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“You know, I’ve been thinking,” Hawke said as Anders rifled through the trinkets at a market stall. “We had some good times back in Kirkwall. But compared to what we have now, one fundamental thing was missing.”
“Freedom, safety and basic rights for mages.” Anders nodded, pulled on a slim golden chain and examined its delicate links. “I know. Justice didn’t ever let me forget, believe me.”
“Yes, that, of course, but that’s not what I meant.”
“A proper government?” he guessed. “One that looks after its people, so they don’t have to rely on refugees and apostates to survive?”
Kirkwall currently wasn’t paying tithe to the Chantry - strictly speaking, it still didn’t have any clergy. According to Varric’s latest letter, a couple of young lay sisters had set up a small street shrine in Lowtown. They’d put it too near the Alienage for Merrill’s taste, but all they did was pray loudly for every passerby and give out soup whenever they scraped up enough donations to fill a pot. In the meantime Varric and Aveline used the funds to deal with the worst of Kirkwall’s poverty, and with it the worst of the crime. Most of the refugees, he’d said, had been moved out of the sewers and dock slums into half-decent housing and employed to help restore the damaged buildings.
Varric still never missed a chance to mention those damaged buildings, but Hawke had a feeling he was enjoying the work of cleaning up the city. He was going to forgive, eventually.
“I meant something more personal,” she said, even though she already could tell he was only teasing her, drawing out the joke. She still couldn’t get enough of his playful moods.
“Oh!” Anders gave her his sweetest, silliest smile. “You mean that we didn’t have a cat! That was pretty horrible, I agree. Come on, Pounce, give mommy a kiss!”
The old cat was curled up inside his coat, napping. At his gentle patting Pounce opened his eyes, let out a long imperious miaow and rubbed his face against Hawke’s fingers when she reached over to pet him.
“Yes, getting closer,” she said. “I meant that back in Kirkwall you never let me spoil you. How many times did I try to get you a kitten?”
“It was a dangerous place for cats!” Anders protested, cuddling Pounce closer.
“And whenever I bought you something you’d just wear it once and pawn it.”
“There was always something we needed for the clinic or the Mage Underground…”
“That’s fine, I never minded that. I always knew you didn’t really like anything I got you back then.”
“I did, it was all - really thoughtful…”
She knew he hadn’t been paying attention to small luxuries back then. She’d pour gems and gold into his hands, and he’d give her a polite smile and there would be no sparkle in his eye at all. She’d dress him in rich embroidered silks, and he’d wear them to the clinic without a second thought. By the end of the day the finery would be a dead loss, stained with blood and bile.
By the end, when he was wrung out by grief and despair, torn apart by the decisions he had to make, he’d lost interest in most of life’s pleasures. But now, finally, things seemed to be changing. They’d been on the road for a long time, even though they weren’t really on the run anymore. They could go home, except home was that cursed city built on blood, and an empty old mansion. And there was always some task for them in the next town over. Another Tranquil to cure, another gang of deserters to dismantle, more scared mages to coax out of the woods. She’d rather keep moving, watching the world heal and change: mages coming home, magic coming back into the people’s life, melting into their blood.
And Anders had been healing too. She’d never seen him this content, and she’d never loved him more.
She’d been watching him earlier. She often sneakily watched him, still struck sometimes by how handsome he was, how sunlight made his eyes shine like amber. He’d been browsing through a Dalish merchant’s stall, considering enchanted pendants and replacement staff heads. He lingered over one item, amused, and ran his light healer’s fingers down the smooth length of it. His cheeks coloured just a little, his lips parted and twitched into a tiny mischievous smirk. And that was it - he moved onto the practical stuff, asking the peddler about the wooden salve boxes that allegedly didn’t react even to most active concoctions. But that was as much as Hawke needed.
She picked a moment when he was distracted: Pounce woke up, stretched under his coat and began yelling for food like a spoilt brat he was. Anders had to stop and coo at him and find him some fresh meat. Hawke made an excuse and doubled back to the Dalish stall.
“How much for the dildo?” she asked.
The woman, a stout redhead with June vallaslin curved above her brows like delicate wings, proudly picked it up and held it in a way that suggested deep knowledge and love of the male form.
“Let me tell you about it first,” she said. “It might be unusual for you to see one made of wood. I’ve seen your people sell leather ones, which is not very healthful, you might be surprised to know. I’ve seen metal ones. I can only imagine what it’s like to shove cold iron into your softest nooks, I’m not trying that.”
“Aha,” said Hawke impatiently. “You know, there’s a dwarven crafts stall just over there, everything direct from Orzammar, apparently. If they don’t have a stone cock or two, I’d be deeply shocked.”
“Ah, I’m sure they do, but have you tried wielding one? They’re very heavy, and some types of stone wouldn’t play nice with your insides. In fairness, maybe dwarves can use them just fine, they’re born of stone, after all, they might not even know they’re selling you something that will turn your bits green…”
Hawke rolled her eyes, but the woman took that as her cue to launch into the second part of the sales pitch.
“Look how smooth the surface is. Touch it, here. Like silk, right? Like glass. It’s my clan’s secret treatment technique. Makes the wood virtually eternal, and it won’t soak up a drop of your slick. Would glide like boat through water even after an hour of good pounding. It’s--”
“Is it ironbark?” Hawke asked, and the peddler shook her head.
“If you know about ironbark, you know how precious it is. Would you make bed toys out of gold?”
“Some people would…”
“Well, fuck them, to be honest,” the woman scoffed, throwing a conspicuous glance toward the gilded roof of the local Chantry. “No, this is fine hardwood. Beautiful old beech, look at the pattern of the rings right here.”
“Is it sturdy enough, though?”
“Look, if your man can crush hardwood with his ass, then buying the right dildo is the least of your problems. Yes, it’s sturdy enough. All right, now look at the shape. Notice the curve and the detailing right here. It’s modelled after one of our legendary warriors, an Emerald Knight of old--”
“Wasn’t that several ages ago? How could you possibly know what his dick looked like?”
The woman put the toy down and sighed sadly.
“Why are shemlen like this?” she enquired Dog, who was being a good boy, lounging on his belly in the shade under her stall. “Why do they have to ruin the mystery and wonder in everything?”
Dog waggled his butt in the dust and happily barked at the attention.
“Fair enough,” Hawke said. “Let’s haggle.”
“Oh, no. I’ve seen how you look at your man, you saw how he looked at this. You’re going to pay my asking price.”
“Oh, come on!” Hawke pleaded. “Have you ever been in love?”
“I have, and for love’s sake I’ll give you a deal on a harness,” the peddler rummaged in her bag and hauled a handful of leather straps on the stall. Hawke suspected that was just to prevent her from going to the Antivan leather goods stall across the square - she could smell it from here. The Dalish leather was nothing special, likely made from wolf pelts. “These are all the same, the only difference is the shape here. You can have your basic halla horns design, or--”
“This,” Hawke said firmly. “I want this one.”
Now she had her prize wrapped in soft cloth, secreted in a carved box she couldn’t resist getting, and stashed in her bag. She was going to surprise Anders when they got back to their room at the inn, but she couldn’t wait any longer.
She opened the box, freed the shaft and playfully poked the solid pointy head into his arm.
“Oh, you didn’t,” he said, flushing in a gorgeous pink wave. “Oh, love. But… we shouldn’t be wasting money on frivolities.”
“This is essentials. It’s essential to my plans for tonight.”
“If we have coin to spare we should save it for people who are starving--”
“I am starving,” Hawke said. “For your butt.”
He laughed at that, out loud, throwing his head back. Pounce wiggled against his chest, annoyed to have his snooze interrupted, and Dog stared at him in confusion, and Hawke watched him, nearly tearful from the fullness of her heart, so happy it felt she could fly.
They finished their shopping and ran the Mage Collective errands with amazing efficiency, and retired to their room right after a hasty supper, long before dusk. It faced north and was still full of light, and she was glad for it. She loved seeing him naked in sunlight, his pale skin painted golden by the soft hues of the summer afternoon. The inn gave them only a small tub of lukewarm water, so she quickly washed first and let him take his time while she prepared the rest.
She poured the wine to let it breathe, like the Tevinter merchant had instructed. A bunch of roses smuggled from a fruits and flowers stall in her bag got quickly butchered and the petals artfully scattered over the bed and the floor.
She slipped her boots back on. Isabela always wore boots in bed and looked glorious like that, and Hawke could use that extra bit of swagger right now, when they were trying a new thing. Then she picked up the harness and the dildo and began putting it all together.
Isabela used to have several of those, and Hawke had the pleasure of experiencing one in action. It had much more straps and buckles, and even though she’d watched Isabela put it on while Hawke herself was naked, debauched and trembling on the bed, fingering herself impatiently, she hadn’t, apparently, memorised any of the details.
Hawke was still struggling with the straps when Anders came out from behind the screen, naked, drying his hair with the inn’s cheap grey towel. He was already half-hard, and Hawke grinned at him across the room.
“Aw, sweetheart, did you shave your balls for me?”
“Yes!” He pulled his cock up to show off his smooth sack, still a little pink from the razor. “If I’m getting pampered, let’s go all out. Here, let me help you.”
He dropped to his knees among the scattered petals, easily untwisted the straps and began working the buckles.
“You look amazing,” he murmured and pressed a kiss to her hip above the leather. “Don’t you think?”
She turned to the tall mirror in the corner and surveyed herself, her naked body, muscled and scarred and still healthy and strong, and the gorgeous man at her feet, and the unabashedly adoring way he looked at her. Somehow it was almost easier to see that in the mirror, as if the heat in his eyes was sometimes too much meeting them straight on.
She put her head on his head to play with his drying hair. It was so soft, so much softer than her own. It had been darker and reddish in winter, but now the sun had lightened it so much she couldn’t even see his grey streaks. He ducked his head into the caress just like his cat always did, and looked about ready to purr.
Hawke cupped the dildo and gave it an experimental stroke. It looked surprisingly natural protruding out of her crotch. Not quite where the real one would sit and how it would angle out, but…
“I wonder what I’d look like if I’d been born with a cock,” she said. “Would probably be huge and hairy everywhere.”
“And I’d love you exactly the same,” Anders said. “Here, all done.”
He gently urged her to turn to him and hummed happily at the sight.
“It’s a heart shape,” she said and felt a blush creep up her face. “Because I love you. I thought it would be romantic.”
“It is.” He rose on his knees to kiss her lower stomach, just in the cleft of the heart-shape at the front of the harness. “I’ve always said, you’ll be an inspiration for generations of poets. Nobody does fine romance quite like you.”
She blushed harder, relieved. Only after she’d paid for it she’d wondered if he would think it was tacky. But, well, if it was they were both tacky people with terrible taste, and that suited her just fine.
Anders brushed his cheek against the miraculously smooth wood of the shaft and gave the very tip a long, reverent kiss.
“This is so well made,” he murmured and licked a long stripe along the grain of the wood. “Does it feel comfortable?”
“Yes,” she breathed out, watching him wrap his lips over the toy’s flared head. “Oh, you look amazing doing this. I wish I could feel it.”
He hummed and slid his fingers along the lips of her swelling cunt, stroking between the straps. He bobbed his head a few times, easily taking almost the whole length of the shaft, sucking on the toy like it was candy, teasing her clit in counterpoint.
He glanced up at her, his eyes soft and happy, his lips stretched and his mouth full of the wooden cock, and then pulled back, still cradling the head of the dildo on his tongue.
“Feels wrong to waste such skill on inanimate object,” Hawke said and was rewarded with a slow slide of his fingers in and out her.
“Well, if you’d like to watch me do this with a real thing,” he said, letting the spit-slicked dildo hang loose. “Next time we’re in Amaranthine we can look up my old fuck buddy.”
“Maybe,” she said and ran her fingers along his jaw as he began to tongue at the toy again. He’d offer ideas like that from time to time to spice things up for her, as if it was a constant worry of his that she’d get bored: of sex or, more likely, of him. She’d learnt to brush it off without worrying.
“All right.” She pulled him up and kissed his friction-soft, wet lips. “Let’s take this to bed.”
He eagerly crawled across the mattress and settled in the middle, presenting himself on hands and knees like a feast. She shuffled on her knees after him, stroked his back between the white slashes of old scars, and draped herself over him to kiss his lips, his cheek, his shoulder, and then every bump of vertebrae down his spine to his tail bone. There she blew a puff of cold air between his ass cheeks and chuckled, seeing his hole twitch.
“Come on,” he begged, rocking toward her a little. She wrapped her arms around his thighs to hold him in place, ducked lower and nuzzled at the velvety-soft skin on his balls, already taught and heavy, and covered them in little licks and kisses.
“You look so good,” she murmured, laving his sack with her tongue, lovingly rolling his balls in her hand. “You taste amazing.”
He answered with a little half-sigh, half-giggle that turned into a happy moan when she licked across his hole. She pressed a long kiss to the pucker of the muscle and began to work at it with her tongue, licking in, swirling spit around, licking and kissing again.
This was a different kind of indulgence than fucking or getting pleasured with his hands and mouth. The taste and smell of his skin, the rhythm and the tactile joy of this took her to a place of simple, pure bliss, her own arousal woven through like a thread, not a torment of the immediate lust, just a pleasant buzz. She could be here for hours, spearing her tongue into him and pulling it back to lick around the opening, getting her hands on his balls and his heavy, straining cock, edging him a little closer to release and letting him hang there again.
But she was feeling increasingly silly with her wooden phallus bumping into the back of his legs whenever she moved. The thin leather straps already chafed at her sweating skin, getting soaked in the slick between her legs.
She kissed his back again and reached for the vial of oil she’d tucked into her boot.
“I should have warmed it, sorry,” she lamented. She slicked her hands, rubbed them a little to save him from the shock of the cold and slipped a finger in.
“There’s no need, I’m ready, just go ahead…”
“Right,” he said, slowly turning her fingers inside him. He really felt wonderfully soft and loose already, just from her tongue, but she wasn’t going to take chances. “And yet every time we do it the other way you tease me for ages. I beg for you to fuck me, swear that I’m ready, and you just say ‘I’ll tell you when you’re ready, Hawke’…”
“I think I have considerably more experience in taking it up the ass,” he said testily but arched his back to angle into her touch all the same. “I like a bit of a burn to it. If anything goes wrong I’ll just heal myself.”
“Don’t even joke like that. I don’t want to hurt you. If you want me to hurt you that’s a whole different conversation for another time.”
He drew some air, as if he was going to insist they’d have that out right now, with her hand half-way up his ass. She crooked her fingers, looking for that spot he’d shown her during their first week together, and he exhaled in a rush, sagging against her in boneless pleasure as she stroked him.
“When you put it like that,” he said, and she leaned closer to reach for his cock again, to kiss the dimples at the small of his back, the ticklish spot at his hip. His body was opening up to her touch with amazing ease and eagerness, soft and slick and welcoming.
“All right, let’s,” she said finally and upended the rest of the oil over the toy. It dripped over the sheets, onto both their legs. The bed would be a mess in the morning. She’d have to remember to tip well.
She pulled her fingers out and lined the toy up. For a moment it looked monstrously huge, a horrible thing without any give, the tasteful outline of the head sticking out like a sharp ridge. She could tear him apart with this, and she wouldn’t be able to feel that anything was wrong until it was too late. And he wouldn’t even tell her, would silently accept any pain and damage out of that sick need to do penance. She had refused to be his executioner back in Kirkwall, so now…
But, no, that was ridiculous. The toy was smaller than his own cock, and he had never hurt her, whatever they got up to.
She rocked her hips forward and watched the toy slide inside him. To her it felt almost frictionless, with no resistance at all, and she paused with the head just inside him, wary of going too far too fast.
“It is all right?” she asked.
He quickly nodded and impatiently pushed back, and she loosened her hold on his hips and let him take it all the way in.
He sighed with pleasure and somewhat relief, the way he did after the first bite of a hot meal after a whole day on the road, or when he thrust balls-deep inside her, skin to skin, slamming home.
“Oh, that feels so good,” he muttered and rocked on the thing. The straps between Hawke’s legs shifted and pulled from the movement, the base of the dildo pressed against her groin, and suddenly she realised she will get off like this, and with stunning ease.
She grabbed onto his flanks again. He was, she noted with satisfaction, finally getting some meat onto his bones, despite their nomadic life. That was the strangest time to think about it, when she was about to fuck him with a wooden thing she just bought off a nice Dalish lady. But then, he was just as bad. Sometimes he’d be pounding into her so good and hard she’d see stars, and then he’d stop to ask if her feet were warm enough or if she needed another pillow. And the most embarrassing thing was that yes, sometimes she would be getting a crick in her neck and wouldn’t even notice at the time, so a pillow would be very welcome.
She slowly pumped in and out of him, testing speed and force, looking for any tension in his shoulders. Then she tried to point it just right and knew she got it when he shuddered and clawed at the sheets.
“Not too much, is it?” she asked, pushing a little harder.
“It’s perfect. You’re perfect.”
It wasn’t as perfect as it could have been: she did use too much oil, and it was sloppy and slippery, but even the mess was exciting. His legs were a lot longer than hers, so she couldn’t angle her thrusts properly until she pushed his knees further apart. He ended up splayed before her, his face half-jammed in the pillow, stifling his moans against it as she found the right rhythm.
He was so beautiful like this, glowing, surrendered to pleasure. The long line of his back, the way his hair fell onto his face and bared the nape of his neck, every sound he made - everything about this was glorious. This was supposed to be his time to be spoilt and pampered, but Hawke couldn’t keep the steady pace, frenzied by lust, so close. She rutted into him in fast, jerky motions, and came hard, digging her fingers into his hips, shuddering the last clumsy thrusts into him.
He chuckled and wiggled his ass against her while she swayed on her knees and struggled for breath.
“I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself,” he said. “Polite thing would be to let me finish first, you know.”
“Don’t you worry, sweetheart.” She pulled back a little, still trembling at any touch of leather to her slick flesh, and drove back into him. “We’re not stopping until you’re begging me to.”
She teased him with slow deep thrusts as long as she herself could stand, and then went for it. She pumped the toy into him relentlessly, played with his balls, stroked his lovely thick cock. When he finally spilt over her hand with a hoarse, long moan, she felt a heady rush of giddy pride and love and clung to his back, arms wrapped around him, the wooden cock still lodged inside him.
His back was beaded with sweat, and she kissed it, licking up the salt. He reached back to stroke her face and hair; she could just see half of his smile through the tangled fall of his hair, but it was lighting up the room all the same.
“I could just carry on,” she said. “Could plough you all night.”
“I’m all for it.”
“I want to see your face, though. Want to see your cock when you’re coming. Want to watch you play with your nipples when I fuck you. Turn over?”
She eased out of him and he got his legs under him and flipped himself over, limber and loose and eager. She shimmied between his thighs and pulled his hips in her lap, and entered him again, amazed at how right and natural this felt already.
From this angle, with his legs hitched up under her arms, she could fill him just right with every small thrust. And she could watch his face twist and glow with pleasure, watch him writhe and shake against her. It took no time at all for his cock, only just about flagging, to start filling out again.
“Touch yourself,” she half-begged, half-ordered. He grasped his shaft and jerked it fast, as if he was about ready to come again. His other hand teased and twisted his nipples; Hawke fucked into him harder, giving it her all--
“Oh fuck, my back,” she gasped, frozen mid-thrust. It felt like a hot blade through the base of her spine. She could barely breathe, let alone move.
Anders took a breath, swung his legs down and slipped off the dildo, unbuckled the harness and shoved it off her. He gently tipped her to lie down and put his arms around her and his palms over the point of pain. The hot stitch disappeared in moments, washed away by his healing magic.
“Well, that was embarrassing,” Hawke sighed, snuggling against his chest. “You don’t throw your back, no matter how long we go at it.”
“You’re using slightly different muscles. You’ll get a hang of it, love. Just have to practice. Better rest it for now, though.”
“Fine. I’ll get you in the morning. And tomorrow night.”
“Mmm, I should hope so. Now that we have this thing it would be a shameful waste not to use it. I’ll ride you next time, just to be on the safe side. Would you like that?”
She groaned at the twist of lust that image brought up and nipped at his neck, and he chuckled and held her close.
They lounged together and watched the dusk gather outside. Pounce gracefully jumped up on the bed and curled against Anders’ leg, and Hawke reached over to pet him, so Anders wouldn’t have to lift his hands off her back.
“What are we doing tomorrow?” Anders asked. “Apart from plundering my ass, of course.”
“We’re staying in town until the Collective gets back in touch about those Red Templar sightings. There’s a job posted, something about ghosts at the mill. Could be spirits, could be foul play. Then there’s that slaver gang Fenris wrote to us about, remember? They could have headed here. I’ll talk to the Dalish, they might know.”
“I want to offer healing while we’re here.”
“Of course. We can split up, and in the afternoon I’ll help out if you need to do surgeries.”
He hugged her tighter and dropped a kiss on her forehead, and she tilted her head back so he could kiss her on the lips, too.
“Sorry we didn’t get off the second time,” she said. “Next time I’ll fuck you for hours, I promise.”
“Looking forward to that. We’re not done, though, I was just waiting for you to catch your breath.”
He kissed her again and slid down her body to kiss the faint pink creases left by the harness. Pounce huffed in outrage as the bed shifted, jumped off and went to bother Dog who’d been quietly snoring on the blanket by the door.
“I was supposed to be pampering you tonight,” Hawke laughed, threading her fingers through Anders’ hair, melting under the touch of his tongue.
“You are,” he murmured against her skin. “You always are.”