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The entire first week Hawke was gone, Anders was angry; seethingly so. He had the nerve to take Isabela with him, but not Anders. Granted, he was travelling on a ship and he needed a captain, but that was no excuse.
One did not go on trips to sunny Antiva with an ex-lover while leaving the actual lover at home. It was enough to drive a man to - despair and bitter jealousy - workaholism. Even that was no consolation after the first month or so. No word at all except the occasional work reports sent back to Fenris, who passed along tiny snippets of messages.
"Hawke asked about you," Fenris mentioned casually, dropping off a lunch basket. "He inquired as to whether you have been eating and sleeping properly in his absence."
"Tell him to shove it," Anders said. "I'm not a child. I was surviving just fine before he ever met - kidnapped me."
Fenris pulled the everpresent notebook out of his pack, pulling a quill off Anders' desk, "I'll be sure to do that. How do you spell 'shove'?"
Damn me to the Void for offering him writing lessons. Anders rolled his eyes, but wrote the word for him anyway.
After about six weeks, his constant anger had turned into worry, "he's gone to Antiva to meet ... the Crows. Aren't you worried that it's a trap?"
"His cousin's best friend is the guild master. You worry too much," Fenris eyed Anders' plate. The mage ate a lot for his size, and still he hadn't gained a pound. Perhaps Hawke had a right to be such a mother hen.
Then again, Hawke was a bit of a mother hen to begin with. Fenris snorted at his own silent joke.
And you worry too little. "He's not a rogue. Hawke's not very good at avoiding traps and ambushes and such."
"That's why he brought Isabela," Fenris sipped from his glass and made a face, second rate Ferelden wine, watered down. Barracks grade. Anders' expression was one of someone who ate something rotten, "jealous?"
"What? Me? No. I'm not worried at all," Anders glanced to one side, eyebrows creasing. "Don't be ridiculous."
One could not possibly be jealous of Isabela, the same way that a steak could not be jealous of the rice and vegetables on the plate. It was rather expected, but Anders was the - lover? House pet? Exclusive live-in mage? - he had no idea, they never made any promises, which he was regretting right about now.
The day that Hawke was due to arrive back in the estate had Anders pacing between the library door to the kitchen, wearing a groove in the carpet. Hawke's own mother was out on an extended trip to Orlais, Fenris was at the docks waiting for the ship to arrive, and Anders, being the other apostate of the family, got left behind.
"The gallows uses the same harbour. You are not coming," Fenris had firmly refused his request when Anders insisted on coming along. "I managed to keep you safe from templars for three months with Hawke gone. I do not wish to be decapitated when he arrives simply because you are too stupid to stay out of harm's way for one more hour."
Three bloody months. As if he needed to be reminded. Three blighted months, one whole on a ship with Isabela. By the time Hawke finally arrived at the door, hair rough from the ocean and smelling of salt and sea, Anders was about ready to kill him.
He greeted Hawke with his arms crossed and his expression doubly so.
"I thought you'd be happy to see me," Hawke trudged in, armour clanging. He grabbed the bags from his retinue of guards and firmly pushed them out the door.
Anders didn't want to sound jealous, or bitter, or even that he missed Hawke in any way, shape, or form. But in the face of Hawke back at last, he couldn't help but babble, "the least you could have done was write me! I've heard nothing from you for months! What did you expect - for me to run into your arms like you're some bloody hero from one of Varric's stories?"
"Well, it's a start," said Hawke, unrepentent. Bodahn had dragged Sandal off to the servant's quarters the moment Anders began speaking.
Hawke stared at Anders' quickly disappearing form up the stairs, eyebrows raised. When the first message came back with Fenris' block letter script and 'shove it' written in Anders' hand, he hadn't expected him to mean it. He winced as the - their - bedroom door was purposefully slammed.
Maybe he should have written, after all. Hawke pulled something out of his pack and followed Anders up the stairs, entering their bedroom without knocking.
"Anders," he found the other mage standing in front of the fireplace, staring into the flames. "I missed you."
Anders' shoulders slumped, "that is totally unfair."
"What brought this on?" Hawke came to stand next to Anders by the fire, "it's not the first time I've been away. You've gone on trips without me as well."
"I didn't bring Isabela with me," Anders blurted, regretting it the moment he said it. He turned to leave, "forget I said anything."
Hawke blocked his way, metal-clad body rather like a wall between Anders and the door. One red-steel encased arm shot out to wrap around him, somehow holding him softly with barely any extra pressure at all. Another held a box out for him to take.
When Anders didn't take it immediately, Hawke sighed, pulling Anders closer so his hands could meet to open it himself. Inside was a little gold hoop earring with a small jewel set in its side, "Zevran told me that you used to wear a hoop like this. I bought it on the streets of Antiva City; supposedly it belonged to royalty at some point."
"One of the royals that Zevran killed personally?" Anders allowed himself a smile, taking the hoop out of its case and pushing it through the hole that never closed in his right ear.
"Zevran hadn't killed anyone personally for a while now, I hear," Hawke took the time in between to divest himself of his gauntlets. His arms were tanned from sailing, and there were rope burns on his palms. He placed a hand over Anders' jaw, turning his head to watch the glow as their fire's light glinted off the earring, "looks good on you."
"Thank you," Anders muttered, touching a finger to the metal and bit his lip, steadfastly avoiding looking at Hawke's face. "Look, what I said about Isabela - it doesn't matter. I mean, you were gone for months, and we aren't exactly married, and sailors are notorious with their dockside habits, I should know, I've treated enough cases of crotch-rash for a lifetime, it's not like we made a commitment to be exclusive or anything, after all, you only asked me to move in-"
"Anders, look at me," Hawke tipped his head up, by the chin, more forceful than usual but still so damnably gentle. He held Anders' gaze with his cold blue eyes, and Anders was again reminded of how deceptive appearances were, "I haven't been with anyone else since the moment we met."
"You ... haven't?" He sounded so surprised that Hawke's expression turned into a scowl in one second.
Hawke could look terrifying if he wanted to. He unbuckled his chest plate with one hand, and pushed Anders gently towards the bed with another, "get naked, and kneel on the bed. Now."
Anders flinched a little at the sound of each piece of armour hitting the floor, but he made no move to the bed. Each time a little more tanned skin was revealed. It was becoming obvious that Hawke spent some time sunbathing nude. With Isabela on deck. He found it rather unbelievable that she hadn't taken advantage in some way.
"Anders, when I tell someone to jump, they ask how high." Hawke flashed a smile, white teeth against tanned skin, rough from salt and wind. It was a smile that had, in the past, caused some templars to soil themselves in its presence - Anders had seen it for himself. "Would you care to find out why people choose to obey me?"
He was sure that not a soul in Thedas could have stood up to that smile. It was no shame, really, to give in to it. Anders scrambled to obey, backing up towards the bed while keeping his eyes on Hawke, who leaned on the mantle to undo the buckles on his greaves.
Despite all the crazy words that spilled out of his mouth, it went dry in the glorious vision of his man. His alone, by Hawke's own admission. The fair skin that went with those ice blue eyes was now golden bronze that defined his muscles with stark shadows in the light of their fire. Dark hair shot with silver hung over his eyes, too long since he had it cut, but the length, while it would have looked messy on another man, suited him.
Hawke was a movable mountain of a man; all things and people quaked in his wake. As he approached the bed, bare feet padding across the rug, walking as though he was still wearing a suit of armour, Anders felt the ground shake and shivered. The fire was suddenly too far and the bed hadn't been warmed, but Hawke took the last two steps to the bed and swept Anders into his arms.
"When are you going to admit that you missed me too, hmm?" Hawke pulled Anders up against his chest, easily fitting the slim mage into the circle of his embrace. It had gone from too cold, to suddenly too warm. He rubbed his nose into Anders' hair, breathing in the scent of something much too floral with a hint of sandalwood. He smiled knowingly, "took a bath for me, did you?"
"I took a bath, but not for you," Anders snorted. "The world does not revolve around you, Hawke."
"On the contrary," and he smiled, kinder and full of affection. He moved his attention over Anders' shoulders, his own colour contrasting against the milky white complexion now, and Anders, sensitive always, more so now with months of just waiting and want, quivered lightly under his touch. "The world does revolve around me."
"Egotistical," Anders turned his head and kiss him, just what he should have done at the door but couldn't, too many people looking on and too much pride on his part. More kisses, one for each adjective, "tyrannical, incorrigible man. Of course I missed you. It's been three months, you dumb fuck."
"The things you call me when you're being all affectionate," Hawke chuckled, running his hands over every part of Anders he could reach. "Be still, my heart."
His hands were rough from weeks at sea and months in a hot, coastal city where he probably went without his plate mail in favor of the leather armour that left more skin exposed. There were patches of him, now that Anders looked closer, that were darker than others, on the outside of his thighs, his forearms, and a small patch on his chest. Those hands provided a profusion of textures, rough on the tips and callouses where his palms met his fingers, soft on the palm near his wrists, and when they held his shoulders still and Hawke ducked down to nip at his neck, Anders finally gave in to the fact that his Hawke was home.
Parting did not make the heart grow fonder, as people wont to say, but as the parting grew long - and three months was much too long, in Anders' opinion - meeting again lent their coupling a feeling of strangeness, as though they were together for the first time again, but his lover was one who knew exactly where to attack.
Hawke had one hand splayed on Anders' chest, and he dragged it downward, easily reaching both his nipples with his fingers and thumb, drawing soft circles over them while he nipped at Anders' neck, little bites that was almost painful without leaving a mark. If he wasn't held so tightly he would have toppled, but the hand behind his back anchored him while a hot mouth replaced a finger at his nipple, pulling the hardened nub in between his lips.
If it was some other time, Anders would have wanted to prolong this. Hawke was always so gentle, so considerate, lavishing attention on Anders for hours on end if need be before they stepped into the main event, but it had been months, and what he wanted was affirmation of everything they were. He wanted a physical reminder, one he had lived without for so long.
"Hawke," he gasped, as Hawke placed his mouth over Anders' hipbone, drew circles with his tongue and lapped inwards toward his hardening member, yet stopping just short of it, teasing him with little promises. "Not to sound impatient or anything, but please, get on with it."
"But I missed you," he bit down playfully, drawing a yelp from Anders, then flattened him against the bed. Hawke laid ardent kisses down his spine, dragging out each one slowly between his words, "so very much."
He was moving downwards relentlessly, hinting at his actions with whorls of his tongue as he drew ever closer to his goal. If Anders didn't say something now, then the next words would be obscured by profanity and they could be at this for hours, "Hawke, get on with it or I'll set your eyebrows on - oh fuck!"
Hawke had one arm wrapped over his thighs, pulling him up high enough that Anders wasn't able to rut against the bed, another hand reaching around his front to touch lightly over his erection, and a tongue lapping at his hole. Slow, rhythmic, almost predictable but not quite, it stopped to lave over his balls, dropping even lower to smooth those lips over his cock.
He stopped long enough with the rimming for Anders to find his words again, "I want your cock. I want your cock now."
"Now? Mmm. But I'm not done with you yet," he sent little nips up the inside of one thigh, mouthing at the soft skin next to his sac. Then he laughed, "besides, I'm so close right now I'll probably last all of five seconds."
"Then we'll just do it again. I want it now!" Anders positively mewed as the tongue returned, dipping inside in slow, tantalizing swirls. It was wonderful, it was lovely, but right at this moment Anders wanted something bigger.
He was about to try something drastic, like shoot lightning at him, but he was a little afraid of the repercussions of such an action like primal magic in bed. They've limited themselves to creation so far, and Hawke, wild and new with his magic, was liable to set the bed on fire.
Hawke moved away from his hole finally and set his chin on the top of Anders' cleft, as if he was considering something. Anders asked, "had enough?"
"Not by a long shot," Hawke turned his head and bit one arse cheek. He had, on occasion, teased Anders until he was a begging, writhing puddle on the bed. It was his first day back, however, and he was tired. Sleeping in a hammock for two weeks was torture for a big man like him. "But I think I heard you say that we can do it more than once..."
"As many times as you want," Anders just wanted the teasing to be done and over with. The thought of being filled by Hawke sent a shiver down his spine; it had been much too long and he was almost certain that it would hurt but he didn't much care.
Then he remembered those first few times together when things were still new, and how Hawke was always so careful to never hurt him. There is good pain, Anders, and there is bad pain. Hawke practically lectured him once, after Anders forced himself down too fast and too hard when given control. And this, he tied Anders down so he could take his time, pushing in one agonizing fraction of an inch at a time, should never really hurt. It may burn a little going in, but it shouldn't hurt.
"You may regret saying that," Hawke draped over him, stretching over him for a brief moment as he dug in the drawer of the nightstand. He was painfully hard and hot, sitting over Anders' cleft while he looked for a salve. Anders thrust his hips up to rub against him, and they both groaned. "Keep that up and you'll end up not getting any."
Anders sniggered, turning his head a little to smile up at his lover, "empty threats."
"Very," Hawke kissed that smile, catching a smidgen of happiness. He dipped his fingers into the jar, three at once, and Anders' eyes widened. "You're the one who's impatient, Anders."
It was just a threat, since only one finger pushed inside of him. Even that burned a little, Anders unused to the intrusion now but his mind screamed for more, though Hawke would never let him go without preparation. Two fingers had him keening at the stretch, and three seemed almost impossible on the horizon, but it happened and the gentle tapping against his spot made the world go white.
He didn't know why he ever doubted Hawke in the first place. Insecurity perhaps, or the disbelief that this bronze god of a man was his very own. Each time they made love Hawke made no secret of how much he treasured him, with reverent touches so light his hands nearly shook with his restraint.
"Ready?" Arms wrapping around his waist, kisses over his shoulder blades. Anders turned his head to ensure that his face could be seen, that if he kept his eyes open he could see Hawke above him.
"Like half an hour ago," he muttered, surprised he hadn't come from foreplay alone.
"Good. If I wait any longer I might just explode," Hawke kept his body low above him, close enough for his breath to tickle on Anders' ear. Then something hot was pushing at his entrance, and it always felt like too much, as though no amount of preparation was ever enough.
Anders had forgotten what this felt like, the scorching, searing stretch that consumed him and sent tingling down to his fingertips, rendering his speech incoherent. He was never quite sure what he said in the initial moments, only the little huffs of air by his ear with Hawke trying hard not to laugh and failing miserably.
But now there was heavy breathing by his shoulder, a chin resting on him and the large body draping over him shaking lightly in the effort not to move, giving him time to adjust, "Hawke? Don't stop on my account."
"And he says I think the world revolves around me," he began to move, rocking movements that kept him anchored to Anders with his cheek pressed firmly against the space between his shoulder blades. "Cheeky mage."
"More," then there was more, he could feel the muscles of Hawke's abdomen flush against his lower back, short hair brushing up on his arse. "Fuck, I missed you so much."
Hawke laughed, and Anders could feel it all along his back, a fluttering all the way down his spine, before he raised up, hands planting down on the mattress to either side of Anders and began to move.
Anders craned his neck to keep watching Hawke, biting his lower lip and a sheen of sweat on his forehead a tell of how much he was keeping himself in check. Anders pushed back on the next thrust, pulling farther away on the off-beat and unraveling Hawke's control with his, what Hawke would have called, impertinence.
"You're trying to kill me, aren't you," Hawke moved his hands up to Anders' hips, holding him in place, and the smaller man whined over the loss of mobility. Hawke moved a little faster, angling to hit his sweet spot on every thrust, and Anders was thankful for the support of his hips as each movement threatened to unhinge him from reality.
"Don't hold back," Anders said, as Hawke took a breather, slowing things down to a manageable rate. "I have a spell to make you hard again."
"You're really going to regret telling me that," and Anders thought, not likely. Those hands holding his hips in place moved to the sides again, leaving Anders to meet each of Hawke's thrusts, snapping back towards the body behind him by pushing on the mattress with his hands.
Then one arm squeezed tight around him, pulling him up and back against Hawke's chest, a hand reaching down to wrap around his erection, pumping in time with the driving motion of Hawke's hips. Hawke was suddenly hard as steel inside him, mouth against his neck with a muffled cry, and Anders turned to lay kisses along his cheek, Hawke turning to catch his lips and moaning the rest of his climax for Anders, letting him catch the stuttered breaths and loss of control with his tongue.
Anders could feel seed running down his inner thighs, thick and tickling on sensitive skin, and still Hawke pumped inside of him, moans escaping out the edge of the seal of their lips. A large hand clasped over his own, pulling it downwards and over Hawke's hip, now being the unspoken message.
Anders gathered a spell at his fingertips, aiming it downwards before Hawke had a chance to flag. A cantrip of rejuvenation glowed between them, imprecise enough to hit them both. Hawke grew hard inside of him, and when he began to move again it was faster from the slick of his seed.
The tingling warmth of more arousal hit Anders hard, since he didn't exactly need it, the energy having nowhere to go but out. He came surprising himself with his urgency, moaning his release into Hawke's lips, whose one thick arm was still wrapped around him as Anders spilled over the calloused hand over his cock.
"Do you want me to stop?" Despite what he said earlier, he knew Hawke meant it, always giving as much or as little as Anders needed.
"Don't you dare. I've been fingering myself to the thought of you for months." Anders clamped down on the hard column of flesh in him, smiling a little at Hawke's expense as he groaned. He whispered, teasing with words the way Hawke did with his tongue, "fuck me until I can't see straight. Fill me up with your cum. I want to wake up tomorrow and be so sore I can't walk."
"Why can't I ever say no to you?" Hawke growled, pulling out only to slick himself with Anders' seed, dripping from his hand. Anders was turned and picked up, his arms coming up to rest over Hawke's neck as he was pushed against a wall barely padded with tapestry. He gave Anders one last bruising kiss before pulling away, hands moving down to lift his arse and to spread him wide.
They hadn't done this for a long time, not since the beginning and not for very long, but he'd asked for it this time, wanting that wanton abandonment only someone with Hawke's strength could give him.
Anders was quickly pulled down to spear himself on that thick cock, his knees held up against his chest and the wall behind him not supporting him, Hawke's sheer strength and his arms locked behind his neck leaving him suspended as he was pounded into over and over again without any leeway for him to move.
"Fuck, yes," it was too much and too fast and exactly what he wanted, the affirmation that it was Hawke with him, no one else had that ability to drive all thoughts out of his mind, obliterating everything else but this heat and pressure in his groin.
He never knew he could come untouched before until he met Hawke, who taught him to transfer his control to the one holding him, as he did now with his arms stretch taut and he looked longingly in front of him, meeting Hawke's eyes, focused solely on him and here and in their moment. With a shout he came between them, spurting to coat them both, slick and white on his stomach, while Hawke leaned close again, catching his lips in a wet kiss.
"Still don't want me to stop?" He was so sweet. Anders shook his head no, a keening wail escaping him as Hawke pounded into him only a few more times before he came again, pushing him closer to the wall as he lost control for that last few thrusts.
Anders was being carried again, his ankles locked behind Hawke's back. They landed on the bed and the mattress squeaked under them, Hawke still inside of him and Hawke's mouth on his, parting only on the moment of impact. Hawke stared down at him tenderly, hands coming up to push back the blond strands disturbed in their collision.
"I haven't really had a chance to, um," Hawke blushed a little, the colour harder to discern now but Anders saw the rose bloom of it over the lightly bronzed cheeks. He finished cryptically, "you know."
Was he seriously avoiding the word masturbate? After he just nailed his lover to the wall with his cock? Anders laughed, no, he giggled, "what, fondle the fig? Pet the lizard? Crank the shank?"
"Shut up," and he was blushing harder, rosy to the tips of his ears. "My guards wouldn't leave me alone in Antiva, as if I was going to get assassinated any minute or something. And the ship was full of sailors and it's one thing to sunbathe with a loincloth, but I had to sleep in a hammock which threw me off if I so much as turned and there was always someone around. It felt like I was in jail."
He could have made so many jokes on that allusion alone, but Anders refrained. He found his lover's inexperience with saying exactly what he meant so incredibly endearing, "I'm not done with you yet."
"Seriously? I can go all night," Hawke planted kisses along his jaw, and Anders shivered in the anticipation of 'all night.' "But I can wait."
Hawke pulled out, running his fingers over the rim of Anders' hole where he was dripping with cum. The little shivers and moans his fingers elicited encouraged more, and he smiled wickedly, pushing Anders farther up the bed as he trailed kisses from the top of his knee to the inside of his thigh. Halfway down he encountered the trail of cum that drew a white line over smooth skin, and he lapped it up, following it downwards as though he was tracing its origin.
He moved down slowly, methodically cleaning Anders with his tongue, moving up to his stomach to lap at his navel drinking what seed caught there before moving away again. By the time Hawke finally reached his hole, Anders was a writhing mess as Hawke's tongue descended, drawing circles over his rim.
As that tongue began dipping into him and lips closed over his hole, sucking seed out of him, Anders faintly wondered, this from a man who can't say 'masturbate' without blushing. Hawke was so very good at teasing, his boundless patience mismatched with the needy whining and begging of his mate.
"Enough - please - just fuck me already!" Anders barely had enough sense to speak, but if he didn't, Hawke could go on all night. The rest came out as simple pleas, but Hawke finally got the message, pulling one of Anders' legs up, resting the crook of his knee on his shoulder.
"I've thought of nothing but you since I left," Hawke turned his head, kissing the inside of the knee flung over his shoulder, lining himself up with one hand and pushed slowly in, "I wanted you so badly I had wet dreams. And let me tell you - sticky pants on a ship is the most embarrassing thing ever. Don't you dare laugh."
If he had the presence of mind to do so, he might have, but the brutal pace that Hawke set, spurred on by his pleas for more and harder, made thinking inconceivable. Anders couldn't remember when they had last done it this hard, probably never, but they had a need to reclaim one another, seeing and learning reactions to their touch as though it was new again.
"When are you going to understand that you're the only one I want?" Hawke folded Anders' leg back down, but instead of pushing them both up towards his chest, Hawke wrapped an arm around his torso and flipped him over, pulling out and slicking himself up before pushing in again.
He was always so careful with Anders, taking every consideration and reading his every breath, that yes, he should have known better than to ever think that Hawke might want anyone else. But he had no words, the gibes he could have thrown back too light and it was hardly the right time for vows of love, so he settled for a glance over his shoulder that spoke volumes in apologies.
Hawke held on to his hips, strong hands with a light touch, rougher now than he remembered them. He leaned over, never ceasing his movements, and whispered darkly, "you're just waiting for me to say I need to fuck some sense into you, aren't you?"
Not in so many words, thought Anders, but his tongue darted out to lick at his lips in expectation, and Hawke had enough of hints. He slammed against his lover, every thrust to the hilt, watching for any sign of pain, finding none. Anders was swearing so much that it wasn't just any specific blasphemy now but a string of f-words punctuated by screams, and Hawke knew him well enough to know that screaming didn't mean stop.
Anders wailed as he was speared, each thrust brushing past his spot, and not the usual finesse of love making with Hawke. That was just fine by him; the fact that he was wanted and needed so badly was enough, and the quality in this case was made up for in quantity, as Hawke filled him again, nothing but a grunt escaping him, Anders throwing back another rejuvenation spell to keep it going, his voice asking for more.
He was filled to the brim, spread by a cock the thickness of his own wrist, and he could feel cum dripping down his thighs, running over and down to pool by his knee. Anders twisted the sheets under his hands, fingers digging into the mattress as his world narrowed down to his spot being pounded inside of him, each thrust sending tingling ripples out to his fingertips. He threw his head back and came untouched, screaming Hawke's name, and Hawke reached under them, running roughened fingers up and down his cock to add to the sensation.
"Oh fuck, don't stop. Don't fucking stop," he babbled, not wanting it to end, as the hand on his cock and the pounding in his arse brought him over in quick succession. The pool of semen under him was growing impressive in size, a mixture of the two of them, as his lover came again inside of him and squeezed it back out with his cock, seed running over the sides of his balls and joining the puddle on the bed.
He lost track of time; they began after the sun had already set, and the fire in their hearth was burning low now, roaring when they started. Anders had never felt quite so insatiable, three months of pant-up longing hardly made up in one night.
Hawke had his arms wrapped around Anders suddenly, still locked inside of him, and pulled them to one side on the bed. He slipped them into a spooning position, avoiding the puddle, "Time out. I need a break."
His cock slipped easily inside and out in caressing motions now, which was nice and so intimate, but Anders still wanted more. He lifted one leg to braced it against the mattress, pushing back against the warm body trying to wrap around him, but Hawke held him still.
"We can do it all again tomorrow, you know. We can both take the day off. You can top. As many times as you want," Hawke yawned, burying his face in Anders' hair. "I can't sleep in a hammock. Fuck I missed this bed."
Of course, what he was trying to get across was that he couldn't sleep properly without Anders beside him. And with his cock still firmly lodged inside of Anders, Hawke began to snore.
Anders rolled his eyes, casting a telekinesis spell to pick up their blanket, and it fluttered down on top of them. His Hawke was home. All was right with the world.
"I love you, you big lout. Next time you're so taking me with you." He muttered, before falling asleep himself.
Behind him, the snoring continued on, and Hawke's lips curved into a smile.