BY : escapeasy
Category: +A through F > Dragon Age (all) > Dragon Age (all)
Dragon prints: 384
Disclaimer: I do not own anything pertaining/related to Dragon Age and I’m not making any profit from this work.

[Original post date: November 2016]


Rain pours steadily from the gray sky.

Not so strongly that it floods the two men out of their rocky hidey hole but fat drops flutter the leaves of the trees and bushes of the forest around them, lying across the thick grass in puddles where the ground is uneven. The apostate Champion of Kirkwall watches the scattered shower ripple in the pools of water from cover in a crawl-space under some collapsed boulders, only tall enough to stand up half way. He lies on his stomach propped up by his elbows with Anders lying next to him sideways, head cushioned by his own arm against the dirt. A fluffy, orange tabby cat is pressed against the inside of his knees and a faithful mabari is curled between their feet, both comfortably asleep.

Hawke's gaze shifts to his blond companion. Dirt is smeared in small splotches on his face, one bold stroke in particular on his forehead fades against his hairline. Locks of sandy hair that are usually tied back in determination are loose and somewhat knotted, though swept away from his face – a fairly ratty red ribbon still in the clutches of a certain feline, twisted around one white-footed paw after a fierce play battle victory against Anders. The ribbon was a small token, something Hawke had used the first time he playfully attempted to tie up Anders' hair, not very successfully. Anders smiled and laughed despite a painful yank when Hawke hadn't realized he somehow tied his finger into the knot… Years of practice have improved his effort, thankfully. Not that Anders ever complains.

Currently, Anders' eyes are closed but he's not sleeping. Just resting – not that they've been able to do much since the rain crawled over them some days ago. In truth any rest they can get is always welcomed, even if not the most luxurious.

"This is nice." Hawke says with contentment clear in his voice over the pitter-patter of raindrops.

Amber eyes open to peek at him.

"Listening to the rain." Hawke answers the unasked question. He looks up toward the sky where a misty fog clings to the top of the trees.

It is not the rainy season, but it has been raining rather consistently for almost three days – hampering their travel, not that they have a particular destination. "Not here" is generally the plan. It's been… weeks, maybe a month or more since they last stopped in a town to resupply. Come an Archdemon or high water, they'll have to move out soon.

"Yeah," he reaffirms, "this is nice." Then he looks at Anders. "Relaxing here to the sound of rain with the most beautiful man in the world."

Anders doesn't snort like Hawke almost expects him to.

Just stares a moment.

Blinks a couple times.

"You're dehydrated, aren't you?" the healer deadpans despite reaching to touch Hawke's forehead with caring, gentle fingertips.

Hawke laughs, the cheerful sound shaking more in his belly than bouncing through the trees – as safe as this moment seems, dangers can always be hiding, hunting them – and takes Anders' hand to kiss a somewhat roughened palm.

"I'm serious."

"There's that looking glass again?" Anders wryly says with a faint grin, stroking his fingertips against Hawke's weathered skin. "Good to know a lack of bathing hasn't marred my appearance."

Hawke smiles deeply into Anders' hand, staring down at the ground a moment. At the days-worth of grit trapped under the nails of his other hand.

"You are devastatingly handsome," Hawke cheekily teases, "but that isn't what I meant." He turns his head to face the man lying beside him, cupping the hand against his cheek. "You're so much more than that. And you're beautiful because of it."

An unspoken meaning laces between Hawke's words just as he intended and they catch in the other mage's eyes. Anders' eyebrows slowly wrinkle together, his tired gaze shifting, sifting through emotions because one is too simple for them to hold.





"…Love," he settles on softly saying, because it is the strongest feeling of all, a quiet breath that tingles in his hand that pulls Hawke lower as he pushes himself up. Hawke leans into Anders' lips, closing his eyes not before seeing the briefest flash of blue that flickers in those golden eyes. Kisses with Anders are always heated, even something as simple as a closed-mouth press. There's an underlying fire that simmers every time, a palpable passion weaving their lips together that's more than mere magic.

It's just the way Anders is.

The kiss is a firey blossom sweetly spreading from their parting lips all the way to Hawke's chest in a thick glaze before Anders pulls back. Fingers sliding to tangle and grip the hair at Hawke's nape.

"Not too sappy?" Hawke asks, uncertain if it's a sincere question or not, touching their foreheads together.

Anders smiles halfway, a coy smirk that comfortably curls into one corner of his mouth.

Then their lips are touching again, a singe of heat breathing into Hawke's mouth as Anders presses them into a deep kiss neither of them can help falling into, not that there's even much of a fight.

Then Hawke lands on his back.

"Suppose we have a few more hours of this weather." Anders' words don't murmur so much as smolder against Hawke's moist lips and the Champion very happily takes the bait.

"So it seems…" he grins as he bends an arm around the mage leaning on top of him, hand squeezing onto the loose feathers of a black coat with his other hand tucking the drape of frayed blond hair behind a pierced ear. Thumb grazing down the shell and over a small gold loop.

Anders wordlessly smiles, a glimmer in his eyes that glows brighter than the sun they haven't seen in days – and not just for that lingering hint of electric Justice – before diving into another kiss that melts away into a fuzzy blanket of warmth all over them, overflowing out into the rain. The calm, relaxing sound of water hitting the leaves and splashing in puddles mingles with their wet but sizzling kisses, all of it trickling into Hawke's head. Always an ear to the ground, so to speak, but out here all alone and away from the rest of the world…

Just them, and their spark that can't be doused.

Well, it really isn't so bad.

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