#dakissweek25

DA Kiss Week: Day 3: Fade

Thanks for the tag @woundedsoul12. This is from Chapter 2 of my post-Veilguard fic, Homecoming. Apparently it's also Dragon Age kiss week and the prompt today is "Morning". This scene takes place in the morning so it counts, right?

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“Where to? And what’s a while?” Rook asked curiously, though he had a feeling that he knew what Davrin would say.

“I was thinking we could go to Arlathan…” was all Davrin could get out before he was interrupted.

“There it is!  Let me guess, you’re missing Eldrin and the griffons, again?” Rook responded in jest. He knew Davrin too well by now or so he thought.

“Actually, I was hoping we could drop Assan off with Eldrin,” He started to say and then took Rook by the hand and spun him around until he could grab from him behind and then whispered in his ear “Then you and I could stay in a nice cabin for a few days,” he paused to kiss his neck, “A week” he paused again to kiss Rook’s cheek “or even longer if you like.” He gave a passionate kiss on the lips and then nuzzled into his neck.

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soft tags: @papayafig, @thatgaymerguyb, @jukkaricity, @ryoskuna, , @in-the-drowning-deep, @megaeratheefury.

Set between Chapters 43 and 44 of Tides of Blood and Time. For those who don’t want to tackle a literal novel‑length fic: Storm “Rook” Hawke (often known as Soren Thorne) is the son of Autumn Hawke and Anders. In the longfic, he’s sent back in time to Kirkwall in 9:34 Dragon. This scene takes place just after he returns to his own time and confides in Emmrich about what happened.

Storm left Emmrich’s room with the book still clutched in his hand, his head swimming. He hadn’t meant to linger in the corridor, but his feet didn’t seem to understand motion.

Nothing felt quite real.

Like he’d slipped sideways out of history and only just stumbled back into the margins.

Davrin found him there.

Of course he did. Storm had promised an explanation later. And now was later, wasn’t it?

He tried for a grin as the other Warden approached. It faltered.

Davrin didn’t smile back. Just stopped a pace in front of him, gaze sharp. “You’re shaking.”

“I’m not.” Storm tightened his grip on the book until the spine creaked. “Just—processing.”

“Processing looks a lot like falling apart.”

Storm swallowed. His throat felt too dry for words. He meant to brush it off, to throw out a joke about ghosts in history books or how bad he likely looked. But Davrin’s eyes caught his, steady and unrelenting, and the words scattered. "I missed them,” he whispered before he could stop himself.

Davrin’s jaw shifted, but he didn’t ask who. Didn't ask anything.

Instead, he stepped forward, slow but certain, and lifted his hand to the back of Storm’s neck. No performance. No audience. Just warmth, grounding.

Storm froze.

Then Davrin kissed him.

Not dramatic. Not sharp.

No chaos of battle, no hush of the forest.

Just something steady, deliberate—a kiss pressed to him like a promise: You’re here. You’re alive.

Storm’s breath hitched. The book slipped in his hands, weight forgotten, as he leaned into the kiss like it was the first solid ground he’d found since falling through time.

When they parted, the corridor was still quiet. Still warm.

Storm let out a laugh, shaky at the edges. “You really know how to time an ambush.”

Davrin’s hand lingered at his nape. “Not an ambush. Just… a reunion.”

Storm shut his eyes for a second, let the word settle in his chest, heavy but right.

Then he opened them again, crooked smile tugging back into place. “Guess I owe you an explanation.”