#antcommander

#7 - A Moan a return prompt for you my dear ;) I hope you like! NSFW under cut.

 This is the last place he wantsto be. Leaning against the wall, eating something expensive that tastes cheap,watching Empress Celene argue determinately with Gaspard. Slamming her fist onthat table, inkwells rattling, papers crumbled. The Inquisitor is running somewhereelse, armor hidden under her dress, caution written on her brow. He counts thepassing stares, the lingering glances, all the curious turning of heads theOrlesian nobles give him. He should have brought Mr. Barks. That would givethem something to actually talk about.

Hawke crosses his arms, intentlywatching the Chantry representatives across the hall. He shouldn’t be here. TheInquisition affords him some protection but parading him around the WinterPalace was no small thing. He still has many enemies. The whole palace feelslike a trap to him, some gilded cage made of marble and gold. There’s an itchat his spine, an ache in his legs. Every inch of him is telling him to run, toflee, to leave this place and never come back. He would if he could. But no, hehad promised Varric. One last favor before he leaves for Weisshaupt.

He closes his eyes, feels theburning sting of far too little sleep. Rubbing them with his knuckles, sighingas he drags a hand over his face. He opens his eyes slowly, unwillingly, scratchingat the chin of his beard. He turns to look when the door to the hall opens.Typically it’s just the Inquisitor busying herself but this time… this time. He shouldn’t be here. He should be here. Hawke is rushing towards the doors, taking him by the arms,backing him out of the hall. Dragging him down the stairs towards a roped offroom, pushing open the door and lighting the torch with a flick of his head.

Duty, full of cobwebs, dark butsafe. Hawke’s fingers are still bruising around his arms. “What are you doingthere?” Fenris raises an eyebrow.

“Not the greeting I wasexpecting,” he says. Hawke looks furious for a moment before he crushes hislips against his. Savoring the taste of him, arms wrapping around the elf. Forcinghis mouth open, tongue dancing around tongue. Fenris’s long hair – braided nomore as the ribbon slips from Hawke’s fingers, allowing him to run his handsthrough it. Twisting strands beneath his fingers, holding his head close tohis. A groan in the back of his throat as they breathe into each other,stealing oxygen, needing each other more than air.

“Better,” Fenris gasps whenHawke finally pulls away.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he saysas he presses his forehead against his.

“Varric wrote to me. He told meyou would be here, and then you would be leaving for Weisshaupt. Without me.That’s not going to happen,” he scolds.

“No. It’s too dangerous,” Hawkesays roughly.

“Not your decision to make. I amcoming with you. You’ve already left me behind once. Not again Hawke, I won’tallow it,” Fenris tells him. He reaches up, takes Hawke’s face in his hands.The dark cloud hanging on his brow slowly gives way to a small smile. Thumbsbrush across his cheekbones, delicate fingers curling against his cheeks.

“I’ve missed you,” Fenris sayshoarsely, the words broken and cracked in his mouth. “I woke up in our bed,alone, not knowing where you went. I thought – I thought the Templars had comefor you before I found your note. A note, Hawke. Aveline stopped me from goingafter you then, but she could not stop me now. I should be furious with you.”

“But you’re not?” Fenris looksup at him, all the defeat written in Hawke’s face. The dark circles underneathhis eyes. He feels thinner, more worn. They’ve been too long without eachother.

“Not since – you’re here. Withme, Hawke. Hawke,” hand at his neck, pulling him down for another kiss. Wrappingarms around his neck as Hawke takes him into his arms eyes closed and burningfor a much different reason than lack of sleep. He’s practically shaking like aleaf. Fenris is wearing one his best tunics, with that rich dark color linedwith gold, and Hawke knows every button. Slipping his hands underneath it,desperate to touch, desperate to feel.

“In my left pocket,” Fenrismutters between kisses, and Hawke’s hands are clumsy as he finds the smallbottle. Laughing against his lips as Fenris’s hands slip down his back, fist atthe ends of Hawke’s own tunic.

“You came prepared,” he says.

“I grew tired of waiting. I havemissed you,” he growls back. 

Same! *whispers* Hey Bioware, Fen and his story deserves a standalone game....

“It’s okay. I’m used to it.” Angst prompt

It’s a warm day. Sweat beads onhis back, his shirt soaked in it. He puts his foot on the shovel, presses itin. Muscles sore as he pulls it up, throws dirt over his shoulder. It’s easy tothink of nothing as he focuses on the way his bones scream, heavy breath, theache and the ache and the ache.

They had crossed Bethany’s arms.Tried to make her seem as peaceful as possible, despite the brokenness of her.Carver had taken Leandra away. Anger in her eyes, teeth gritted, tears on hercheeks. This is your fault.

Lava lined where they leftCarver. Sickly and pale, twisting purple lines swirling around his face andneck. They found some empty place, covered him in the rocks. He left the bloodydagger in Carver’s hands. It’s just younow.

They burned the dress he put herin. They dressed Leandra in her neat things, best things, a dress she hadbought when they moved to Hightown. The Chantry sisters had done their best tohide the scars. My little boy has becomeso strong.

He thought he was done withburying family.

That empty estate, a little lessempty with Fenris there. Waking up to him curled so close, an arm thrown overhis chest. Smiling as he leans against the counter, a cup of coffee in his handsas he listens to Garrett complain about waking. Scratching at his beard,telling him he likes it. Reading with a glass of wine, his legs tuckedunderneath him. Weeding the garden together, laughing as Fenris flings the bugshe finds. The shape of him in his arms as they hold each other.

Aveline has her arms crossed asshe approaches him. A knot in her brow, the frown on her mouth. “Do you needhelp?” she asks.

Reacting to the other crying. Hope you like <3

He steps inside the doorway,drops the bag to the floor. He looks around the room, runs a hand through hishair. The window is fogged, dirty, barely anything more than ornamental. Thefloorboards creak underneath his weight as he walks to the bed. It sags beneathhim when he sits, its age showing in a mere touch. Elbows on his knees, face inhis hands. He hears the door shut, hears another set of bags dropping. Fenrisleans his sword against the wall, makes his way towards the bed.

He kneels down before him, putsa hand on his arm. “Hawke,” he says, “What is it?”

“This isn’t – this isn’t what Iwanted for you,” he mumbles. It was Sebastian who gave them the warning first.Whispers in the Chantry, rumors of an exalted march on Kirkwall. They had spentlong nights by a burning candle discussing what exactly they could do. Avelinewith dark circles under her eyes wondering how long she could keep pushing her guardto the brink. Varric wondering what the remaining Templars might do. They knewwhat Meredith was, what she had done – would they help defend Kirkwall or wouldthey be the ones who break it from the inside out? Merrill worrying aboutdistributing food in the alienage, the state of their already crumbling houses.

Too many of those nights, thesame talk over and over again. Fenris had come to bed one night to find Hawkestaring into the fire. Turning to him with haunted eyes. “I need to leave,” hehad said. “The Chantry wants me.” Looking back at the fire, the embers churningand ashes falling. “You don’t have to come.” As if he would let him go alone.As if he would let him go without him.

“Garrett,” Fenris tugs at hisarms, pulls them away from his face. Hawke lets them drop, doesn’t meet Fenris’seyes. His are red-rimmed and wet, his mouth curling downwards with somethinglike guilt.

“I never wanted you to have torun. Not again. I wanted –” Hawke shakes his head. Fenris knows. He wanted thedays spent in the garden, hands and knees in the dirt. Side by side talkingquietly, pulling weeds as Mr. Barks slept in the sun. The afternoons of sharedbaths, of reading aloud to Hawke while he cooked dinner. The evenings spent sideby side while Fenris reads and drinks wine, with Hawke’s head in his lap. Thenights spent in bed together, skin pressed against skin, warm breath and warmerwords.

“I wanted to give you,” Hawkereaches out, brushes a hand against Fenris’s face, thumbs over cheekbones, “everything.” Fenris’s hand slips overhis. Holding it still while he turns his face, presses a kiss to his palm.

Merch idea: Fenris plushie that has this string in this back, if you pull it he says “I’m your’s” and some other stuff propably :P

Actually no! If Fenris spend quite a long time prepearing and planning an attack on mages in order to kill them then you could compare acts of those two. Anders planned this attack and lied to his friends in order to make them help him. Come on. Not trying to defend Fenris here. He screwed up. But you can not use this fact as a way to defend anders and use it as an excuse like what he did was because of “trauma”. It was planned mass murder.