#khanders

"Oh, I don't know." Anders finally caught Hawke's gaze from across the hall, shooting him a coy smile and getting one in return. "They're always on the run, right? I'd imagined lifelong apostates to be all holed up in the wilderness somewhere, shabby huts and all, no soap, all dirty and painfully uncivilized." Anders sipped his coffee, pretending to be looking over a scroll Karl handed over to him, lips quirking as he, no doubt, noticed Karl's scribbled 'Subtle' on the margins. "So imagine my surprise when this prim and proper Lothering farmboy starts shooting lightning at the helms that found us."

Found them, as Anders had told Karl, right before Anders was set to leave the blighted town. Would have put enough distance between the templar team tracking him to hopefully get to Denerim and catch a ship to wherever, had he been smart enough not to linger and flirt with pretty apostates in plain view.

Karl shook his head. "Of all the ways to get caught, Anders..."

"I know, I know, but it was worth it! Or, well—it would have been, had they let us come at least once."

Karl sighed. Certainly did not have any suggestive imagery intruding into his mind. "You're ridiculous.”

“Garrett's the ridiculous one, not I!” And there was the first name. Karl chanced a glance at him, finding him hovering on a sphere of force magic, amusing a few younger apprentices. It would have been hard to believe he wasn't a teenager were it not for the beard and the surprisingly muscled physique—for a mage at least. “An apostate," Anders continued, "in hiding. Sneaked off in the middle of the night to get conspicuously drunk in a tavern on a busy night and start flirting with a perfect stranger. With terrible pickup lines, I might add. Something about religion and shit and me being the answer to all his prayers or whatever bullshit." Anders huffed, but Karl caught the shadow of a smile he'd tried to hide.

“Isn’t that,” Karl pointed out, “what you usually do?”

“I watch my perfect strangers beforehand," Anders said, crossing his arms, "and I made sure to talk to Lightning Fingers over there long enough to make sure he was safe."

“Before the more interesting activities, I take it?"

“Mm, most intriguing." Anders' gaze drifted languidly back to where Hawke was doubtless still doing something ridiculous or other. "He’s got very skilled hands, you know. I mean 'lightning fingers' quite literally. I have yet to meet anyone else whose electricity trick is on par with my own.” He took a drink, and his tongue darted out to lick the coffee foam from his lips. Karl roughly forced his attention back to a batch of disjointed lecture notes, these ones heftily decorated with messy doodles of mutilated templars. “It’s truly a crime I didn’t get his cock in me.”

“The Maker’s punishment for your atrocious studies, no doubt." Karl corrected another faulty casting circle in Anders’ notes, one so obviously done wrong because of Anders' carelessness and not any lack of knowledge.

“The Maker can go fuck himself," Anders huffed, "or better yet, let me get the fuck laid." He smiled at Karl, that dazzling, teasing, lovely smile of his. "Speaking of... tonight?”

"What about tonight?"

"The room. To ourselves. Like we planned." Anders shot a stinging spark of magic his way that Karl crushed with a minuscule barrier. "Don't tell me you've changed your mind."

“I'd have thought you might. Since you're so eager to get  it with the pretty apostate over there.” And Karl couldn't begrudge him that. Wouldn't allow himself to, when so much of him hoped Anders would find someone who wouldn't tie him down like Karl did. Whom he could escape with, build a life with, live it out long and happy, never to return to this blighted prison.

Someone like Hawke, however much prickling displeasure it may or may not have made Karl feel.

Anders stared at him for a long while, face unreadable, his gaze searching, before he said with a teasing lilt to his tone, “Is that jealousy I hear, Enchanter?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Anders. Do you forget who taught you the most important lesson of the Tower?"

"Nobody belongs to anyone," Anders recited tiredly, "and if someone does, they'll be taken away. Hard lesson to forget." And not one Karl abided to, exactly. Not that Anders needed to know that. "What's got your knickerweasels in a twist then?"

Karl had to laugh. "Knickerweasels?"

"Picked it up from the idiot over there." Anders nodded in Hawke's direction. "And oh—if you're envious of me here, don't worry," he purred, blinking innocently, "I could invite him to join us if you want.”

“Which,” Karl said and certainly did not feel his cheeks running hot, "I do not."

"Not at all? Truly? You don’t think he’s at least a little bit handsome?”

Karl thought he was quite a fair bit handsome, but, “What I do or don’t think bears little concern here,” he said instead.

“Just say yes or no”

“Yes or no.”

“Oh, to the Void with you then. You don’t know what you’re missing though—I never got to tell you the tale in intricate detail, did I?" Anders snitched a pastry from Karl's plate and popped it into his mouth, dragging his tongue along his lips, languid, teasing. "I could finish it tonight if you'd like. Might spark your interest.”

“I'm not sure, Anders." Karl let the papers he was holding (and, perhaps, partially hiding his face with) drop onto the table, meeting Anders' gaze head-on. "But I think my cock in your throat might spark more of my interest.”

Anders came this close to choking on his hefty sip of coffee. “Fuck. Um. Fuck." Anders cast a quick drying spell, glaring daggers at Karl as he cleared his throat. "Now you’ve ruined my studies further, Enchanter. It's the only thing I'll be thinking about all through today’s classes. And that’s on you.”

Karl allowed himself a small smile. “Do try to behave, apprentice.”

“Do try not to miss me too much, Enchanter," Anders sniped back, collecting all the papers Karl had sorted out into a messy heap and leaving as the bell signaled the beginning of class.

Karl watched his retreating back, watched him go up to Hawke and lead him out to whatever lesson they shared, caught the glance Anders threw over his shoulder and the soft smile that came with it, one reserved just for Karl.

The one thing of Anders' that belonged to him.

~~~

Kinloch was shrouded in darkness, the stray moonlit rays the only illumination as Anders roamed the corridors winding along the third-level of the Senior Mage quarters. The safest floor for him for the night, rarely patrolled by templars as it was, even if Karl's quarters weren't exactly such. Their time alone was bliss, of course, pleasure wound from kiss, and touch, and fucking themselves into exhaustion after so many weeks apart. Only boneless as he was, Anders has to slip away before Senior Enchanter Kinsey returned to the adjacent chamber from his night-time stargazing to ruin their afterglow and possibly rat them out.

Then Karl will be taken away and—

Anders shook his head. He shouldn't be thinking such things.

He wished he didn't have to.

It was most unfair, Anders decided, molding mana into a force spell that let him climb onto one of the high-rise windows, immediately spotting the jagged edges of Judex, the brightest constellation. Ever-present, so familiar, oft times Anders' only companion in the crushing loneliness of this place. Funny it should shine right above this place of misery that was as far from just as Thedas was from the stars themselves.

Minutes slipped past and piled into an hour. Anders kept himself awake with mild rejuvenation spells, waiting for the first moments of sunrise that would make it safe to return to the apprentices' floor—a relatively short break in the templars' patrol when he could innocuously slink back into his bed before the roll call.

The bell chimed the time, and Anders cursed under his breath. Four hours yet.

He flung himself back onto the floor, toeing his way to the library. Praise be the Maker if he found it empty with a dark corner he could huddle in to catch some shuteye, but knowing his luck, there'd doubtless be one insomniac Enchanter or other doing some Maker damned research.

As his luck would have it, Anders didn't find the library empty, but the only person seated behind a desk creaking underneath a dozen books was no enchanter, but the newly-made apprentice fast becoming Anders' new friend—with hopefully plenty and frequent benefits.

"Garrett?"

Hawke jumped in his seat, head whipping in Anders' direction and a spell crackling at the ready.

Oh, the fool.

"Maker's fucking breath, Anders!"

"Keep greeting people like that," Anders said through huffs of laughter, "and you'll get a grand old smite in the face if it's a templar that surprises you next time. How many times do we have to go over the rules for you to get it?"

"Yeah, yeah. Fucking rules." Hawke dissolved the spell and ran a hand through his hair, messing it up even further than it already was. Somehow looking even cuter than usual when he did it, impossible as that might seem. "What does one do for fun in this place, anyway?"

"Sex." Anders hopped onto the desk, close enough for his knees to brush against Hawke's arm. Close enough to hear the hitch in Hawke's breath at the word, watch his pupils dilate, his lips part. It wouldn't exactly be safe here, of course, nor in any closet on this bloody floor for a couple of especially troublesome apprentices such as them, but Maker it was tempting. "Definitely not sneaking around Senior Mage quarters past curfew. What are you even doing here?"

"Research." Hawke shrugged like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Wrapped an arm round Anders' waist like it was the most normal thing in the world.

"I got that much." Anders shifted closer to the touch. "What kind, in the middle of the night?"

"The kind I can't do in the apprentices' library, voidhole that it is. And you yourself told me when it was safe to sneak out of the dorms, Serah Stick-to-the-Rules. I scouted out this floor before coming here and I've got sensor wisps on the lookout," Hawke explained, rubbing lazy circles into Anders' side while he perused one of the books sprawled about and promptly blanched.

"Maledictio Maleficarum?" What in the actual Void... "Do I want to know why you have this?"

"Hm." Hawke's gaze was appraising. "You actually probably do."

"All right." Anders frowned. "Out with it. Are you secretly an evil blood mage?"

Hawke laughed. "Evil? Look into my eyes, Anders, I could never." And Anders supposed he did have pretty cute-looking eyes, golden-brown framed by thick, dark eyelashes and partly covered by stray locks of hair falling in his face. Which didn't detract from his nefarious research materials. Not in the slightest. "Blood mage, on the other hand," Hawke mused, "well. Not yet."

"What do you mean not yet?"

"Anders." Hawke plied the book from his fingers, warm calloused hands brushing against Anders' skin. "Stop looking at me like that. I'm not up to anything evil, I promise."

"You're researching blood magic—"

"Theoretical foundations of the less conventional forms of magic considered malevolent by the Chantry—"

"There's a literal chapter titled 'Sacrificial Rituals' in this—"

"Which I don't need, but I do need the less... sacrifice-heavy sections of the book to decode a message from my father."

Anders frowned harder, now thoroughly confused. "Your father? Message? Sorry, you've lost me." Anders shifted to sit right in front of Hawke, legs framing his shoulders in a totally non-distracting way. "Start from the beginning. How did your father get you a message here? It's been what, a week?"

Hawke shook his head. "He didn't. It was always with me." He grinned. "My grimoire."

"Oh?" Anders looked around dumbly for anything that resembled one, eyes skidding instead over tomes with yet more questionable titles. "The helms didn't take it away?"

"I burned it the minute they arrived but I have it memorized."

Anders was hardly listening. "Garrett, what the fuck are you doing with Cantus Sanguinis, and is the evil blood mage your father, then?"

"Hey," Hawke narrowed his eyes, "do not insult my Dad. You're lucky you're pretty, though. I'll forgive you—this time."

"Mm." Anders smirked. Gripped Hawke's forearms and ran his hands along the muscled, hairy arms underneath the wide-sleeved robes that did little to conceal the muscles underneath. Remarkably strong muscles Anders would kill to touch again with no fabric in the way. "I wonder what other crimes my looks will let me get away with."

"Well, I won't forgive you if you keep doing this." Hawke's gaze dropped to his arms. "And keep looking at me like that without at least giving me a kiss. Better, two. Better yet if we continue what we never finished back at that tavern."

Anders barely bit off a moan as Hawke flicked his tongue out to wet his lips. Red, full lips that felt so soft and wonderful beneath his when they'd first kissed. Lips that were tempting enough to risk a quickie here among the shelves somewhere, to the void with possible intruders.

"Tell me," Anders murmured, leaning down to mouth at his ear, "what you're doing researching maleficar spells. And we'll see about that kiss."

"Tease."

"Talk."

And Hawke did. Told Anders about his father's concern for Hawke and his sister, loath to let them be captured and detained in a Circle as he himself had been for most of his life. How he'd made them keep grimoires protected in code only they knew, made them learn the encoded messages Malcolm had recorded in them by heart, sharing the key to the code with no other soul but Garrett and Bethany. How this message was a surefire way out of any Tower, phylacteries be damned.

"Making permanent changes to your blood signature..." Anders sent a surge of healing magic to his head against the onset of a tension headache. "Isn't dangerous?"

Hawke nodded. "It's just a masking spell at its core, so, yes. As long as you do it right." He smirked. "And I will. If you haven't noticed, I'm kind of a prodigy."

"So talented. So modest." Anders pinched Hawke's arm gently. "And not exactly the brightest, Garrett. You use it once, you prove them right. You'll be a maleficar in the eyes of the law and..." He sighed heavily. "They'll never stop looking for you."

"Like they look for you and find you every single time," Hawke said wryly, "only thanks to your leash? That I have the means to break. Forever."

"It's still," Anders hissed, "blood magic!"

"Just like the whole use of phylacteries itself. That's the same fucking blood magic only approved by the Chantry. I'm just planning to use another form of it against them. Evens it out, don't you think?"

"I think it's a sin in the eyes of the Maker."

"So is the freedom of mages, apparently, yet you have no trouble running away from here every other year." Hawke wrested free of Anders hands on his arms. "Heathen."

"Well, I don't sacrifice anyone to do it!"

"And neither will I." Hawke stood with a tired sigh, crowding Anders against the table. His gaze was pure sincerity. His voice, deep and confident, made Anders want to trust him. His lips—so close, so soft, and so tempting—didn't seem like they could spout lies. "I swear to you. My father would never leave us with a spell so unsafe. It will take a while to decode, maybe months, maybe years. Grimoire's gone but it's all in my head, and it's difficult, surely, but not impossible. And we won't need anything we can't come back from."

"We?" Anders blinked. "What, you're extending the offer to me, too?"

"Of course," Garrett assured him, "and the offer to stay with us whenever we get out of this shithole, if you'd like to, that is." An adorable flush colored his cheeks as he looked away. "I mean. Well, the farm could always use an extra pair of hands, not that there's anything—not that I'm implying—but if I were to imply... I mean, I'd want—fuck, I guess—"

Anders silenced him with his lips before he could go on further, digging a hole neither of them was ready to jump into. Instead, Anders forged a path they'd already started, mouth melding against Hawke's just as perfectly as it had when they'd entangled back in that tavern. Tongue sliding past smooth, soft lips, deepening the kiss and tasting, exploring. His hands grabbing at silk robes and drawing Hawke closer. His body felt exquisite—large, and heavy, and warm against Anders' smaller form, muscular arms wrapping around him, enveloping him in heat and sending pangs of desire coursing through his veins. Kiss after kiss left him breathless, and Anders had just enough presence of mind to cast a brief concealing spell over the mess of books on the desk and drag Hawke behind one of the more discreet bookshelves in a far corner.

Words weren't needed; hands and lips spoke in their stead. And with no soundproof walls like in the Enchanters' quarters, any loud moan would be a foolish risk. They unclothed each other quickly and silently, heavy breathing echoing in the empty space, burning need reflected in each other's eyes. Anders melted into rough touches and bruising kisses as Hawke hefted him up, Anders' legs circling his waist, and a quick grease spell later Hawke's thick length was sinking into him, stretching him, filling him, and Anders found himself lost in the pleasure, the delicious glide against the spot inside him that would have him screaming had their circumstances allowed such an indulgence. His heartbeat pounded in time with the harsh rhythm Hawke set, fucking into him hard enough to rattle the bookshelf, send it teetering precariously—only neither of them cared. They cared about drinking each other in with frantic kisses and vice-tight embraces. Pressed to each other as close as they could, they kissed to muffle the moans threatening to escape, kissed to drown out the grim surroundings of the prison they both so yearned to escape.

A prison Hawke could escape, offered Anders the key as freely as nothing had ever been offered to him thus, save for his mother's love and Karl's affection. Anders tried, desperately, to ignore the nagging voice that piped up in his mind, tried to focus instead on the feel of Garrett inside him, the spill of his release, and the hand wrapping around Anders' cock to stroke him to completion, and yet the voice kept bothering him, treacherous, wondering if maybe—

Maybe one cardinal transgression would be worth a lifetime of freedom.

Then Anders came apart in Hawke's arms, and the power of thought abandoned him completely.

~~~

Never in a thousand ages would Karl have guessed that the first words Hawke spoke to him in person would be,

"You're the Enchanter who's fucking Anders, right?"

"Such a polite way to greet your Senior, apprentice." Karl took care not to show any hint of shock at the words. "Truly, you're learning the rules of the Tower so quickly."

Hawke scoffed. Rolled his eyes. Went back to his book with a grunt of, 'Fuck the Tower. Fuck the rules,' and proceeded to ignore Karl completely, as if the situation they found themselves in is completely bloody normal.

The sheer insolence...

"Apprentice Hawke."

"I have a name, you know."

A name he never even used to introduce himself.

Karl gritted his teeth. "Apprentice Garrett."

"Mm?"

"May I inquire as to what in the ever-loving Void you're doing sprawled on my bed reading semi-illegal Tevene literature?"

"Oh." Hawke tore his eyes away from the book to stare at him like Karl was the idiot here. "Anders told me to be here. Didn't actually know what or whose the place was, but I know." He made a vague gesture at Karl. "You. Anders gushes about you often enough so. Well met. And nice room!" he finishes cheerfully, blinking up at Karl much like an over-excited puppy would.

Karl so wished he could kiss the teasing hint of a grin away.

"Funny that I'd only expected Anders to be here," Karl resigned himself to the mildly annoying, thoroughly tempting company. "And he's the one running late."

"He's always running late. And wait, am I..." Hawke blinked. "An unexpected participant in a threesome or something?"

Karl chuckled. "Not quite. My roommate's going to be in the joint quarters over there," he motioned to the space, "all evening and all night. I'm afraid it's all wine and cards tonight, hardly any actual fun."

"I see." Hawke leered, quite shamelessly at that. "You must invite me to the fun stuff too, sometime. If you are so inclined."

"If I were so inclined," Karl echoed, picking up the book Hawke had discard and sighing as he read the title. Not exactly execution-worthy, but a court hearing would be standard procedure if any Templar found it in his quarters. Anders had told him about Hawke's plan, of course. Told him many things about Hawke, some details completely unsolicited, such as exactly how skilled Hawke turned out to be in bed—or shadowed corners, deserted libraries, and closets, as it were. "And whatever made you think I would be?"

"You looking at me like you'd like to fuck me senseless." Karl wondered if he really was that obvious. Surely not, otherwise he'd never have made it this far in the place where deceit was a means of survival. "Or more than that," Hawke went on, biting down on his lower lip, making Karl want to capture it between his own teeth, run his tongue over the softness and— "Yes, definitely. I think you'd be rough with me. I'd like that. Bend me over and spank me until I can't think, can't speak, save for Yes, and Karl as you fuck me into the wall, then—you specialize in Force, don't you?" Hawke didn't deign to wait for an answer, weaving thick tendrils of invisible bonds round his wrists Karl couldn't see but could sense the sizzling presence. "Then maybe I'd be tied down all the while with restraints like these. Feeling your magic singing with mine. Writhing and begging you to let me touch you, and you only fuck me harder, and keep me still because I have to earn it."

Karl was going to be struck down by the Maker. Right this instant. Any moment now, surely the only explanation for the gnawing heat of embarrassment and something else, something poignant and searing seeming to course through his body, threatening to burn him to the core.

“Garrett,” he said in the most authoritative voice he could muster under the circumstances.

“We're on a strictly first-name basis now?” Hawke said. “Perfect.”

“Would it kill you to be civil,” Karl said inadequately, “just for once?” He wondered why it proved so much more difficult answering Hawke’s taunts than it was dealing with Anders' usual cheekiness. Must be the exhaustion of the day getting to him.

“Oh, believe me.” Hawke’s eyes raked over him. "Voice like that, the look, the looks. I can be good for you, Enchanter.”

"Hawke, you are entirely incapable of any semblance of good behavior," Anders, Karl’s savior incarnate, declared, strolling into his quarters in those revealing Tevinter-style robes he favored, courtesy only of his volunteer work at Wynne's medical wing. "I would know, I have to deal with your bullshit on a daily basis."

"Fuck you, too, Anders."

"Yes, fuck you, Anders," Karl folded his arms, ignoring the mock-offended gasps from each of the two. "Maybe if we ever have guests it's a good idea to warn me—"

"Oh," Anders said, "I didn't? My bad." His expression crumpled into an exaggerated pout. "Well, we can't kick out our guest now, can we?"

"Unless you really want me to leave." Hawke lost the cocksure attitude as easily as he always wore it, smirk softening into a smile. "I really wouldn't want to intrude."

"So that I at least have enough food and drink ready," Karl finished with a roll of his eyes. He gave Hawke an appraising once-over. "You can stay."

And Hawke stayed.

He stayed, amusing them with jokes, and anecdotes, and puns so pain-inducing Anders had to ban the more egregious ones, like 'hawkeward' and 'anderstand' under pain of inescapable magical tickling.

Hawke stayed, flirting with and teasing Anders through their games, doing quite a bit of cheating as they played Wicked Grace. Providing comfort and a shoulder to lean on as Anders got progressively drunker and slipped into hateful speeches about the Circles, the Chantry, and how unjust the whole system was, corrupt by the inside by no Maker but by people's fear and foolishness instead. Hawke agreed with every word and promised to take him away, and no matter how painful it was to want it, Karl wished to the Maker, to any god that would listen that the two would succeed.

Most of all, Karl was intrigued by what Hawke told him. About his life as an apostate. About his research into his father's mysterious spell. About the applications of force magic Karl never would have even considered possible, and yet they were considered to be mundane everyday spells in Hawke's household, growing up with magic as he had. He proved to be much more intelligent in matters of magical theory than Karl would have given him credit for; at some point, Hawke even added to and rewrote parts of Karl's pro-mage manifesto, admitting to how guilty and pathetic it made him feel, having lived in hiding, enjoying the comforts thousands of his kind could never dream of.

"Don't feel guilty," Anders said to him, "you got lucky. Be grateful for it and pray that same luck gets you out of here."

"Gets us out of here," Hawke reminded him. "And I wish everyone was this lucky." His voice was laden with bitterness. "I wish I didn't have to meet Surana the other day and see her turned Tranquil a few days later. I wish—"

"Wishing is pointless," Karl said, taught too many times by experience, "when no one does shit about it."

And Hawke told them, "I will."

Hawke stayed, and Karl found that, despite himself, he ended up immensely grateful for the company.

Hawke shared more of his pain Karl, too, well into the night when Anders was asleep and plastered against Karl's side. Hawke was seated at the foot of the bed, staring up at the starscape Karl had magically constructed for them. Hawke told him how he hated the Tower for how it makes him—and others—feel. Alone, and unattached, with no true connection like he had back home—save for Anders' friendship.

"But I watch you two," Hawke admitted, "and there's something... like how he talked about returning here for a 'friend,' to break him out no matter what it took." He chuckled. "Back when we met in Lothering. And I thought him a fool. But I think I understand now." He gave Karl his most sincere smile of the evening yet. "You two have something very special, don't you?"

And Karl had no answer for him except for a flustered look and a nervous laugh, except for a mindless excuse muttered to divert Hawke as much as himself from the bittersweet, aching truth of their existence.

If they're discovered, they're done for. And Karl—he'd known nothing about Anders' stupid, idealist plans for a stupid, suicidal breakout that would only ever lead to his recapture—and the realization rang clear in his mind again.

Karl was weighing Anders down, and there was nothing to be done about it, save for Anders turning away himself.

Which he stubbornly refused to do.

He drowned out the thoughts with more wine and more distracted conversation, drawing comfort from the feel of Anders' warm weight on his shoulder.

For now, at least, he rested peacefully, safe from the twisted reality of their confinement.

~~~

Hawke's words rang in Karl's mind for a long while after their talk, a nagging echo that incited a poignant sort of discomfort Karl couldn't quite shake off.

You two have something very special, don't you?

True as it may or may not have been, Karl couldn't help but thinking Anders and Hawke had something quite special between them, too.

Especially with how Anders spent almost every waking minute with Hawke by his side, sneaking into the classes they didn't share, dragging him to the library after studies to study (among other things, Karl supposed) yet more so Hawke didn't end up having his Harrowing much later—in case he ended up staying here for that long.

Especially with how Anders could never help but 'gush' about Hawke to Karl in turn, and Karl couldn't help share the exasperated smiles, the fond sighs, and the words of admiration as Hawke aced through the apprenticeship curriculum. Anders told him of the many surprisingly creative magic tricks Hawke would use on him, which Karl yearned he could add to and leave Anders shuddering through double the pleasure.

Especially with how Anders invited Hawke to their evenings together more and more often, and soon Karl found himself extending such invitations, too. Hawke had advanced far enough to be able to take Karl's classes as well, he and Anders acting all kinds of stupid for Karl's amusement from where they were always hauled up in the back of the lecture hall, the far too young, far too reckless idiots that they were.

And Karl found himself defenseless against the same charm Anders had fallen for. It was easy to like Garrett. The sharp wit he used rarer than the never-ending supply of purposefully horrid puns and contrived flirting lines that still never failed to make Karl laugh. The ridiculously built form, not one any mage Karl knew possessed. The easy smile, the ever-present glint of mischief in honey-brown eyes—a damning temptation. One that was impossible to ignore as Anders toed, relentless, on the edge of propriety, coaxing them one night into a game of dirty Truth or Dare, where every demand of truth was sexual in nature and dares devolved from flirting and kisses into joking attempts at seduction that got less funny and more heated with each new one.

Which is how Karl ended up with a lapful of Hawke and his head full of countless possibilities, body thrumming with desire and need. And when Anders, sat beside them and thoroughly enjoying the display, took himself in hand and bid them to continue, Karl gave in to all of it, all the temptations, put his hands on Hawke and proceeded to take him apart with his lips, his cock, and every magic trick he knew.

Time passed, days bleeding into weeks building up to months. Daytime was mostly a haze of routine and unsatisfied longing, nighttime Karl’s only reprieve, an escape into that place of exquisite pleasure Anders and Hawke dragged him to every fleeting night.

Anders was comfort, indulgence beyond measure, ever-eager and responsive. And think as Karl might that he'd been pushing his boundaries at some points before Hawke came into the picture, with both of them wrecking him and testing every existing limit, Anders only ever begged them, beautifully at that, for more.

Hawke was a challenge, insolence rolling off him in waves, too oft rushing into Karl's study with Anders in tow to play deadly dangerous hide and seek with templars. Coaxing Karl from whatever work he would be doing by drawing Anders in for heated kisses and heavy groping, eyes all the while darting to glance at Karl with that look that tempted him to join in, a grin that dared Karl to wipe it away with rough, bruising kisses, and Karl was ever helpless against such tantalizing displays and shameless demands.

Karl was craving, insatiable, for the touch of both on his skin. For the sounds of Hawke's hoarse deep groans and Anders' desperate whines and whimpers. For Hawke's brazen, "Make me," when Karl would order him to be quiet, to relish afterwards the way he'd fall apart when Karl fucked him into an incoherent mess. For Anders' pleading, "Fuck me," and the sweet song of his moans as he took Karl beautifully, clenched around him, clutching him tight in lust-addled desperation.

They became something Karl couldn't quite find a word for, he realized one evening, watching the two sleeping, entangled, next to him as he’s kept awake by thoughts of a friend sent to solitary for the significant crime of stopping a templar's whip before it rendered an apprentice unconscious. Worries aside, the sight of Anders curled against Hawke's bigger frame like a cat, and Hawke's arms protectively thrown around him prompted a smile. Karl curled into them carefully, lacing his fingers with Garrett's and manifesting a sheen of creation around his body that he knew warded off Anders' nightmares. Sweet. Bittersweet, really. A feeling so good it ached, ached yet more as Anders inevitably nuzzled closer to him, and Hawke's lips stretched into a contented smile as his sleep-heavy hand minutely squeezed Karl's.

They were something, indeed. Forbidden, unfortunately. Odd, perhaps. Special, definitely. Tied by a bond Karl never thought he’d get to have.

It lulled him into a sense of security, not so much that he starts getting reckless or stops reprimanding Hawke and Anders for their foolishness, but Karl did steadily fall into the grasp of comfort, feeling surprisingly content instead of tense at all hours of the day. One could never say or think happy in this place, but if they could, Karl thinks he would be that.

Anders had no such inhibitions, and as glad as Karl was to hear the words, so much they ached, tainted by their sad grey wall around them.

"I don't think I've ever felt this happy," Anders said to him one evening. No Hawke around, because he insisted on spending the night on research, and they missed him not apart, but together.

"Ever?" Karl frowned.

"In this voidhole I mean," Anders said with a crooked smile. "But well..." One glance at Karl, a flash of some indiscernible emotion in amber eyes, and he was back to studying the intricately boring empty ceiling. "Don't know if I was ever even happy back at h—that house. You know. Wasn't exactly perfect with a father like mine. Barely ever let me do anything fun." A bitter laugh. A small sigh. The small hitch in Anders' breath that Karl had long since learned signified a lie. His next words were whispered, though, in that quiet sort of voice that was Anders sharing the perilous truths he usually kept close to his heart. "I'm happy. It scares me. They could find out. Take you away. Take Garrett away. Or make us, make Garrett and I..." He shuddered. "We still haven't passed our Harrowing. What do I even..."

"Anders—"

"Karl," Anders choked through unshed tears, "I don't know what to do.

All fears echoing in Karl’s own mind.

“It will be,” he tried and failed to sound reassuring, “all right. Anders—I’m here now. That’s what matters. Be happy while you have the chance. For now," it made Karl's blood run cold to admit it, the thrill and the fear of it interspersed with something sweet and warm, "for now, we all do.”

He knew not what else to say and so spoke through tightening his embrace and placing a kiss to the top of Anders' head. He scarcely ever spoke about his time before he was taken, but Karl knew enough, saw enough of the ragged lanky twelve-year-old brought into the Tower so many years ago, ending up in his class but a few years later that saw him grow into the snarky youth that wore a smirk like a shield and wielded sharp wit like a sword against anyone that dared question him. Saw enough of the dark, pained look in his eyes to know Anders had left behind a life, was mercilessly ripped from family, love, and acceptance by those who would see him chained, broken, and dead.

With Firstfall approaching and Anders was set to spend yet another one of his birthdays behind dark gray walls, Karl prayed to the Maker that Anders would celebrate his next out under the starlit skies he loved so much, with no walls and templars to stand between him and freedom. As if in answer to his prayer, Hawke came to them an hour later with news of a perfectly decoded spell he now only had to figure out how to use. Karl relished the news. Anders still remained unsure about the whole affair.

But Karl knew Anders well enough to know how he got when he truly disapproved of something.

He saw none of that tension on his face now—only the tentative glimmer of hope in his eyes.

~~~

"You sure it works as intended?"

"Oh, yes. Tested it out on myself. Thoroughly."

A pause.

"And how was it?"

"Wouldn't you like to know, Enchanter? I won't spoil the fun. You'll get to watch Anders fuck himself on it later."

"We have the whole night to ourselves. You may get a turn yet."

"It's Anders' gift, Karl, and it's his birthday, and I want him completely and utterly spent. Tomorrow, you can have fun with the both of us. Besides." Hawke waggled his eyebrows, lips stretching slowly into a grin. "I enchanted two of these."

Karl shook his head. "If only I had known why you requested my thesis. I thought you were finally taking an interest in Spirit studies."

"I am, and this is definitely meant to induce a spiritual experience," Hawke insisted, twirling his creation in hand. He remembered the texture, the fullness, how good it felt. Thought of how good and fucked out it would make Anders feel and felt a sharp rush of arousal pooling in his groin at the thought. "Nay, a religious one. If Anders isn't screaming his throat hoarse for the Maker's mercy once we're through with him, it means we're doing something wrong."

They did nothing wrong.

It was an off-day, blessedly, and after the entirety of it spent on a pretend picnic in the Circle's gardens and pranking templars (for none of Anders' birthdays was allowed to pass without that particular pastime), after a perfect day that made Hawke forget, for the while, where he was and how long he'd been away from home—came the night. Came the yet more pleasant distractions in the form of Anders coming apart under Karl, then Garrett, then pinned between them. Karl fucked him hard and slow, like Hawke never could, lacking the patience. Anders was on his back beneath him, almost bent in half, with legs wrapped tight around Karl's shoulders, his desperate high-pitched cries and whimpers steadily undoing them both. Hawke touched himself, fucking the tight fist of his hand, longing for the moment he'd get to do the same to Anders' ass. Hawke covered every inch of Anders' skin he could reach with kisses, teasing his nipples, sucking him off, working with Karl to drag him to the edge and wring him over it again, and again to the point where Anders trembled with it, chest heaving as he struggled to breathe. Karl filled him, spilled into him, claimed him until Anders could scream nothing but his name, his every shallow breath was followed by a plea for more.

More, they gave him, Anders' magic coaxing them back to full hardness. Hawke switched places with Karl, plunging into the tight, slick heat of Anders’ hole, burying himself to the hilt and becoming immediately overrun with sensation that spurred on the punishing rhythm he settled for. He fucked Anders hard, fast enough to have the bed creaking precariously under them with every thrust. To have Anders’ face twist with delirious pleasure, to make his cries of Karl and Garrett’s names turn into unintelligible whimpers and whines that unraveled Hawke surer even than the tight clench of Anders' ass around his length.

Hawke managed a breathless chuckle. "We haven't even," he panted, thrusting in particularly hard and earning a broken howl in reward, "haven't even started using magic yet. And you're already so—so desperate." Anders clung to him. “So hot." Clawed at his back as Hawke pounded into him yet faster, harder. “Feel so good, feel so perfect." Cried out his name, and Hawke groaned, "Fuck, Anders."

Karl echoed their names and moved behind Hawke from where he was on his knees next to them stroking himself, unable to resist joining them, Hawke noted with maybe a far-too-satisfied smile. One that dissolved into a bitten-off groan as Karl did add magic to the mix, sizzling fingers and electrifying lips trailing over Hawke's body, bruising touches and harsh grunts muffled against his skin. Anders all but sobbed as Karl's magic crept to him, too, sparks of it hovering around his cock, hard and heavy, steadily leaking precome all over his come-streaked stomach.

Hawke lost himself as Karl's fingers trailed down to his ass and pushed in, along with the prickling energy that had his hips stuttering, his cock throbbing hard as he fought to both pound into Anders and press back against the thick stretch of two tingling fingers. It was so much less of a stretch than he knew could take—and they've tested that many times before—but he felt so full despite it, and yet still craving more. The joint hum of their magic interwoven was mind-meltingly good, and when they came next time, it was together, shaking in tandem with the crackling of lightning bordering just on the verge of too much, right where it felt too overwhelming to do anything but to touch, and to feel, and to cling to each other tightly, desperately, feeling complete. Karl's fingers in his ass rubbed right against that place within Hawke that made him quiver and writhe in his arms as he rode out his orgasm, Anders' hole squeezing his cock so tight he didn't slow his thrusts for a second even after he was utterly spent.

“Again?” Anders half-asked, half-begged, magic thrumming beneath his skin, and Hawke had to dip down and kiss him, so wrought with pleasure Anders looked, completely at his mercy.

"We promised we'd tire you out,” Karl said, mouth trailing open-mouthed kisses along Hawke's neck. “But I think it’s high time you and I took a break, Garrett, don’t you think?”

Hawke smirked. "Couldn't agree more."

"Ugh, fine, be boring," Anders complained, then promptly shut his mouth when Hawke shifted him roughly, summoning the thick, long toy he'd made and enchanted to his hand with a quick burst of force magic. Pulled out and shoved the toy past Anders' clenching, leaking rim, mouth watering at the sight of cum trickling out of Anders' hole as he was stuffed once more.

“Oh,” Anders breathed, squirming into the stretch. “Going to keep me full?”

“And bound,” Karl manifested tight restraints of force interwoven with the gently glowing sheen of spirit energy around Anders’ limbs. His magic dragged him to the headboard, pinned him down, left him gasping with the sudden movement.

"Fuck," Anders moaned.

“And begging." With a whispered word, Hawke had the toy buzzing with soft shocks and vibrating with the stimulating hum of creationism. Watched enraptured, as Anders' eyes widened, then squeezed shut against the onslaught, relished the broken cry falling from Anders' lips as he bucked his hips and struggled to no avail against the restraints. "If you beg prettily enough, we might be... persuaded to fuck you a bit sooner."

Anders hummed, pressing back against the toy. "Bold of you to assume I'll need you with this wonder keeping things fun."

"You think?" Karl replicated the spell Hawke taught him, made the magic in the toy surge in power, watched along with Hawke as Anders' words melted into a litany of half-formed curses and drawn-out moans, watched him tug against the bounds, and scream as the stimulation brought him to the peak, built the pleasure tenfold but kept it from crumbling into release. Tears fell from his eyes and his mouth went slack, cock hard, and straining, and drooling precome. "Have fun not coming for hours then, Anders."

"We'll be the ones having fun, I think," Hawke mused innocently.

"Fuck," Anders gasped, "you both."

Hawke laughed, and so did Karl, though Hawke was sure it took him as much painful self-control not to crawl right back into bed with Anders, such a pretty, tempting picture he painted.

Such a lovely, captivating melody his pleading whines and groans were weaving, that it was all Hawke could do to share drinks and idle conversation with Karl as they huddled in the armchair, watching, listening. They alternated the power of the toy, one minute setting it aflare with pulsating waves of energy, the other reducing it to an almost peaceful hum, though both left Anders beside himself with pleasure. Hawke turned to lock Karl's lips in a kiss, a fruitless attempt to distract himself from the way Anders thrashed, and wailed, and begged for release. Karl rolled his hips against his, stroked both their lengths, gliding over hot, straining flesh with maddening friction, and it was becoming nigh-impossible to keep himself under control. To keep from giving in to Anders' begging them to please touch him and he'll do anything they want. To please let him come, to please never stop but it's too much, to—

"Please," Anders sobbed, "can't take anymore please please Karl... Garrett..."

"Your watchword?" Karl asked, stroking Hawke's cock languidly and grinning at the hungry, desperate look in Anders' eyes as he tried to watch and fuck himself on the toy at the same time.

"Dammit!"

"That's not it," Karl drawled.

"Ple-ease," Anders ground out through gritted teeth, and Hawke said, "You can beg better than that."

Anders did, and it was a game they were bound to lose eventually because nothing bound them as surely as Anders' need for them both.

Karl’s magic was heat and raw energy, simmering above his skin as he fucked into Anders once more, took him roughly on his hands and knees, with little to no patience and control this time; Hawke's was the pure force of gentle, tingling pulses of lightning where he grips Anders' neck as he thrust past drool-slick lips and used his mouth, his throat as he pleased; Anders' was the soft, prickling tingle of creationism, coiling round his body and flaring bright as he steadily lost all control over himself, giving himself up to them both. Magic twining and building in power until Anders shattered from the sensations, coming untouched. The orgasm tore through him hard, cock throbbing as he spilled in long spurts onto the sheets, ass and mouth full of cock, skin painted with mingling cum and scratches, and bruises, and bites—and yet he begged for them to wreck him further.

He begged for it as Hawke came into his mouth, groaning Ander's name, begged for it as Karl followed shortly after, spilling inside him, and Anders was left panting and whimpering as he was wrought mindless with pleasure.

It would be hours still before morning came, though, and they were the three of them always left wanting more.

For the while, though, they relaxed into the afterglow, limbs tangled like the invisible coils of their magic locked together and humming a harmonic song. Spread out on the bed and embracing one another, hands traveling overheated sweat-slick skin, lips peppering open-mouthed kisses everywhere they could reach, whispering secrets too dangerous to voice into the safeguard of each other’s bodies.

I love you, was Hawke's soundless promise as he leaned down to mouth at Anders' neck, drew Karl into a searing press of lips.

"Please," Anders begged out loud, greedy and insatiable as ever, "more."

And they gave him more of what he asked for and then some, and if Hawke didn’t hear secrets of their own whispered against his skin, he felt them in every touch, heard them in every moan, sensed them in every pulse of magic that graced his skin.

(I'm yours, Anders murmured into one kiss after another.)

Hawke accepted whatever this was that they had with every kiss, every look that seemed to burn through him and made him feel exposed.

(You're everything to me, Karl confessed against Garrett's lips, whispered into Anders' skin.)

Exposed to something deeper than pleasure, more exhilarating than the blinding rush of release. Something forbidden—but as things were, the three of them never really were ones to abide by the rules.

~~~

The sky stood at the precipice of dawn and the three of them lay tangled in each other's embraces when Garrett whispered another secret, one meant for both his lovers' ears,

"I figured it out."

A hopeful smile, the ever-present determination in his eyes. The way he preened as Karl praised the monumental effort and demanded to see every single bit of his research—only that would have to wait until they regained the ability to move anywhere past the bed and attempt any actual intellectual activity.

Anders smiled, because he had to, smiled as Hawke and Karl fired off into sleepy discussions of places they absolutely needed to visit, because Hawke had drafted an entire itinerary spanning several scrolls when he'd learned that Karl, unlike Anders, had never set foot out of the Tower in the decades he'd been kept here.

But Anders was also acutely aware of the prickling worry that refused to leave him be. The myriads of questions that plagued him and threatened all that he believed In and, despite everything, held sacred.

Was such transgression worth an entire life of freedom? And yet more—a life of something Anders couldn't let himself feel but felt anyway? A life with a future he couldn't dream about but one that still beckoned to him, haunting his dreams with bittersweet temptation.

A temptation he was powerless to resist.

~~~

Karl needed, hoped for, craved everything Hawke offered and more. Heart pounding a stuttering rhythm as he imagined a future (struggled to imagine it, really, for he could scarcely think of something he'd never seen or had a taste of, never knew he'd get the chance to have), a future beyond round walls and away from the fear, the pain, and injustice of this forced solitude.

A future with Anders, who'd never belonged to him before, not truly, but could.

A future with Garrett, a life gifted freely by this ridiculous, reckless man barely into adulthood, who'd stolen Karl's uncertainty as swiftly as he did his heart.

~~~

That night, Hawke dreamed of being back with his family. Getting teased by Bethy and Carver again, doted on by his mother and father—he even missed their Maker damned scolding, terribly so. He dreamed of having Anders and Karl beside him, untraceable and safe from templars and their Chantry-sanctioned maleficar spells. Happy and able to say, "I love you," without it being considered foolish, dangerous sentiment.

It would take a few months yet for that dream to manifest in reality—one the three of them wouldn’t believe they were allowed to live in but would bask in the headiness of the freedom anyway, for as long as it deigned to last.