she’d tried to leave the house today. That had to count for something, right?

****************

Later that evening, Rynne scuffed her feet sheepishly as she and Fenris walked away from Aveline’s house.

She glanced sideways at Fenris and chewed her lip uncertainly. His expression was very neutral, and he hadn’t said a word since Aveline had told them in exasperation to go home.

The evening had started out well enough. She and Fenris had had sex twice that afternoon in addition to their usual morning fuck, and by the time they’d arrived at Aveline’s house fifteen minutes late – very good by Rynne’s standards – she was feeling quite confident that she’d be able to make it through the evening without getting overly, er, distracted.

Everyone had seemed pretty stilted when Rynne and Fenris first walked in – not surprising to Rynne, given Aveline’s agenda of a so-called ‘adult party’. So Rynne had provided a little social lubrication by picking a topic at random to talk about. “Did you all notice it’s a full moon?” she said cheerfully. “Funnily enough, this is the best time to pick blood lotus. The moonlight brings out its aphrodisiac properties.” She wiggled her eyebrows.

Merrill blinked. “Really? I didn’t know that.”

Rynne winked at her. “It’s a useful tip, that. Store it away for later.”

Merrill tittered, but Aveline sighed. “You and that pirate wench. It’s always got to be something dirty with you two, hasn’t it?”

Rynne widened her eyes. “Why Aveline, I didn’t know you saw potion-making as a kink.”

Anders and Merrill laughed, and Aveline rolled her eyes. Then Fenris spoke up, and in Rynne’s opinion, that was where the trouble began.

“We could talk about religion or politics,” he said. “Those topics are never controversial.”

His tone was very dry and extremely appealing, and Rynne gazed dreamily at the tiny hint of a smirk on his lips.

Sebastian tutted playfully. “Are you looking to start a war in Aveline’s house?” he said to Fenris.

Anders huffed. “Maybe we should talk about magic while we’re at it. That’ll really start a war.”

To Rynne’s surprise and delight, Fenris didn’t rise to the obvious bait; instead, he leaned back on the couch and swirled his wine glass. “And maybe you should bring finer wine next time you’re invited to someone’s home.”

There was a general ooh of appreciation at Fenris’s remark, and Varric smirked at Anders. “Better find yourself some elfroot for that burn, Blondie.”

Merrill blinked at her glass. “Is the wine bad? I didn’t notice.”

Donnic eyed his glass apprehensively. “It does smell a little off. Where did you say you got this, Anders?”

They continued to tease Anders about the wine, and Rynne tried to pay attention and join in like she usually did, but her attention kept drifting back to Fenris.

He wasn’t even doing anything provocative, for fuck’s sake. But Rynne’s enamoured brain couldn’t stop translating his every move into something more erotic. Every time his fingers ran along the stem of his wine glass, she couldn’t help but imagine those fingers trailing softly along the line of her throat. When he lifted the glass to his lips, all she could think about was the feel of his lips caressing the heat between her legs. He smiled at something Varric said, and all she could see was the tender curl of his smile as he pushed her down on the bed and crawled onto the mattress to join her.

Rynne tried to be a good guest at Aveline’s dinner party. She made clever comments when the others spoke to her, and she laughed when everyone else was laughing, but she couldn’t stop watching Fenris. She couldn’t stop staring at his mouth when he was speaking, and she couldn’t stop thinking about those evocatively gesturing hands stroking her skin. When he ran his hand absently through his hair, she couldn’t stop imagining her own fingers sinking into his soft snow-white hair as he dragged his teeth over her nipple–

“Can we go home and fuck now?” she asked him.

His head whipped up in surprise – in all fairness, everyone’s heads whipped up at her words – and Rynne instantly wanted to punch herself. Fuck, fuck, she hadn’t meant to say that out loud.

Aveline pinched the bridge of her nose. “Hawke, in the name of all that’s holy…”

She grimaced, but it wasn’t really Aveline’s reaction she was concerned about; it was Fenris’s. He was staring at her in silence, and his eyes were wide with surprise, and Rynne was feeling guiltier by the second. It was one thing to make playful lewd comments to Fenris when they were just friends and she could hide it under the guise of flirting with everyone, but things were different now. She and Fenris were together now – blissfully, wonderfully together – and their relationship wasn’t a secret by any means, but Fenris was so private about his personal matters.

She waited in agony for him to react. When he didn’t, she turned to Aveline with a smile. “So! That new guard rotation you put in place the other day. That’s sounding very, er, fascinating. Can you tell me–”

Aveline sighed loudly. “Just go, all right?

Rynne raised her eyebrows. “Eh?”

“Go home,” Aveline commanded. She shot Fenris a stern look. “You too. We’ll try this again when you’re ready to be mature adults.”

And that was how Rynne and Fenris were unceremoniously evicted from Aveline’s dinner party.

Rynne eyed him nervously as they made their way back to her mansion. He hadn’t spoken a word since her lusty exclamation, and she wasn’t quite sure what to make of his silence. She knew he wasn’t mad, per se; when Fenris was mad, he made sure she knew it. But that somehow only made his quiet all the more unnerving.

There was nothing for it. If he wasn’t going to talk, then Rynne certainly was. “I hope you weren’t hungry,” she said. “Donnic’s cooking really did smell good. You remember how bad a cook he was when he and Aveline first started dating? Funny how married life seems to have turned him into a real domestic sort.”

Fenris nodded, but still didn’t speak. Rynne swallowed hard, then smiled at him more brightly still. “I don’t know about you, but I still remember that pie he made that one time for your weekly card game. You remember the one? It had blueberries and blue cheese in it for some unholy reason–”

He suddenly grabbed her arm. She squeaked in surprise, but before she could ask what was wrong, he was hustling her into the nearest alley.

He trapped her against the dirty stone wall. “Stop talking,” he grunted.

She stared breathlessly at him. If this was any other context, she’d be delighted at the thought of being penned between Fenris’s lovely lean body and the wall. But his face was creased into a scowl and his chest was rising and falling quite heavily – oh no, was he mad at her after all?

She grimaced. “Fuck. Am I in trouble?”

“Yes,” he said. Then he shook his head roughly. “No. I… I’m…” He took a deep breath, then he surged forward and kissed her.

She instantly arched toward him. Her eager lips parted for him, and a shameless moan escaped her throat before he muffled it with his wine-flavoured tongue.

And his hands – Maker fucking save her: his hands were sliding down the small of her back to cradle her ass. Rynne tilted her pelvis toward him in a desperate bid for contact, and to her utter delight, Fenris pulled her closer with his hands on her ass. He pressed his hips into hers, and she broke their desperate kiss with a gasp as his hard bulge pressed against the vee of her thighs.

She swallowed convulsively before speaking. “So… so it seems I’m not the only dirty-minded idiot who’s preoccupied by the thought of us being naked and sweaty–”

“Shut up, Hawke,” he groaned. He nipped her lower lip, drawing another tiny gasp from her throat, then kissed her again and pushed his knee between her legs.

Rynne broke from his mouth and dragged in a tremulous breath. Her hips were already rocking forward to meet his thigh, and his face was still twisted in a beautiful lustful scowl, and… Maker’s fucking balls, it would take another ten minutes for them to get home. A whole ten torturous minutes…

“Fenris,” she whimpered.

He brushed his thumb over her lips. “Stop talking,” he whispered. “I can’t think when you are talking. I can’t… I can think of nothing but this.” He pulled her more firmly against his thigh.

Rynne pressed her lips together hard to quell another moan. Frankly, she was relieved by his admission. He was so well-behaved in public that she’d been half-worried that she was alone in her obsessive thoughts.

She clasped his neck in her hands. “Me neither,” she breathed. “I can’t think of anything else either. I want you all the time, and everything you do turns me on–”

“Rynne,” he begged. “Stop. Talking.” He kissed her once more, and Rynne happily submitted to his lips and his hands on her neck and her butt – no, not her butt anymore, but travelling over her hip and up to her waist, and – and higher…?

His thumb stroked the edge of her bustier beneath her shirt, and it was too much: his hands over her clothes when she just wanted them stroking her skin? The tempting hint of heat from his palms, separated from her skin by the offensive barrier of her shirt? It was a waste, a waste of his hands and all the ways they could make her come undone, and she’d waited long enough.

She dragged her lips away from his and arched her chest toward him. “Fuck me,” she whimpered.

He exhaled hard. “Hawke…”

“Please, Fenris, fuck me,” she begged. She reached down and clumsily started unlacing her trousers.

He grabbed her hands. “Stop,” he hissed. “Not here.”

“Please,” she whispered. “A quick one now, and when we get home I’ll treat you real nice, I promise.”

He dragged a hand through his hair, then let out a little laugh. “Festis bei umo canavarum,” he muttered. “You’re irrepressible.”

“I think the word you’re looking for is ‘insatiable’,” she purred, and she trailed her fingers down his chest.

He grabbed her hand again. “Come,” he said, and he pulled her out of the alley.

His bare feet were silent as they ran, leaving Rynne to hear the full cacophony of her own harsh breathing and her heart pounding in her ears. They pelted back to her house without talking, and by the time Rynne was shoving her key into the lock, she was so out of breath she nearly couldn’t speak.

She wrestled the door open and stumbled inside. Fenris shut the door behind her and locked it, and before she had a chance to do more than take a breath, he was walking her backwards with those strong elegant hands of his on her hips.

Fenris crowded her against the wall once more, and Rynne stared at him as she tried to catch her breath. There was a light glow of sweat on his nose, and his lips were parted as he fought for breath.

She reached up and started unlacing her shirt. “You’re fond of this wall, aren’t you?”

His eyes flicked from her fingers up to her eyes. “Pardon?”

“This wall,” she said with a cheeky smile. “This was where you first kissed me. Remember?”

He exhaled slowly. “Of course I remember,” he said. “I could never forget.”

Rynne grinned and finished loosening the laces of her shirt. Fenris gently pushed her hand aside and parted the neckline of her shirt, and when he ran his fingers lightly over the swell of her breast, she shuddered in anticipation. But then he spoke, and his words were serious and soft.

“This is not like before,” he said. “You are aware of that?”

She glanced at him. His expression was tender and a little bit melancholy. “What do you mean?” she asked breathlessly.

He tipped her chin up and looked her in the eye. “Everything that transpires between us now. It… it is not like before.” He licked his lips slowly. “I wasn’t… I wasn’t thinking before. I came to you without thinking, and I wasn’t ready. But now…” He exhaled once more, then suddenly pressed himself against her.

He clasped her neck in both hands, and Rynne melted shamelessly into his body. He brushed her nose with his, then drifted his lips over her ear.

“Now this is all I think about,” he whispered. “Stripping you bare, laying with you, the touch of your lips on mine, it’s… it is all I want, Hawke.” He stroked her neck with his thumbs. “If I could go back and show myself all that I was missing by forgoing all those years with you…”

Her swollen heart was pounding with adoration now rather than exertion. She shook her head and wrapped her arms around him. “Your turn to shut up now,” she said. “No regrets, Fenris. Don’t think about before. Just be here with me now.”

“I am,” he murmured. “I am right here.” He stroked her neck, then ran his knuckles over the swell of her breast, and Rynne panted fitfully as his fingers moved closer to the edge of the bustier cup without dipping inside.

He lowered his head and dropped the softest kiss on her breast, and Rynne snapped. She roughly untucked her shirt and pulled it over her head, then threw it on the floor. “Fuck me,” she begged. “Please, Fenris, I’ve been waiting long enough–”

He lifted her up abruptly, and Rynne hastily grabbed his shoulders as he walked them toward the stairs. A few seconds later, he shoved open her bedroom door and tossed her on the bed.

“Take off your clothes,” he said. He turned away to close the bedroom door.

Rynne eagerly obeyed his command, kicking off her slippers and fumbling with her trouser laces at the same time. “So bossy,” she purred. “I’ll listen to that bossy tone anytime.”

He turned back to her with a smirk and sauntered toward the bed. “Says the woman who has been making carnal demands of me all day.”

She grinned at him. “If you don’t like my carnal demands, maybe you shouldn’t keep fulfilling them so well.” She lifted her hips and roughly pushed her trousers down, then hooked her thumbs into her smalls, but before she could tug them down as well, Fenris took her hands in his.

He pushed her hands aside and brushed his fingers over the damp fabric between her legs. A bolt of pleasure ran straight from the apex her thighs up to her throat, and she released it in a gasp of want. “Please,” she begged. “Touch me.”

Fenris hummed thoughtfully. “More demands,” he mused. He carefully pulled the crotch of her smallclothes aside and smoothed his fingers through her slippery warmth.

She tensed and jerked her hips. His touch was so fucking gentle, just a light and careful petting of his elegant fingers, and every delicate pass of his fingertips seemed to lift the needy buzzing between her legs to an even higher pitch.

“Fenris, please,” she begged. “I want more.”

He chuckled – Maker save her from that beautiful laugh – then kneeled at the foot of the bed. “I’m doing as you asked,” he said. “I am touching you.”

She burst out a breathless laugh. “You horrible tease.”

He continued to pet her with a light and gentle touch. “Persuade me, Hawke. You’re very good at that.”

He was smirking again, and he sounded so damned cocksure and smug. It would have made her laugh if she wasn’t so desperate.

She sat up on her elbows and looked him in the eye. “I am hungry for you, Fenris,” she said baldly. “I don’t just want you. I fucking need you. I need you inside of me and touching me, and I swear I’m going to fucking fall apart if you don’t put those gorgeous hands–”

He pulled her smallclothes off and slicked his tongue between her legs. Rynne broke off with a cry of rapture, and Fenris ran his tongue along her flesh and up to the rapidly beating pulse point at the apex of her thighs.

Then his hands were moving too, smoothing along the insides of her thighs in a tender caress that complemented the torrid stroke of his tongue, and Rynne undulated toward him in a wordless bid for more. It all felt so fucking good, his mouth between her legs and his fingers gripping her thigh while his other hand slid up to rest on her belly, and it didn’t matter that she and Fenris had just finished doing this a few hours ago. It didn’t matter that the muscles of her inner thighs were perpetually sore from how often they’d been having sex. No matter how many times she had him, she always wanted more.

That was the problem with Fenris: he was everything, everything Rynne had been wanting for so many years. And now that she had him here, with that smile and that fine lean body and that fucking laugh that she loved so much, she couldn’t get enough.

He carefully lapped her clit and curled his fingers inside of her, and her climax tore through her body in a rapturous shiver. She spread her legs wide and cried out, her hips rolling toward his face as though to steal every last scrap of pleasure that his skillful tongue could provide, and when the tips of her toes were numb from the strength of her climax, she lowered her hips to the bed and sat up.

“Get naked,” she panted. “Right now.” Fenris was still fully clothed, and in Rynne’s opinion, covering that gorgeous body with clothes was a crime.

He wiped his face on her thigh and rose to his feet, then started shedding his clothes. “I should tell you to do the same,” he said, and he shot a pointed look at her bustier.

She grinned and started untying the laces on her bustier. By the time the bustier was discarded by the bed, Fenris was bare from the waist up.

Rynne shamelessly studied the lean muscles of his tattooed back as he pushed his leggings down. His cock was standing at attention, and when he turned to face her, a rush of saliva filled her mouth at the perfect sight.

She rolled onto her side and beckoned him close. He smirked at her as he approached the bed. “All right. Now what demands–”

She hooked her hand around his thigh and pulled him closer, then took his cock into her mouth. He gasped in shock, and his hand rose to cup her cheek.

She reluctantly released him to meet his eye. “Is this all right?” she asked breathlessly.

“Yes,” he rasped. “Yes, of – yes, I want it. You just – you took me by surprise.”

She smiled. “I told you I was hungry,” she said, and she took him into her mouth once more.

He groaned and sank his fingers into her hair, and Rynne closed her eyes to better savour the feel of him sliding across her hard palate toward her throat. She angled her head to take him deeper and listened carefully to the quality of his breathing, eager to give him the same amount of pleasure that he’d given to her.

He moaned and pumped his hips slightly, and a thrill of vicarious pleasure rippled through her chest. She curled her hips toward him by instinct, conditioned and cued by the sound of his pleasure.

Then she gasped in surprise. His hand was pushing her thighs apart, and then his finger was sliding inside of her.

She moaned helplessly around his cock. He was curling his finger inside of her, coaxing her eagerness forth with a slow come-hither motion, and within seconds, Rynne was thrusting toward his hand with rising desperation.

It was too much and not enough. It felt so damned good, but she wanted more. His fingers were filling her pussy and his cock was filling her throat, but she needed more. She needed him, all of him, his body flush to hers and his skin sliding hot and sweaty against her own. She needed his gasping voice in her ear and his adoring kiss on her lips and his careful stroking hands, and she needed him to fill her up until she was complete.

She pushed his hand away and sat back on her knees, then dragged him onto the bed. “Hold me,” she whimpered.

“Yes,” he breathed. His hands were everywhere now, tracing the edge of her jaw, sliding through her hair and down to her neck, fondling her breast and thumbing her nipple, encircling her waist as he pulled her onto his lap to straddle him…

He pulled her firmly onto the length of his cock. A wave of sheer, perfect pleasure fanned out through her thighs and up through her belly, and she cried out in ecstasy.

He dropped his gasping lips to her breast. He was supporting himself with one arm, but his other arm was tight around her waist as he pumped his hips to fill her up. His skin was just as heated and sweat-laced as she had hoped, and he was so…

Fuck it, he really was everything. He was the only lover who had ever made her feel this much before. There was no one like him, no one she could ever imagine filling her body and her heart in this exquisite way, and there was only one reason for that: Fenris was the love of her life.

And that, she realized, was why their sex felt so fucking good. Every time they came together, every time their clothes fell away as they fell into bed, it was more than just a frenzied expression of lust. It was more than just an exchange of pleasure. It was an encounter of two bodies that ran to the same rhythm and two hearts that pulsed to the same dizzying beat of love. Fenris was the man of her dreams, the man she’d dreamed of for years and the man who held her close when her dreams were too difficult to bear, and he was the only person she would ever love this much for as long as she lived.

They moved together with increasing urgency, his hands gripping her body and her fingers tightening in his hair as she rode him at a furious rhythm, and when Fenris gasped in climax, she hugged him tightly and savoured every fitful shudder that rippled across his skin.

Once his body had gone still with relaxation, he lifted his face from her chest and smiled, and Rynne smiled helplessly back at him. She brushed his damp hair away from his face. “I know why Aveline really kicked us out,” she said.

Fenris huffed in amusement. “I thought her reason was pretty clear.”

Rynne smiled more widely. “Yes, all right, I’m a crass and dirty bitch. But that’s not really why. It’s because she knows what this is like.” She rubbed his earlobe affectionately. “You remember her and Isabela talking, back when she and Donnic first got together. Aveline knows what this is like.”

Fenris’s smile grew soft. He wrapped his arm around her waist and rolled them over carefully until he was lounging between her legs.

He stroked her cheek with his thumb. “You may be right about that,” he murmured.

She smiled at him wordlessly. His face was full of fondness and so damned handsome, and Rynne simply admired him until he lowered his lovely face to hers for a kiss.

They kissed for a long and leisurely time, tongues twining and lips meeting until Rynne lost track of the time. But eventually she felt him.

She shifted her hips, and a ripple of anticipation rose to her throat. It was the telltale pressure of his cock hardening inside of her, even though he had never pulled away.

She leaned away from his infinitely tempting lips. “Again?” she asked eagerly.

He smirked. “You said you were insatiable. I need to test the theory.”

His damned voice was a deep and teasing purr, and Rynne basked in the glorious sound of it. “I like the sound of that,” she breathed, and she flexed her hips to meet him.

He inhaled sharply, then lowered his face and kissed her again. And for the rest of the night, she and Fenris moved and shifted together, blissfully making the love that would tie them together for the rest of their lives.

#fenris #fenris fic #fenris smut #fenhawke #fenris/hawke #fenris x hawke #fenris/femhawke #fenris x femhawke #fenris/f!hawke #fenris x f!hawke #fhawris #fenrynne #pikapeppa writes

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fandomn00blr · 5 years

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Dread Moon, Chapter 13 Excerpt

[Context: Post-Inquisition, Pre-Trespasser...Dorian has been ‘rescued’ and is headed back to Skyhold with his Inquisition fam. Anders is struggling to find his place in Kirkwall again, and without Justice. Hawke tries to big sister him to repair their friendship. It starts to work...sorta.]

[Oh shit! Also...have I mentioned how important Orana’s cinnamon buns are to keeping all of Hawke’s friends from killing each other?]

...

A hungover Evelyn was not happy that she had to practically drag Dorian and Cullen aboard the ship Harding had chartered for them the next morning. Bull, and even Alarion, who was technically their prisoner, though it was easy to forget that he would be taken directly to the dungeons as soon as they arrived at Skyhold, came along much more willingly. Aveline as Guard-Captain, and Varric as the official Inquisition ambassador in Kirkwall were there to see them off, and Merrill had accompanied them, having woken up as bright and chipper as ever before sunrise. Hawke and the others opted to sleep in and enjoy the comforts of the Hawke estate, which most of them had been missing for the past few weeks, months, and even years, in Anders’ case.

Just like old times, Orana had cinnamon buns baking and coffee brewing by the time Hawke even realized she’d missed her chance to say goodbye.

She rolled over, from dead asleep to wide awake in an instant. “Fenris!” The mid-morning sun was already streaming in through the curtains. “How could you let me sleep in and miss sending Trevelyn and Cully-Wully off?”

Fenris had already gone for a morning run, done his meditations, bathed, dressed, and was reading on the chaise across the room while enjoying a bowl of strawberries with his cinnamon bun and a cup of hot water and lemon, all parts of his routine that he had been missing dearly for quite some time.

“It’s not really a matter of ‘letting’ you…” he murmured, not looking up from his book.

“Is everyone else gone, too?”

“Isabela just woke up. She’s downstairs with Anders and Orana in the kitchen trying to convince someone to make her an omelette. Your sister said she had to go meet another potential donor for the College. And Merrill went with Varric and Aveline.”

“Why?”

Fenris shrugged, finally looking up at her. “Perhaps she was just being nice?”

“Weird.” She eyed his plate. “Are there anymore cinnamon buns?”

Fenris smiled and shook his head, returning his attention to the book. “I’m sure Orana saved you one.”

Hawke spent the rest of the morning nursing her hangover, gossiping with Isabela and Varric when he returned from the Docks, helping Merrill move more of her stuff into the estate, and insisting on buying Anders a new robe and a trip to the barber.

“You can keep the beard, Anders! But it’s in desperate need of some tidying up. Hobo apostate chic is so...not a thing anymore. And your hair could use a trim, too. The messy man bun still works for you, I think, but the dead ends...you’ve just taken the look way too far.”

“Even I get my glorious chest hair groomed…” Varric bragged, puffing his chest out even more than usual.

Merrill’s eyes lit up. “Really?!”

“Next time, Daisy...I’ll let you tag along to my appointment.”

“Oh! How fun!”

“I just don’t think I need --” Anders began to protest again.

Isabela eyed him knowingly. “No harm in cleaning yourself up! You know...in case you run into anyone cute…”

Anders shot her a quick glare and then turned back to Hawke. “Fine,” he sighed in defeat.

...

An afternoon shopping with and cleaning Anders up turned out to be quite exhausting for both of them, and they headed back to the Hawke estate tired, hungry, and irritable, but not entirely unsuccessful.

“It looks good, you know…” Hawke grumbled, trying not to look like she was admiring him too much. No one could ever call Anders ‘ugly,’ but new clothes and a bit of grooming had certainly reminded her how attractive he was. “I think eating food the past few days has helped a lot, too,” she added, just to annoy him.

“Thanks,” he grunted begrudgingly. He had thought the barber had done a fine job of accentuating the parts of his face that he didn’t completely hate. And the robe he’d picked, after so much fretting, was a nice teal velvet, free-flowing and comfortable, weighted perfectly for his tall lanky frame, with lots of useful pockets inside for potions and herbs and tools. It had gold accents that brought out the amber of his eyes and the various shades of blonde that actually washing his hair had revealed. Even he had to admit that it was nice to look down and appreciate what he was wearing, and how he looked in a mirror for the first time in...well, since he’d come to Kirkwall, really. Justice hadn’t really had much patience for vanity, after all.

But the two of them actually sharing a moment of gratitude and appreciation was short-lived.

“Anders, get behind me…” Hawke muttered, glaring ahead of them into the lengthening shadows of one of Kirkwall’s many winding alleys.

A large sinister-looking figure stepped out, brandishing a Templar’s sword from under his ill-fitting cloak. Several others, smaller in stature, but no less ill-intended emerged behind him. All of them wore hoods or masks to hide their faces. Hawke grinned. Too afraid to even reveal themselves...this would be easy.

“Our beef isn’t with you, Champion. Best get out of the way,” the big one muttered.

Hawke laughed. “I thought we routed all you inbred mage-haters out of the city years ago! Show your faces, you cowards!”

“We represent Kirkwall. You brought this murderer, this terrorist, back to our city, just as we had begun to rebuild from what he did, and we intend to do what you could not five years ago before he does anymore harm.”

“Kirkwall is BETTER NOW, you idiot! Are you so blinded by your ignorance and hate that you don’t see it?”

“I ask you once more, to please step aside. And let this man answer for his crimes.”

“No.”

“You don’t have to do this...” Anders muttered behind her.

“Oh, shut up. You know I do!” she said through gritted teeth, refusing to take her eyes off of the menacing group forming in front of them.

“Very well, then. Try not to kill the Champion, but if you must...” He motioned toward them with his sword and the rest of the group swarmed out of the alley, swords and knives and bows out in front of them. There were far more of them than Hawke had imagined, but they were clearly not trained or very well-organized, and many of their weapons were makeshift or old family heirlooms, heavy and rusted. Most of them didn’t stand a chance. Anders noticed several of the hooded figures were small, child-sized, even for dwarves, and he felt his stomach drop.

“Hawke, don’t!” he shouted. “They’re mostly civilians! And children!”

“They want to kill you!” Hawke shouted back, daggers flashing as she unsheathed them, ready to pounce on the first person who dared to attack. “Civilian or not!”

Anders was panicking. He didn’t want this. This is precisely why he’d hidden himself away in a cave for five years. He felt himself reaching for Justice, trying to will him to take over. He didn’t want to be here, he didn’t want to see this, didn’t want to be a witness or to have to decide between his own life and that of someone else, let alone a child, however murderous. Justice could make those hard decisions. Justice could protect him from the guilt. But Justice was gone.

“Faith and Justice send their regards…” a familiar voice murmured. In his head? Mostly...though his shimmering presence was beginning to coalesce nearby. Compassion.

“Cole! Can you help?!”

The figure nodded, and Hawke did a double-take when she finally noticed him.

“Who…?”

“Nevermind! Get out of the way, Hawke!”

She stepped aside as the shimmering spirit-boy-thing walked right into Anders, and a blinding golden light exploded out of him, pushing the angry mob back as they shielded their eyes.

“Abomination!” the leader of the group cried out, his cloak thrown back revealing full Templar armor underneath, though it was ill-fitting and unpolished. “We must kill him before he transforms into a demon!”

But many of the others had begun to back away, lowering their weapons, pulling their friends and family members along with them.

“Your friends are smart.” Hawke grinned at the man, sauntering up to him with a swagger that Anders had always both loved and hated in equal measure. “Show me that Templar sword again, big man.”

He raised his sword in front of himself defensively, but he couldn’t hide his trembling.

“And take off that stupid hood!” Hawke whipped one of her daggers up and knocked his hood back to reveal a plump-faced, orange-haired man with a ruddy complexion. He looked terrified. “Ah, of course! Ser Mettin! Who let you back into the city? I thought we’d made it quite clear you weren’t welcome here after you threatened to...hmmm...what did you say about my sister? ‘Put that little witch in her place’?”

She dragged her dagger across his cheek, tracing the line of a scar that ran from his ear to his nose. “Bethany gave you this with one flick of her wrist, but you deserved worse. My sister really is the kind and benevolent one of the family. She’s busy at the moment, so I’ll go ahead and finish you off for her.”

“This is my city, too! You and your sister and your friends can’t just do as you please!”

“Why not? Meredith and the Templars certainly did for more than a decade…”

“That was different!”

“You’re right. She was cruel and abusive and driven to madness by her greed for power. We’ve just been trying to help this Maker-forsaken city.”

“Hawke, let him go,” Anders said. Cole was back beside him, watching curiously as Hawke pressed her dagger against his other cheek.

“He doesn’t deserve that…” she mused, sliding the dagger down his jaw to his throat. “How many other mages did you ‘put in their place,’ Mettin?”

Suddenly a barrier flashed between Hawke and Mettin, and the man winced, half expecting it to have been some kind of killing spell. “Let him go!”

Hawke turned around, livid with Anders for interfering with her kill, and it gave Mettin just enough time to throw his hood back up over his head and take off in the other direction.

“Go back to the estate!” she shouted angrily, preparing to pursue him.

“It’s not worth it, Hawke,” Anders sighed.

“I know...he’s pathetic, right? Totally out of shape...I bet he dies of a heart attack before I even get to slit his throat.”

Anders looked at her pleadingly, those damn doe eyes of his begging mercy for the man who’d just tried to incite an angry mob against them. She’d always had a weakness for them, and especially now, with his hair pulled back away from his face, and the new robe with its contrasting teal and gold drawing all her attention to them.

“Fuck, Anders! But he’s complete garbage,” she whined.

“So forget him. Let’s just go.”

Hawke stared longingly down the dark alley, then sighed. “Fine…”

...

#dread moon #my writing #writing collab #anders #hawke #fenris #mettin #my favorite templar to hate

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ponticle · 7 years

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Coffee Shop - Part 2 (Alistair x Anders - Modern AU)

Before you read this... check out Coffee Shop - Part 1 and the 12 Days of Anderstair challenge. :)

Summary: After a tumultuous beginning, everything seems like it’s really going to work out for Anders... Rated M: angst and adult topics. Under a cut for length. [Anders’ POV, first person, present tense.]

Six months later (June)

“Love, you're going to be late,” I chide. Alistair is a bear in the morning. He groans and growls until he's finished his first cup of coffee—which he takes blonde, but unsweetened, by the way.

“It's okay… my interns are about to graduate, anyway…” he says. “They don't need me.”

I perch on the edge of the bed and kiss his forehead. “I'm sure that's not true.”

“Can you please come back to bed?” he asks. “Just for ten or fifteen minutes?”

“What do you think you'll actually accomplish in that paltry amount of time?” I smirk.

“I don't know—let's find out,” he snakes a hand around my waist and pulls me back toward him. He's still naked—and beautiful. But I'm already dressed and heading to work for my first client of the day.

“I have to go—see you tonight, Love.” I kiss him again and take off.

We still technically have two apartments, but I barely use mine. I have spent more than half the nights of the last six months in unit 506. Even Pounce thinks we live there. I carry him between homes daily. I'm planning to bring it up—the possibility of cohabitation—but I haven't had the guts. I want to tell him I love him first… I haven’t had the guts to do that either.

On my walk to the train, I look down at my phone. Our group chat is still going strong.

Isabela: how's life is la-la-land, Andy?

Merrill: I think he might be too love drunk to answer

Even Merrill makes fun of me now. I don't mind, though. I have the sexiest boyfriend I can imagine. Nothing can eviscerate my good mood.

Anders: that reminds me, I need your help, guys.

Hawke: what can we do, bud?

Fenris: is this serious?

Anders: I want to move in with Alistair. I'm not sure how to ask him.

Isabela: you guys basically live together already. Why don't you just bring your stuff upstairs tomorrow and be done with it?

Fenris: that is horrible advice.

Anders: I just want him to know that I'm ready to take the next step.

Merrill: ask him to dinner... and while you're there, tell him you love him and you think it's ridiculous that you still pay two rents.

Anders: that's the problem… we haven't said… that.

Fenris: you've been dating for half a year. You're not in love?

Anders: It isn't that. I'm definitely in love with him, we just haven't said it.

Merrill: he definitely loves you.

Hawke: it's obvious.

Isabela: just shout it out the next time you're banging him—that's the easiest time because if it doesn't go well you can blame it on the heat of the moment.

Hawke: you're terrible

Isabela: I know.

I'm laughing when I get onto the train and it carries me through the whole day. Before I know it, I'm reversing my course and heading home. I stop by my apartment to pick up a few things and then proceed to the fifth floor. I'm early. Maybe we'll have time to make dinner together.

I find music blaring into the hallway—it’s that same kind of jazz that Alistair always plays. This isn't unusual; he’s probably cleaning—this is the music that pumps him up to vacuum, apparently.

I'm about to call out for Alistair when I see an unfamiliar coat slung across the back of a chair and a messenger bag next to it on the floor.

I walk into the living room and don't see anyone, but a glint of light makes me look into the loft. Shadows flicker against the wall. I'm not sure why, but I creep up the stairs noiselessly.

Oh god.

Just 5 stairs up, I see it. The love of my life kissing a handsome blonde. I've only seen him twice in my life, but his face is etched into the darkest recesses of my mind—It's fucking Cullen.

I'm completely silent. I turn on my heel and I'm half way back to my apartment before I even realize I'm crying.

I shut the door and bolt it behind me. Pounce comes bounding out to see me. I slide down the wall and end up slumped on the floor. I pick up the phone and call Hawke. I don't even know why he's the one—I just feel like he'll know what to do.

“Hawke?” I sob.

“Hey... buddy, are you okay?” asks Hawke. He sounds horrified.

“Alistair's cheating on me,” I cry. I'm a complete mess. My eyes sting and I can't breathe.

“How do you know?” he asks.

“Because I came home early and caught him kissing his ex… or non-ex… whatever,” I trail off. In my head, I replay our first conversation about Cullen. Alistair said, ‘I used to be in love with him.’ Words he's never said to me. Words he never will, I'm sure.

“Oh my god, Anders,” says Hawke, “I'm so sorry.”

I can hear Merrill in the background, she's asking what is going on—why he looks so pale. He hesitates.

“It's okay, Hawke,” I manage, “you can tell her. I need to go anyway…”

“Anders?” he pauses, “Do you want me to come over?”

“No…” I answer unequivocally. “It's nice of you to offer, though. I'll call you tomorrow.”

I drop the phone at my side and wait. I know it will be about 3 minutes before the group text explodes on my behalf. I can't bare to look at it, though. On some level, this feels like it's my fault. I knew Alistair was a mess when we got together—I knew he was dangerous. He warned me.

“But I love him,” I say to no one.

It's 6pm, but I'm so exhausted I can't stay upright. I drag myself to my bed and crawl under the covers. I haven't slept here in weeks. It doesn't seem like anyone ever did. The sheets don't smell like Alistair, but they don't smell like me either.

Who am I without him?

A few hours later, I wake up hot and uncomfortable. I start stripping off layers of clothes before getting back in bed. I notice my phone is lighting up like crazy and I pick it up. It's almost midnight now. I have six missed calls and 8 texts—they're all from Alistair.

Alistair: hey, babe, just wondering when you're going to be home.

Alistair: hey… did you have a crazy day at work?

Alistair: I ended up coming home early...

Alistair: are you thinking fish or beef?

Alistair: sweetie, it's getting late. Are you ok?

Alistair: I'm starting to get worried—please call… just to let me know you're ok.

Alistair: I tried to call Hawke, but he didn't pick up.

Alistair: what's going on???

Alistair: I'm beginning to freak out. Where are you?

The most recent one was sent just two minutes ago. I’m crying again. I can't seem to stop. My eyes hurt and I want to crawl into a hole and die.

There's a knock at my door. I know who it is before I look, but I creep toward the peephole anyway. Alistair looks really nervous. For a second, I think about opening the door, but I don't. I don't want to give him the satisfaction of seeing me like this. I shuffle away from the door and go back to bed, burying my head in the pillows. I have never been so thankful I never gave him a key.

The next morning, I can't bring myself to go to work. I reschedule my clients and stay in bed until 1pm. At that point, my anxiety is starting to kick up and I know that the only real remedy that works for me is aerobic exercise. I put on my sneakers and head outside. I pull my hood up in case I see anyone I know—I don't feel like doing pleasant small talk. It’s June, and incredibly stuffy, but that is a small price to pay for anonymity. Before I start running, I get a text from Hawke.

Hawke: dude, Alistair called me a bunch of times last night. I finally talked to him at like 1am. He was really worried.

Anders: what did you tell him?

Hawke: I said I couldn't get in the middle… but I implied that you aren’t dead...

Good. I don't want to see him.

Hawke: but… I think you should tell him you're ok.

Anders: what?? The guy is fucking cheating on me.

Hawke: I'm not saying that you should forgive him… but he might report you as a missing person if you're not careful.

Anders: ok.

I start jogging while I think about what to say. I think about calling, but I don't think I can do it without crying. I decide to text him around the two-mile mark.

Anders: I'm ok. You can stop worrying.

Alistair: holy shit, Anders, I have been going crazy. Where were you??

Anders: I went home.

Alistair: what? What do you mean?

Anders: you know… to the apartment I pay for? The one with my name on the lease.

Alistair: why?

He's such an asshole. I can't believe he's playing dumb like this—he thinks he's gotten away with it.

Anders: this isn't working for me.

Alistair: what???

Anders: we need to break up.

Alistair: what? Why? Anders, please.

Before I even have a chance to type a response, he's calling me.

I answer, annoyance shrouding the lancinating pain I feel. “What?”

“Anders, I don't understand what's going on,” sputters Alistair.

I think he's crying.

“This isn't working. We need to break up,” I say as callously as I can.

“But…” he chokes out a little sob, “Anders, I thought everything was going so well…”

“So did I,” I blurt.

“What?”

“Nothing.” I clear my throat to keep from crying. This is the most painful conversation I've ever had in my life. Worse than breaking up with Karl by a factor of ten. “Just drop off my things outside my door and I'll put them inside later,” I instruct.

“Oh my god, Anders,” he cries, “can't we talk about this??”

“I'm sorry, but we can't,” I say definitively. Why is he this upset? Doesn't he have a supermodel-astronaut to fuck? “Goodbye, Al.” I hang up.

When I get back from my run, Alistair is sitting outside my door—camped out, arms across his chest. His face is tear-worn.

“What are you doing here?” I groan.

He stands, “I'm here to try to get a fucking straight answer out of you.”

That's rich.

“Anders,” he grabs both sides of my face to force me to look at him, “I love you.”

My heart breaks. I have been waiting for him to say that to me for months and now he says it like this??! When I've seen him with someone else?

“What kind of an idiot do you think I am?” I shake my head free.

“What?” He looks horrified.

I bury my fists in my hair and pull, hard enough that it's a little painful. “I can't do this.”

“Why?” he asks. He's desperate.

Because you won't come clean with me. Because you're trying to trick me. Because you never loved me at all—not if you could DO that with someone else.

“I don't love you,” I lie. The words escape through my mouth with a hiss. “I don't see any kind of a future for us. We're done.”

He staggers back against the wall. Tears are streaming down his face now. I silently pray that no one comes down the hallway—they'll think I'm the worst person in the world based on what he looks like. Little do they know it's the other way around.

“Fine…” he manages. He wipes his face on the cuff of his sleeve and turns to walk toward the stairwell. “I'll drop of your things tomorrow…”

“Fine,” I open my door and quickly step behind it. I'm on the verge of losing it and I don't want him to see.

The second the door slams I'm sobbing again—more angrily than ever. My sense of fairness has been assaulted. Why would he continue to pretend when it's so obvious I've caught him? Moreover, why is he sad at all? Why not just run off with Cullen into the sunset?

Then it occurs to me: maybe Cullen didn't want him. He never did before—for a decade. Maybe Alistair lured him to the apartment somehow, told him he's still in love with him and kissed him, only to be rejected.

I laugh a little hysterically. I'm a consolation prize. I always have been.

I pick up the phone to call Hawke, who has called me three times since I last looked.

“Hi,” he says cautiously. “Did you talk to him?”

“Yes,” I manage. I'm still sort of crying, but outrage is helping me hold it together. “I broke up with him.”

“Wow…” Hawke sounds shocked. “So is he getting back together with his ex?”

“How would I know?” I snap.

“Well…” Hawke clears his throat in confusion. “He must have said something about him… if you were angry enough to break up…”

I pause. “He didn't come clean.”

“What do you mean?” asks Hawke. “He denied it?”

I scoff, “No. He wouldn't even bring it up. I told him this wasn't going to work out and all he did was cry.”

“He cried?” Hawke is incredulous.

“Yeah…” I swallow audibly, “sobbed, actually—”

Hawke doesn’t really respond, but I can hear him breathing.

“I really need to get out of here,” I whimper.

“Yeah… Hanged Man?” he offers.

“I’ll leave now,” I hang up.

The train ride to the bar feels interminable. I’ve never been so angry and raw and ruined. I feel like I’ll never recover. When I get there, Fenris and Isabela are already sitting in our corner. Merrill joins them a second later.

“Where’s Hawke?” I ask.

“He just went to take a call,” explains Merrill. “He’ll be right back.”

I slide into our usual booth next to Fenris, who pushes over into Isabela to make space for me.

“So… I’m sure Hawke already told you…” I mumble.

All their faces fall at once, but only Merrill speaks.

“Hawke, we’re just…” she pauses to look at everyone else briefly, “we’re a little concerned that you might have made a rash decision…”

I blink. What the fuck is happening here?

Fenris pipes up, “Anders,” he puts a hand on my shoulder steadyingly, “we’re not saying you’re wrong… and if he did what you think, then we’ll never speak to him again,” he pauses while everyone else nods in agreement. “...but we’ve all come to know Alistair—this just doesn’t sound like him…”

“Well, none of you were there,” I snap. “I saw them.”

“What were they doing, exactly?” asks Isabela.

I’m perturbed that they’re making me relive this, but what else did I expect? I don’t believe it any more than they do.

“I came home and found them upstairs,” I say through clenched teeth, “...and they were sitting on the bed—our bed—kissing.”

“Were they dressed?” asks Isabela.

“Does it matter?” I counter.

“Well, it matters a little, Anders,” says Merrill. “For all you know, Alistair might have pushed him away two seconds after you fled!”

I have considered that already—it’s a tiny ember of hope in the back corner of my mind that I’m afraid to hold onto.

“That sounds more like something Alistair would do,” says Fenris.

I can’t believe everyone’s sticking up for my boyfriend like this. Ex-boyfriend.

“Even still,” I push a hand through my hair and close my eyes. “If he pushed him off or didn’t, why were they there in the first place? How did they end up in the bedroom?”

Everyone shrugs. My heart sinks again. I was actually hoping someone would be able to provide me with a logical explanation.

“We just think you should talk to him…” adds Hawke; he’s over my shoulder suddenly. “And…” he sits next to me, draping an arm around my shoulders, “please don’t be angry, but I called him…”

I turn, horrified, ready to start yelling, when I see Alistair in Hawke’s shadow.

“Can we talk?” asks Alistair. He looks nervous.

I look at each of my friends in turn and take a deep breath. I can feel my face becoming a mask.

“Okay…” I nod. C’mon, Anders… don’t freak out.

Alistair leads me to a smaller booth on the other side of the bar. He has—presumptuously—gotten me a drink. The fact that he knows exactly what I’d order makes me perversely happy, though.

“Hawke explained what happened,” he says.

I look at him blankly.

“...that you saw… and that you were so hurt that you left,” he continues. “I wish I had heard that from you.”

“Well, I wish you weren’t cheating on me, Al.” My voice is alarmingly shrill when I hear it.

He looks wounded. “That’s not what’s happening,” he says.

I raise an eyebrow. Little does he know, I'm rooting for him. I want to be proved wrong. I wish I could think of a plausible explanation.

“Cullen showed up unannounced,” he begins.

I bristle at his name.

“I haven’t spoken to him at all since we’ve been together,” he says. “So I was really surprised… but I let him in.”

I fold my arms across my chest.

“He's moving here—he's gotten a teaching gig at the university…” he explains.

It occurs to me that I have no idea what Cullen does—I made him an astronaut in my mind, remember?

“...and he wants to make amends—wants to straighten things out between us,” Alistair bites his lip. “And I was reluctant. I said I wasn't sure if we could do that… I told him he's bad for me… that you're the only good thing I've ever had in my life.”

I suck in a little gasp.

“But then... he finally admitted that he loves me… after literally years of saying he didn’t… of telling me—and everyone else we know—I was crazy...” explains Alistair. “I tried to throw him out of the apartment… I literally pushed him toward the door…”

Alistair is gesturing now—acting it out as he goes.

“And then… he kissed me… pushed me against the wall and…” he pauses.

I nod, even though I hate where this is going.

“I was completely shocked—and it felt so good to be vindicated… after all this time,” mumbles Alistair.

I feel like crying again. “It sounds like you still love him.”

He shakes his head vehemently. “I don’t.” He reaches across the table and hooks his fingers around my crossed forearms. “I have never loved anyone like I love you.” He lets that sink in, staring at me. “It took him finally giving me what I thought I wanted to realize it.”

“I still don’t understand… why were you upstairs with him?” I bark.

He winces. “It was a mistake, Anders—a huge one.”

“How far did it go?” I ask. I’m dreading the answer.

He bites his bottom lip. “I don’t want to lie to you… some things happened.”

I feel like my throat is closing—I can’t seem to breathe. I lean into the table and rest my face in my palms.

“I need you to leave,” my voice is muffled in the fabric of my sleeve.

“Anders, please,” he orbits the table, coming to sit on my left. “I’m so sorry—it was the worst mistake I’ve ever made.”

“It’s just…” I clench my jaw, trying to stay calm. “I won’t be able to trust you again if I have to keep picturing you with him in the back of my mind. We’re ruined.”

“Please,” he wraps his arms around me, “Give me a chance to show you how much I love you—to prove you can trust me again.”

I look up at him and try to blink through a blinding haze of tears.

He takes in a shaky breath, “Move in with me.”

[Thank you for reading! Check out more of my work on Ao3 and come play with me on twitter.]

#anderstair #dragon age modern au #dragon age fanfic #anders x alistair #alistair theirin #anders #dragon age #coffee shop universe

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