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There were many images Hawke had been unable to escape since leaving Lothering. Many moments he wished he could live again and do differently. He would have pulled Carver out the way of that ogre so as not to know the feeling of his brother's blood coating his hands and his mother's grieving cries in his ears. He would have taken Bethany with him into the Deep Roads to protect her from the Templars and a life locked away in the Gallows so as not to know the sight of his mother's face as she was taken away. He would have paid more attention when mother spoke of her suitor so as not to know...
He buried his face in his hands and the images came back in the darkness. A strangers eyes in his mother's face. A dead woman's hands resting against his arm. Soft gentle words spoken through dead lips and the thick stench of blood clawing at the back of his throat. Blood and the sharp tang of that bastard Quentin's magic.
He heard noises downstairs; the door opening, a faint murmur of conversation. Bodhan's voice faded into nothing as the mantra of his mother's dying words echoed in his head, drowning out everything else. I knew you would come for me. Her faith rewarded by his being too late to safe her. He lifted his head up when he heard the footsteps getting closer and the guest stood in the door, casting further shadow in the dim room.
“I know nothing I say will change it.” Anders. He'd been with him down in the Foundry when they'd found...Hawke hadn't seen him since. Hadn't really seen anything until he'd somehow made it home. His eyes had been full of his dead mother's face. There hadn't been any room for anything else. “I'm just...I'm sorry.”
Everyone had been sorry. Even Fenris had been sympathetic. Varric had dealt with the body...bodies...Maker's Breath, just how much of what they'd buried had actually been his mother? Anders had been a comforting presence until Hawke had left for the estate, needing to find air that wasn't tainted by blood and death. But it hadn't worked. The smell had followed him back, sticking in his lungs and coating his skin. He'd tried scrubbing it off, he'd tried drowning it in rotgut even his uncle wouldn't touch, but still it remained.
“You were lucky to have her as long as you did.” Hawke's expression turned sour when Anders said that. Lucky? He didn't feel remotely lucky right now. His mother had been tortured and mutilated and he was meant to be grateful simply because they hadn't been ripped apart when he was twelve? “When the pain fades, that's what will matter.”
Hawke's expression softened again. When the pain fades. Part of him insisted the pain wouldn't fade, he didn't deserve the pain of failing his mother to go away. But he'd felt the same when Carver died, this raw feeling of sorrow and regret. And then again when Bethany had been taken to the Gallows to be locked away forever. It had hurt more than anything to lose his siblings...but the pain of loss and separation had faded to something bearable. The idea didn't help much now, but it wasn't necessarily meant to make it less painful. Just a reminder that hope was still out there, waiting for him to be ready for it.
“I appreciate it Anders.”
The mattress dipped as Anders sat down next to him. Their thighs touched from knee to hip, a familiar comforting closeness that made the pain in his chest twist tighter. He failed to reach her in time. What right does he have to this comfort? His mother has been denied the gentle touch of a lover forever, her last suitor betraying her trust in the worst possible way. How could he stand to feel comforted when he could still see her face in the shadows of the room? When he couldn't picture her without the eyes of a dead stranger looking back at him or the bloody line stitched across her throat?
“I'm here for you,” Anders continued, his voice soft and soothing, warm and gentle as the body Hawke knew lay under those clothes. “Whatever you need.”
What did he need? He needed the world to stop for five minutes. Needed something to let him catch his breath and just process everything that had happened. Deal with suddenly being an orphan. He needed to stop seeing another woman's eyes in his mother's face, needed to drown out her dying words, and wash away the stench of blood. He turned and leaned into his lover, burying his face against Anders' neck and shoulder.
He'd not thought much about where the others might have gone when he left, but one deep breath told him Anders had been to his clinic. The last embers of Darktown clinging to his clothes and the scent of elfroot and deep mushroom soaked into his skin. It cut through the lingering smell of the foundry and the blood and death that accompanied it. He breathed in deeply again, raising his hand to make sure Anders remained where he was and that glorious smell didn't abandon him. But true to his word Anders kept still, letting Hawke do as he pleased. He put one arm around Hawke to help hold him in place.
It was better but it wasn't enough. It air of that foul place still stuck in his throat. He pressed his lips to Anders' neck, hoping to drive it out with taste instead. It was a little better but still insufficient. He sank a hand into Anders' thick, soft hair and pulled him in for a kiss. Herbs and potions caught on the edge of his senses, dulling the ache, but they were overwhelmed by the taste of Anders himself. That was it...that was what he wanted. He kissed hard enough to bruise, sliding his tongue into the other man's mouth, drawing a soft noise of pleasure from his lover.
The feel of Anders' thigh pressed against his own. A warm, willing mouth kissing him with the rasp of stubble against his cheek. That thick, blonde hair wrapped round his fingers, tickling over the back of his hand where it came free of its tie. He drowned the memory of Quentin's lair in the taste and smell and feel of Anders. Whether he deserved it or not this was what he wanted, what he needed. He wanted to stop hearing his mother's voice, stop seeing her face, stop feeling this guilt and pain. Just for a little while. He wanted to bury himself in sensation so that nothing else could break through. Just for a few moments. Just to keep him from falling apart.
Hawke pulled away from the kiss, his pulse quickening at the noise of protest Anders made as it ended. That noise turned into a surprised squeak when Hawke abruptly pushed him back, forcing the pair of them down against the bed. He reached for the fastenings on Anders' robes, tugging them open with practised ease. He bent his head back down to kiss each inch of pale skin as it was revealed.
A soft tug at his hair pulled his head back up. Anders looked at him with concern.
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” he asked. “Justice is...restless. Angry about what happened. I don't know how easy he'll be to control.”
“I don't want you controlled,” said Hawke. Anders had warned him he wasn't always a gentle man. Hawke had seen how dangerous he could be in battle, knew the violence those comforting healer's hands could do with the right spells. Their lovemaking had always been a careful exploration of each other, slow and gentle with Justice kept safely on his leash. “I've told you that.” He bent down to kiss him again, teeth grazing his lower lip. “You said whatever I need. This is what I need. To forget. Please...help me forget?”
Those warm, compassionate eyes softened, the hands still in his hair running through gently.
“Anything for you,” he said. “I would not deny you the comfort you seek.” Anders propped himself up on one elbow to better kiss Hawke again. That kiss and his lover's words was all the encouragement Hawke needed to continue.
The last fastenings on Anders' coat gave way and Hawke pushed them roughly of his shoulders, the feathers crumpling under his fingers. The shirt followed quickly after, giving Hawke the broad expanse of Anders' chest to lavish attention on. His hands roamed across it possessively, trying to caress every inch at the same time. He broke off the kiss to carry on what he'd been doing earlier; running his lips and tongue over the mage's skin, burying himself in the smell and taste of the other an and drowning out the horrors of the day.
True to his word, Anders was not simply lying still as an idle participant. He had maintained the passion of Hawke's kiss and his hands had been eagerly working to relieve the other man of his own clothing. They tangled in the dark red fabric before tugging it up over Hawke's head and throwing it aside. The feel of skin against skin sent a thrill of desire through Hawke, a wonderful counterpoint to the dull weight in his chest since the foundry-
Don't think about the Foundry, don't think about the Foundry, don't think-
But the warning came too late and he was assaulted once more with visions of his mother's face. Hawke surged forwards, capturing Anders' lips again in a bruising kiss to drive the pain away, replace it with that fierce stab of desire. Anders met him eagerly, mouth open and willing. The healer's hands twisted in his hair as the man shifted, bringing a hard thigh up to rub between Hawke's legs. He groaned into Anders' mouth and ground down against the pressure. Thinking became blessedly difficult as pleasure rippled up and down his spine.
It was distracting enough that he didn't register Anders' moving again until the mage had already flipped him over onto his back, straddling his legs and smirking down at him. His face was flushed and his hair could only be considered still tied back out of courtesy. Hawke grabbed hold of Anders' slender waist and ground their hips together, forcing that smirk into an expression of pleasure, drawing a faint groan from the other man's throat. But the loss of control was all too fleeting.
“You want to lose yourself in something for a while?” the mage asked. Those skilled hands were working on the ties of Hawke's pants, working to free his straining cock. “You want to stop thinking?” He bent down to kiss Hawke's chest. “Then I think I have the perfect way to do it.”
His mouth burnt a hot trail along Hawke's needy skin, almost making up for the loss of feeling where Anders' had moved his hips away. There was a brief flash of cold as the ties on his pants came loose and were tugged away, before that wet, hot mouth swallowed him down, dragging a strangled cry from his throat.
This was...oh Maker this was good. A skilled tongue teasing his flesh and the barest hint of teeth ghosting over his skin made his head spin. Thoughts of how he could have saved her failed to penetrate the haze of pleasure Anders provided and the vision of his cock disappearing down the blonde mage's throat left him blind to little else. Heat pooled in his stomach, flowing out to each limb and making his extremities tingle. His breath started to turn ragged, hitching in his throat as Anders ran his tongue along the underside of the shaft. His head snapped back and he groaned as sparks rippled over Anders' fingers, dancing across his skin and setting his nerves on fire. Maybe this was enough. Maybe this could give him peace for a few blissful moments.
But good as it was there was one problem left. He could still hear her. Her dying words haunted his every moment. No, he needed noise. More noise than was provided by Anders' enthusiastic sucking. He dug his fingers into that soft blonde hair and pulled, forcing Anders back up along the length of his body. The hand that had been caressing his thigh picked up where his mouth left off, squeezing and stroking, thumb rubbing over the tip and coaxing yet another throaty moan out of Hawke. The moan turned into a growl when teeth sank into his lower lip, a brief flash of pain before Anders kissed him again. Hawke reached down to tug at the ties of Anders' own pants, pushing them down. Anders switched his grip to encase both their erections, rubbing them together.
Anders' breath was hot and heavy when the kiss broke, flowing down over his neck and shoulders as it came in pants. His mother's voice went quieter but still echoed in his skull. He needed more. Hawke pushed forwards, knocking Anders onto his back, grinding their hips together and thrusting into Anders' hand. He captured Anders' wrists and pinned them above the mage's head as he started nudging his thigh's apart with his knees. Keeping the healer's hands trapped with one of his own, the other took hold of his cock and started rubbing it against Anders' ass, pushing gently between his firm cheeks.
Hawke's eyes flicked up to meet Anders', silently asking permission. The mage gave a brief nod and started pushing down, just as eager as Hawke to get started. A bit of additional preparation would have made things easier, but the remnants of the blow job mingled with precum made things slick enough that he could slide in with minimal difficulty. Anders head fell back against the bed with a groan as Hawke's breath escaped in a sharp puff. He stilled a moment, lost in the tight, hot embrace of Anders' body, listening to their hearts both pounding, their heightened breathing. Then he started moving. He went slowly at first, soft and gentle like all their other times together. A slow build of heat building in his groin as he slid in and out. Anders' groaned again, moving in time with Hawke, wrapping his legs round Hawke's waist to try and draw him in deeper.
It was obvious when he hit the spot he was searching for. A faint hitch in his breathing, the hands clenching where he had them pinned, a sudden tension that hadn't been there before. Hawke slid in again, pressing firmly to make sure he was right. A slightly more insistent tone to the sounds of pleasure joined the other signs. That was all Hawke needed. His released Anders' wrists to take a firm grip on the mage's hips and picked up the pace.
His thrusts came hard and fast, bringing with them the slap of skin against skin. It didn't take long for Anders to start unravelling under the fast pace, the hard pounding. The first few noises are that of surprise, startled pleasure torn from his unsuspecting throat. But as Hawke's cock slammed into him again and again and again, the cries turned to ones of pure bliss. He tried to catch Hawke's eyes, lock their gazes the way they normally do, but after another few thrusts he gives up, head falling back and eyes squeezing shut as his breath comes in harsh, sharp pants between his groaning. Hands clawed at Hawke's back and twisted in his hair, the healer's futile attempts to ground himself and not just give in to the building pleasure.
With those ecstatic noises the last vestiges of the days horror started falling away. The thought of his mother's death was still there, the pain at the thought of losing her and what she went through still lingered. But he could push it aside, focus on the here and now as the details faded against the fierce pleasure coursing through him and the feel of Anders' body writhing beneath him.
The healer didn't last long under the punishing pace, especially when Hawke warpped one strong hand around his cock and started pumping in time to his thrusts. His shouts grew louder, gasping and begging. Harder, faster, deeper. His hands grabbed hold of Hawke's hips to try and drive him in even more. Blue light prickled along his skin and behind his eyes; the barrier between Anders and Justice thinning at the mage's lack of control. Hawke did his very best to comply, pain and loss buried behind a wall of pure pleasure.
With a final harsh cry, Anders' entire body convulsed, tight hot walls gripping Hawke almost painfully as the orgasm crashed through him, hot sticky fluid erupting to coat Hawke's still pumping hand. The noise shot straight to Hawke's cock and he spilled himself in the very next thrust, milked by the aftershocks still running through his lover. He pulls out and collapses, panting next to Anders.
“Oh Maker...” Anders said breathlessly, a rough edge to his voice. “That was...Andraste's arse I'm going to be walking funny for a week.”
A trickle of concern filtered into Hawke's haze filled mind. “Did I hurt you?” He'd been rough but he'd still tried to be careful...
“Far from it.” The mage sounded almost smug. “If that's how you like to be comforted...” He grew silent and swallowed before propping himself up on one elbow to look down at Hawke, face creased with concern. “Has that helped at all?”
Hawke remained silent for a moment, reaching out to trail a hand across Anders' bare abdomen, the evidence of the other man's orgasm sticking to his fingers. The pain still lingered in his stomach like a sickness and he still didn't want to contemplate the horrors of what happened. But rather than the mantra of her dying words and those staring dead eyes he could now only picture one thing.
“She would have been so cross if she'd been next door during that.” He could almost hear her thumping on the walls, telling him to keep it down. For the first time since hearing she'd received those white lilies he felt himself smile. He shifted closer to Anders, wanting to share his warmth now the heat of their passion was starting to cool. The mage slid an arm round his back, holding him in a half hug. “Thank you,” he said. “I'm glad you're here.”
Anders nuzzled against his neck. “Any time, love. Any time.”