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Dusk had come and gone by the time Hawke rounded the corner and strode up the street to the Hanged Man. An already long day of running back and forth from the Gallows had stretched into the later hours of the evening. Despite his apparent confidence earlier, he’d still worried over his decision at the DuPuis Estate. For the moment, though, he put it from his mind. A drink, even one as bad as the sort served here in Lowtown, was long overdue. Hawke pushed open the door to enter, nodding at Corff the bartender as he passed. Isabela wasn’t in her usual spot, so either she hadn’t arrived yet, or she’d already relocated to Varric’s suite. He moved quickly towards the back of the tavern, his heart lightening as familiar voices poured forth from up the stairs.
“A bolt from Bianca to the heart? A personal offense deserves personal retaliation,” Anders suggested with a slight slur to his voice, but all seriousness as he took a swig of his ale.
“Aye, aye!” Isabella called out, thumping her tankard against the table like she was a judge with a gavel. Ale splashed over herself and Varric, who had the misfortune of sitting next to her.
“Too simple,” Varric said with a throaty laugh, wiping ale from his face and shaking his head. He paused, considered, and shook his head again before taking another drink from his flagon. “Unless it were under dramatic circumstances. Which, all things considered, would take more effort, and more money, than he’s worth to orchestrate. Shit like that only happens in stories.”
“You mean like the ones you tell about Hawke? Still, fair point,” Anders conceded with a laugh and a shrug of his unfeathered shoulders. He’d long since abandoned his coat in favor of the warmth of alcohol and the fireplace at his back. His tunic hung loose on his wiry frame, revealing skin on his neck and shoulders that was normally hidden away under layers of cloth. His cheeks took on a rosy tint as he thought of the tall, dark haired man, and he took another long pull from his drink. “What about… drawn and quartered? That’s a classic move!”
Varric barked out a laugh and looked incredulously at Anders. “Where would we get the horses? No one’s gonna rent them to us if they know THAT’S the reason, Blondie. Even though this is Kirkwall.”
“You never know til you try!” Anders wagged a finger at the dwarf before stopping to sigh melodramatically. “Oh, but of course you’re right, Varric. They only pull out those kinds of stops if you’re an apostate.” Varric looked concerned for moment before noting the teasing tone in Anders voice, then laughed heartily.
“Still plotting Bartrand’s fate? And you all started without me again, I see,” Hawke drawled as he strolled towards the long table his friends had assembled at, gesturing at the many empty mugs collected there. His tone was idly scolding as his gaze turned. “And Anders, you’re apparently well on your way!” The flush on Anders’ face darkened, spreading down his neck to his collarbones under Hawke’s gaze. “Such a red face! Or is that blush for me?”
“Can’t it be both?” he quipped back, alcohol giving him courage. He grinned mischievously as Hawke’s expression fluttered between surprised and pleased. He scooted his stool over to make room at the table for Hawke to sit next to him, and patted the adjacent stool invitingly.
“Watch out, Hawke, he’s already got Rivaini half under his spell!” Varric cautioned as Hawke settled himself in next to Anders, whose blush had begun to subside, and gratefully accepted the pint Varric pushed across the table for him.
“Half? I’m all in if he promises to do that electricity thing again!” She looked at Anders suggestively from under her dark lashes and blew him a kiss.
“I wish you hadn’t told me about that,” Varric groaned, a hand rubbing at his temple. He tried not to laugh as Anders made to ‘catch’ the kiss and tuck it away into a pocket, but a chuckle escaped him regardless.
“So what do you say Anders?” Isabela leered suggestively, her arms crossed and providing the perfect frame for her breasts. Clearly a deliberately chosen pose, but Hawke appreciated the view none the less. “Just say ‘pretty please’ and you’ll get handcuffs and whipped cream with me on top.” She gave Anders an exaggerated wink at which he dramatically pretended to swoon, falling heavily on Hawke’s shoulder and fanning himself.
“Oh, Hawke, rescue me from this temptress, lest I fall into her terrible, wicked, lovely clutches!” he cried out, as he tilted his head back to flutter his eyelashes up at him. Hawke’s light amber eyes caught Anders’ darker brown and his fluttering lashes stilled under his gaze, breath catching in his throat. Hawke took advantage of the moment and shifted to drape his arm over Anders’ shoulders, gently pulling him closer. Anders readily followed his lead, tucking himself in against Hawke’s chest.
“But do we dare make our Pirate Queen jealous?” Hawke asked with a wink. Isabela stared wistfully into the distance til he kicked out under the table. “Sorry, I was still stuck on ‘whipped cream’,” she confessed, biting her lower lip and grinning at Anders again. “It’s me or throw your lot in with this Dog Lord, and who knows what positions he’ll want you in!”
“Oh, I don’t know, I think Hawke might know a thing or two about the many and varied uses of whipped cream,” he said boldly, grinning from against Hawke’s side.
Isabela had just taken a swig of her ale and almost spat it right back out. “O-ho! Now who’s the temptress?” she crowed, laughing and wiping her chin where some of the hastily swallowed ale had escaped.
“Should I fear for my soul, then? I’m being drawn in with sweets and sexual favors! Templars, save me from this renegade apostate and his wiles!” Hawke withdrew his arm and stood, striking a theatrical pose with the back of one hand pressed to his forehead, and the other clutching at the fabric of his shirt above his heart.
Anders laughed, blush still faintly coloring his cheeks, “I’ll show you why mages are feared!” He stood then, wobbling only a little, and reached out to grab Hawke’s face, cradling his jaw with both hands. His gaze lingered on Hawke’s momentarily before it drifted down to his mouth. He licked his lips, mustered his courage, and kissed him. Unreserved, needy, wantonly, he kissed him. Hawke quickly relaxed into the grip Anders held on his jaw and gave into his hungry lips. He opened his mouth to Anders insistent tongue, thrilling at the taste of him and the ale on his lips. Hawke groaned into him, and thought that if the Hanged Man put that flavor on tap, he’d never drink anything else again. His arms snaked around Anders waist and pulled him flush against his body, dipping him back slightly with the force of returning the kiss.
They broke away breathless as Isabela startled them apart with a loud and obnoxious catcall. The few patrons passing in the hall paused to peer in the doorway, curious about the friend’s little gathering. “Varric, do you see this?” she exclaimed. “Get your pen, you’ve gotta get all the juicy, sloppy details down while they’re fresh!”
Varric smirked and shook his head. “What, so I can chronicle this completely predictable turn of events? No need, I’m already half way through my rough draft. The fun, steamy bits come later in the story.”
“Is that so? Mind telling me when so I can mark the day?” Hawke queried with a laugh before turning back to Anders. “I’d rather not miss it,” he purred at the mage, biting his lip suggestively. Varric and Isabela continued to laugh as Anders’ grabbed his mug, attempting to hide behind it as his blush returned with full force.