Archive of Our Own

“Come with me, Varric.” 

Hawke looked more tired than Varric had remembered. There was something stiff in the way he held his shoulders, and the old laughter lines around his face looked more like weariness. There was still a little quirk to his lips – a valiant effort at a smile – but that didn’t hide the shadow of sorrow that lingered in his eyes. 

Varric felt sure that if he looked into a mirror, he’d see the same exhaustion staring back at himself. 

“I can’t. Sorry, Hawke, you know I wish I could, but . . . I can’t.” 

“Why not?” 

Varric shrugged one shoulder. “Gotta see this one through. Can’t really hide out in a pub while demons are falling from the sky.” 

“Never said anything about a pub. Maybe I wanted to hide out in a brothel.” 

That pulled a chuckle from Varric, almost surprising him. “I missed you, my friend.” 

“I missed you, too.” 

Varric peered at Hawke over the rim of his glass. There were a million different things he wanted to say: You don’t know how good it is to see you, I want to hear everything you’ve been up to – You wouldn’t believe the look on the Seeker’s face when she heard I brought you here – How are you feeling about Anders – I missed your laugh, I missed your face, I missed who I was with you around – I heard you ask the Inquisitor why she didn’t leave you in the Fade, how could you do that to me – all underscoring the constant refrain I love you, I love you, I love you. 

A million different things he could say, a million different ways to leave his heart bare. There was never a good time to say everything before. And now it was just them, sitting on either side of Varric’s writing desk, with many empty hours for them to just talk. But he didn’t know where to start.

So, instead, he said: “When are you heading out for Weisshaupt?” 

“I don’t know yet. I guess I should go soon, or the Grey Wardens might end up making another terrible demon pact in their confusion.” 

“So, what, you’re going to go talk sense into them?”

“Sense? Maker, no. I’ll just make sure this time they make a pact with a nice desire demon. Something a little easier on the eyes than whatever Corypheus has going on.” 

That was good, the little jokes. If Varric closed his eyes and ignored the itch of dry mountain air in his throat, he could almost pretend they were back in Kirkwall, all cheer and swagger after a job well-done. 

“You could come,” Hawke continued. “It wouldn’t be hiding out. We’d be working against Corypheus, just off on the ass end of nowhere.” 

“It’s tempting, Hawke. Believe me, you have no idea how much.” 

“But?” 

“But it’d still be running away. We’re at the front lines here, and while it’d be great if I could convince myself I’m not needed, it’d be a lie.”

Hawke nodded. “I could stay.” 

“What?” 

“Here. With you. Join the Inquisition.” 

For a second, Varric dared to entertain the thought. It might not be just like old times, but it’d be close enough. They could go on adventures together whenever the Inquisitor had something that needed doing. They could share a drink in the Herald’s Rest, or just hang out chatting about Varric’s latest book. And all the weird shit going on would be just a little better, with Hawke around. 

He wanted that. 

And so it physically hurt to say: “You can’t, Hawke. You’re still wanted, and I don’t know how to keep you hidden with the Inquisition. We’re kind of high-profile, you know.” 

“Maybe I don’t have to hide anymore. I mean, Cassandra didn’t cart me off for interrogation the moment I showed up.”

Varric let out a weak snort. “She didn’t hold back on knocking my ass around, either. And she’s just one person, and one I’ve had months to bring ‘round. There’s a lot of other people who still blame you for what happened at Kirkwall, and wouldn’t hesitate to make you tranquil if given the chance. We have a huge pro-Circle delegation arriving this week, and I’m sure every damn one of them hates your guts.”

“I feel like the Inquisitor would rain demons down on anyone who dared make one of her people tranquil.” 

“Sure, but we rub shoulders with a lot of powerful people. People who could do a lot with information on your whereabouts. And the Inquisitor can’t reverse what gets done.” 

Hawke sighed. “Thought you’d say that. Worth a shot, though. All this hiding doesn’t suit me; it’s awful for my complexion.” 

“You have the worst damned self-preservation instincts of any apostate I’ve ever met.” 

And now there was a mischievous, boyish grin. “You wouldn’t have me any other way.” 

“I’d have you alive .”

The words came out sharper than Varric intended, and they both stopped short. Hawke’s eyebrows lifted. 

“Sorry,” Varric muttered. “My nerves are a little frayed right now. Just . . .” He could feel Hawke scrutinizing him, and words fled his grasp. Instead, he made a helpless sweep of his hands, as if clearing the table. 

“There certainly seems to be an abundance of weirdness going on at the moment,” Hawke granted. “But to get under even your skin . . .”

“Hey, you’ve seen me lose my temper before.” 

“Considering that only seems to happen when people really deserve it, that somehow only makes me more uneasy.”

Varric shrugged. “I wouldn’t say ‘deserve’, exactly. Not this time, at least.” 

Hawke didn’t respond with a quip. He didn’t press, either. He sat back and sipped at his ale, letting Varric fill the silence. 

Varric took a moment to order his thoughts. Slowly, he said: “Look, I heard you talking to the Inquisitor when we got out of the Fade. She . . . she had to choose between you and Stroud, huh?” 

Surprise flitted across Hawke’s face, and he quickly glanced away. “Someone had to stay to hold Nightmare back.” 

“And you wished she’d picked you to stay.” 

“You weren’t supposed to hear that.” 

“Well, I did.” Varric was glad Hawke wasn’t looking directly at him; he was careful to keep his tone even, but he could still feel the accusation written on his face. 

Still staring straight into his tankard, Hawke argued: “Just from a strictly logical, save-the-world perspective, Stroud has value. He’s got experience leading Grey Wardens and could do a whole lot more to get an army on the Inquisitor’s side. What do I have? A tendency to find trouble?” 

“Come on, you have more influence than you give yourself credit for.” 

“But I’m not Stroud . I had my chance to stop Corypheus my way. I failed. Stroud is the better choice for the world Corypheus has made now.” 

Varric was silent. Hawke was right; he knew it, and he hated it. But he didn’t have to say it aloud.

Quietly, Hawke continued: “I didn’t want to stay. It’s just . . . I can’t hang back and let other people die for me, and then do nothing to fix the state the world’s in.” 

“Yeah,” Varric muttered. “I get it.”

“I feel like you’re mad at me.” 

“What do you want me to say, Hawke? I almost lost you at Adamant. I know, you’re just thinking about the noble thing, the heroic thing. But, you’d still–” He broke off, shaking his head. “It’s not all you. I’m as much mad at myself, too. It’s just a lot to take in.”

Hawke watched him keenly for a moment. “When Nightmare was taunting us, it told you that you were the reason I was in danger.”  

Varric elected to respond by taking a long drink from his tankard. 

“It’s not your fault, Varric. Don’t let a demon get inside your head.”

“Demons do get inside your head. It’s kind of in the definition,” Varric grumbled. “Besides, it was only picking out what was already there.” 

“You really think you’re the reason I keep finding trouble?” 

Varric shrugged. “Not all of it, sure. But I certainly don’t help keep it away. I called you to Skyhold, after so long of hiding you away from all this shit. I made that choice. And look what happened.” 

“You made that choice because the Inquisition needed help fighting Corypheus,” Hawke pointed out. “So, really, it was Corypheus’ fault. And Nightmare, who was, you know, the one actually trying to kill me.” 

“Corypheus didn’t force my hand. I still made the decision to call you in. And why?” With a heavy sigh, Varric leaned back and squeezed his eyes shut. “I told myself you’d have some grand new perspective. But I fought Corypheus, too. And I could have had you write down your thoughts in a letter. But I brought you here. Because I missed you .” 

Apparently, Hawke didn’t know how to respond to that; he opened his mouth, paused, and then instead busied himself with his own tankard of ale.

Almost under his breath, Varric muttered: “I brought you here because I missed you, and then I almost lost you.”

“But you didn’t lose me,” Hawke jumped in, finally recovering himself. “I’m still here, like a bit of shit you can’t get off the bottom of your shoe.” 

And, Maker, that was so glib it hurt, but it was also so Hawke that it finally pulled a smile from Varric. “After you’ve spent a full day in armor, even shit would smell better than you.” 

Hawke laughed, loud and heartily. 

“But seriously, Hawke,” Varric continued. “Just take care of yourself, okay? You’re not just fodder that can be thrown away as a convenient sacrifice. If you’d died back there . . . well, it wouldn’t be pretty.” 

He wanted to say I’d be a wreck or I couldn’t bear it without you – anything that spoke to the depths of his fear – except that it felt like an intrusion. It was too close to a truth he didn’t have the place to say, both too soon and too late. They’d never quite had their timings right. 

But perhaps Hawke caught the undercurrent in his words; his laughter died, and his eyes gentled. 

“I’m alive,” Hawke reassured him. “And I plan to stay that way.”

It was a simple statement, but the knot of anger in Varric’s chest relaxed. He offered Hawke a wry smile: a forgiveness. “Glad to hear it.” 

The tightness in Varric’s chest must have been holding something together, because as that tension eased, a fresh wave of grief washed through him. It was a familiar grief, a wound that had ached inside Varric since the Kirkwall Chantry had exploded. Varric’s fingers twitched with the desire to reach out and take Hawke’s wrist in his hand, to feel the warmth and the pulse and to salve the wound in him with the tangible proof that Hawke was alive and real and here . 

But that, too, would be too close to the truth he couldn’t bring himself to say. Instead, he sat stock-still, drinking in Hawke’s presence from across the writing desk. The desk had never felt so wide before. 

“I’m sorry for . . . well, all of this.” Hawke broke the silence. “I’ll make it up to you, deal? Name your vice – I’m at your service.” He threw in a playful smirk, using his natural suaveness to soften the moment. 

Varric, still frozen against the urge to reach out to touch Hawke, could only manage a short nod in acknowledgment. 

Hawke’s smile faded to an awkward grimace. “I guess you’re still mad.” 

“No, not exactly.” Varric tore himself out of his thoughts and heaved a sigh. “Just – I missed you. And it just really, really sucks to know this – you being here – isn’t going to last.” 

“So, you’re saying that I’m your vice?”

Varric’s eyes darted to Hawke’s. Misreading the stricken look in Varric’s expression, Hawke quickly backpedaled. 

“I didn’t mean that in the kissing sort of way. I know you’re not interested–” 

“Hawke, I love you.” 

For all his frozen silences, when the words came to Varric’s lips, he didn’t even think. Avoiding the topic was one thing, but now the white lie was turning gray. Varric may be a liar, but not to Hawke. Never to Hawke. 

Hawke blinked. “Uh, right,” he said uncertainly. “But not in that way, I know–”

“Andraste’s tits, Hawke, don’t make me spell it out.” 

“What?” 

“I am in love with you.” 

Hawke’s eyes flew wide; his fingers slipped on his tankard. “Uh – what?” 

“You’re going to make me spell it out twice ?” 

“You –?” Hawke’s voice cracked. “Are you–? Since when ?” 

“Not sure when it started. It’s . . . been a while.” Varric’s heart was thumping painfully hard in his chest. Was this a rejection? Was it too soon? 

But then Hawke lunged across the table and clasped Varric’s face between his hands. His grip was tight with want but there was something desperately tender to the way his hands cupped Varric’s jaw. “I asked you, years ago, and you said no–!” 

“Eight years ago,” said Varric, as his own hands came up to cover Hawke’s. “Things change.” 

“You never said!” 

“You were with Anders by the time I figured it out,” Varric murmured. “I’m not the type to steal someone else’s partner.”

“I’m not with Anders now!” 

“No,” Varric agreed. “You’re not. I just – I thought you needed time to process. Didn’t know if it was too soon to say anything.”

“You thought I needed four years to process?” 

Varric granted the point with a short laugh. “Okay, maybe there was a bit of cowardly self-interest in there too.”

“How?! I already tried to get into your pants once! What were you scared of? That my breath would stink?”

Another, breathy laugh. “Not that. It was . . . well, it was already bad enough that you had to be in hiding. I thought it would hurt worse if I said it aloud, if I let that be another thing all this shit was taking away from us.”

“So you thought you’d take it away from us first? Maker, I thought you were supposed to be the smart one.” 

Before Varric could open his mouth to defend himself, Hawke threw himself forward and kissed him harshly. 

Varric’s heart leapt to his throat. His hands clutched at the front of Hawke’s shirt, as if to anchor himself. Hawke’s kiss was rough and tinged with eager desperation, and Varric felt like he was being swept away in a storm. He’d imagined kissing Hawke a thousand times over the years, but this was far better than any daydream he could have put into words – even considering the edge of the desk that was now digging painfully into his hip. Varric leaned into the kiss, marveling at how on earth he could have waited so long. 

Eventually, Hawke broke away. For a brief second, he hovered there, inches from Varric’s lips. His warm brown eyes were crinkled at the corners, and a flush peeked over the edge of his beard. The sight set up a fire around Varric’s heart. 

“Shit,” Varric breathed.

Hawke laughed. “Was I that bad?” 

“You know that’s not what I meant, you ass.”

“When the first things you say after I kiss you are ‘shit’ and ‘ass’, what am I supposed to think?” Without quite fully letting go of Varric, Hawke moved around the desk so that they were on the same side. Varric twisted in his chair to face Hawke properly.

“There’s plenty more than words. Context. Tone. Body language .” To punctuate his point, he leaned up and kissed Hawke again.

This kiss was gentler, warm and teasing, just like Hawke’s jokes. Varric used one hand to clasp the side of Hawke’s face, and the other slid down to Hawke’s wrist. There – Hawke’s pulse thumped against Varric’s thumb, rapid with excitement. Varric sighed, melting closer to Hawke.

When they broke away this time, Hawke grinned down at Varric. “Maker, I’ve been waiting to do that for ten years.” 

“Ten? What happened to eight?” 

“Varric, I wanted to kiss you from the second you showed up in Hightown twirling a bolt around your fingers.”

Varric laughed. “You must have the patience of the Maker himself.” 

“And now I’ve completely run out,” Hawke quipped, and stole another kiss. 

Varric felt exhilarated. He and Hawke smiled against each others’ lips, smothering breaths of laughter as they ran calloused fingers over stubble, hair, and skin. The touches were light and playful, and Hawke’s warmth suffused Varric’s being like sunlight. It was perfect in ways that were at once both completely novel and utterly familiar. 

And so Varric hated to pull them back to earth. But he knew it would never be Hawke to break away and confront the hard shit, and there were too many questions that hung heavy between them. Begrudgingly, he pulled back. 

“Where . . . where does this leave us?” 

“What are you talking about?” Hawke murmured, even as he chased Varric’s lips. 

But Varric leaned back, and placed his hands on Hawke’s chest, holding the distance. His voice cracked: “You still can’t stay.” 

Hawke’s face fell, the boyish delight evaporating. 

“This is why I didn’t want to say anything, remember? Now this part is a whole lot harder.” 

“It doesn’t have to be,” Hawke pleaded. “We can figure something out–” 

But Varric shook his head. “Everything I said before is still true. You can’t stay. It’s not safe for you here. But I can’t leave, either. There’s . . . too much that needs doing.” 

“Someone else could do it. Let someone else do it. You deserve a break.” 

“I know you don’t believe that. ‘Let someone else do it’ is kind of antithetical to everything that makes you Hawke.” 

“Maybe if I had believed in it a lot of people would have been better off,” Hawke muttered darkly. 

Varric grasped Hawke’s shoulder. “A whole lot of others would have been worse off.” 

Hawke didn’t reply, but he gave Varric a weak smile. 

Varric squeezed his shoulder. “And anyway, that’s not the point. You can’t stay. I can’t leave. So – what’s this between us?” 

“Does it matter? I’ll have you any way I can have you. I’ll take your letters, I’ll take just knowing you’re thinking of me. And when I come back, I’ll kiss the living daylights right out of you.” 

Varric’s chest constricted – at once relief at the promise and dread of the long separation before them. “You sure? It could be a long time before everything’s settled again. I won’t be offended if you want to move on, settle down with someone you can take with you.” 

Hawke snatched Varric’s wrist. “I hope that’s a joke,” he growled. “And if it is, your humor needs some work. I’ve waited ten years already, Varric. What’s a little more time? Unless–” and now, his grip slackened, “--you don’t want to wait? Did you want to move on?”   

“Never,” Varric said vehemently, stricken at the vulnerable look in Hawke’s expression. “No one could hold a candle to you. I just wanted to give you the option.” 

“I haven’t moved on in all these years, and I’m certainly not going to now. Just promise me your letters will be thoroughly raunchy.” 

Varric chuckled. “I can try, but you might regret it. I’ve never been good at writing that kind of stuff.”

“I’m not asking you to write a novel – just some damn letters to your lover, who will be missing you like a toad misses its warts.”  

An unexpected heat shot through Varric’s torso. “My lover, huh? I think I like that.” 

Hawke pressed his lips hard to Varric’s. “Good,” he murmured, low and husky. “But I think I have some work to do to earn that title.” And his hand slid from Varric’s wrist down to grasp him around the waist; his other hand came down to the opening in Varric’s shirt to tease at his chest hair.

Varric’s breath hitched. As Hawke’s fingers traced Varric’s collarbone, he shivered. “ Hawke ,” he breathed. 

Hawke’s lips quirked. “Yes?” 

“If we’re doing this, we’d better move to the bed.” 

“Oh, Maker , yes.” 

Hawke’s fists balled in the fabric of Varric’s shirt and helped to pull him upright. Varric stumbled to his feet, the ale briefly disorienting him. And then there were hands pushing at the shoulders of his jacket and fumbling at the clasps of his shirt. 

Varric quickly helped Hawke undo the lower clasps, leaving the shirt hanging open. But before Hawke could explore in earnest, he grasped Hawke around the back of the neck and pulled him down for a thorough kiss. The prickle of Hawke’s beard was rough against Varric’s stubble, somehow heightening the reality of the moment. Maker, he was really kissing Hawke. 

Even as Hawke’s tongue pressed against his lips, that knowledge swamped Varric. This was really Hawke – charming, roguish, impossible. Hawke, whom Varric had missed with the entirety of his being for four years. Hawke was here, and he was kissing Varric. The thought that this moment could have never happened – that Hawke had so nearly escaped death, just days ago – made Varric kiss him all the harder, as if the sheer force of his kisses could keep Hawke safe. 

They stumbled toward the bed. Varric’s jacket pooled on the floor behind him, and Hawke wrenched off his own wide belt. The kisses grew deeper and more desperate as Hawke’s hands continued their questing over every inch of Varric’s torso. Varric’s own hands came up to clasp Hawke’s jaw roughly as nimble fingers sent sparks across his skin. 

His head was spinning; at the start of this evening, he’d been swimming in melancholia, repressed fear and anger about the events at Adamant winding him tighter than a bowstring. He’d never expected his years of yearning to cross into this – to lay his heart all out in the open and find himself shivering under Hawke’s searching hands. He felt a bit like he’d jumped right off the side of a cliff.

When Hawke’s legs hit the bed, he fell back eagerly, pulling Varric forward. Varric suddenly found himself hovering over Hawke, one knee planted on the low mattress. Below him, Hawke smirked and let his hands fall away from Varric’s body to instead pillow them under his own head. It was a come-hither command, a challenge without words. Varric accepted the challenge with a needy grunt from the back of his throat; his lips sealed over the edge of Hawke’s jaw as his hands began to trace the lines of Hawke’s shoulders. Hawke sighed happily and tilted his head into Varric’s touch.

But despite the eagerness written in every line of his body, Hawke still took a moment to ask: “Are you sure about this, Varric? I . . . I know we’re moving kind of quickly here.” 

“Quickly?” Varric huffed against Hawke’s jaw. “Aren’t you the one who keeps reminding me it’s been years?” 

“For – for me. And I’m certainly not trying to dissuade you or anything–” a statement that was underlined by Hawke’s fingers tracing down Varric’s chest– “but you just said you hadn’t wanted to even say anything. So – are you sure about this?” 

Varric broke away to meet Hawke’s gaze. Hawke looked back at him; his expression was flushed, his lips wet, and his hair tousled. Varric felt heat flare in his belly. “I’m not going to lie; this is going to break my heart. I’m going to be an absolute wreck to have finally been with you like this and have no idea when I’m going to ever see you next.”

Concern creased Hawke’s forehead, but before he could reply, Varric continued: 

“But it’d break my heart more not to do this. Now that I’ve said something – now that you almost died at Adamant – I need you, Hawke. So, please, shut up and let me fuck you.” 

That pulled a startled laugh from Hawke’s lips. “When you put it that way, by all means.” 

Immediately, Varric hoisted himself properly onto the bed as Hawke scooted back to give him more room. The moment Hawke settled himself back against the low headboard, Varric returned to pressing messy kisses along the line of Hawke’s jaw. Hawke’s scent – something at once soothing and sharp like cinnamon – filled Varric’s nose, and he inhaled greedily. One of Hawke’s hands came up to twine around his neck, and he hissed as Hawke’s fingers knotted themselves in the feathery strands at his nape. 

But Hawke was not content to merely lay back and receive Varric’s attentions. His second hand was moving restlessly – over Varric’s collar, across his shoulder blades, down his arms. His fingers worked as he moved, digging into muscle knots and brushing feather-light touches against more sensitive expanses of skin. There was a practiced skill in Hawke’s movements, and Varric felt a pang of self-consciousness. It had been a long time since Varric had been with anyone like this; he wondered if his own touches gave away how out-of-practice he was. 

But as Varric’s tongue worried the pulse point on Hawke’s neck, a reedy groan tore itself from Hawke’s throat, and Varric took that to mean he must be doing well enough.

He continued along Hawke’s jaw, his fingers combing restlessly through the strands of Hawke’s hair. Hawke slid his hands under the front of Varric’s shirt, which still hung open. Varric jumped at the cold touch against his abdomen. Then Hawke slid the shirt off him, and Varric shivered, as much at the exposure as at the cool air of the room. 

“Well, fuck me, you’re gorgeous,” Hawke muttered. 

Varric huffed a laugh. “You’re not bad-looking yourself.”

“Really? ‘Not bad-looking’? That’s the best you got? I’m hurt, Varric.” 

Varric grinned at Hawke’s mock-injured expression. “You know I could wax poetic about your rugged good looks for an entire book – and have.”

“True enough. But this is the first time you’ve had me in your bed. Don’t you want to add to your descriptions? Something about my overwhelming sex appeal?” As if to emphasize the point, Hawke ghosted a feather-light touch down the length of Varric’s torso, raising goosebumps as he went.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got plenty more pretty words for your ego.” Varric leaned into Hawke’s hand, encouraging, as he considered his wording. “You are . . . fiendishly handsome. You have an impish smile and dark, piercing eyes that could make a Revered Mother loosen her robes.” 

Hawke let out a bark of laughter. “Oh, really?” 

“Absolutely. You are the shining – no, glistening – epitome of manliness. A mountain of muscle. The sheer picture of raw sexual energy –” 

“Varric, no –” 

“You’re right. That’s terrible. Far too brusque. No, it’s more . . . your form is at once lithe and powerful, echoing the dangerous intrigue of a dragon. But there’s a softness to you, too – it’s in the gentleness of your calloused hands, in the way your eyes laugh before you tell a joke.”

Hawke swatted at Varric. “This isn’t better!” 

But Varric didn’t pause. He carded a hand through Hawke’s hair and said: “And this whisper of gray in your hair – it gives you a touch of dignity. Not so much to make you seem unreachable, but just enough to give your rough edges a flavor of nobility. Just like your very name – Hawke .” 

“Okay, okay, I get it, I’m beautiful–” 

“I’m not done. I haven’t even started on your voice–” 

Still laughing, Hawke lunged forward and clasped a hand over Varric’s mouth. “No, I think that’s good! Thank you, Varric, my ego is very stroked!” 

And Varric finally broke into laughter himself as he wrestled Hawke’s hand away. When Hawke’s lips sealed over his, swallowing his mirth, Varric felt a surge of pure joy. He pressed himself hard into the kiss.

“I love you,” he whispered reverently, without quite breaking the kiss. 

“I love you, too,” Hawke murmured back. 

Hawke’s hands were moving again, exploring Varric’s torso. Varric hissed as Hawke’s fingers skated across his nipple, and he could feel Hawke smirk against his lips. Suddenly aware that he was showing more skin than Hawke, Varric traced the edge of Hawke’s tunic until he found the closure; he tugged at the ties to Hawke’s tunic, and when they came undone, he pushed the fabric back. Hawke eagerly shrugged out of the tunic and cast it aside. 

“Much better,” Varric murmured, his eyes tracing the expanse of Hawke’s exposed torso. 

Hawke grinned and wrenched Varric forward, rolling them so that Varric was under him. Varric’s head spun. Then, Hawke’s mouth found Varric’s throat, and a weak moan tore itself from Varric’s lips. 

As Hawke continued sucking along his jaw, hands questing endlessly over any inch of skin he could find, Varric felt awash with need. Heat raced through his body, sparking in the tips of his fingers and pooling between his legs. Years of suppressed emotion were now fiery want , making him cling desperately to Hawke and arch into each and every touch. 

Hawke, Hawke, Hawke, Hawke. 

Varric’s hair was loose around his face, although he wasn’t sure when it’d come undone. A stray strand caught between them as Hawke returned to his lips for one more kiss before starting to move down Varric’s body. 

“Oh, Maker,” Varric breathed. 

Hawke chuckled, and the sound tickled Varric’s chest. As he nipped at Varric’s collarbone, his fingers traced fanciful patterns around the contours of Varric’s pectorals. Varric pressed his own hands helplessly against the hard muscles of Hawke’s back and shoulders, trying to give as good as he got from an angle that didn’t give him much reach. 

When Hawke’s lips slipped over Varric’s nipple, Varric jumped. Hawke huffed another laugh against Varric’s chest. Varric tangled his fingers into Hawke’s hair, anchoring himself as Hawke worried his nipple.

“Oh, fuck , Hawke.” His voice was harsh and ragged, and Hawke responded with a groan of his own. 

“Maker, you sound so good,” Hawke muttered, and then flicked his tongue over Varric’s nipple. 

“You – ah – like hearing me talk, huh?” 

“Mm, especially when I get to make you sound like that .” Hawke bucked his hips hard against Varric’s thigh, and a cry tore from Varric’s lips. 

“ Hawke! I – then I’ll have to keep up the commentary.” 

“As long as you don’t try to please my ego again, please do.” 

Varric huffed a weak laugh, which cut short as Hawke rutted again against his thigh. “ Shit ,” he hissed. 

Hawke hummed appreciatively as he ran his tongue down the crevice between Varric’s pectorals. His fingers teased at Varric’s neglected nipple. 

“Ah, Hawke –,” Varric breathed. 

As Hawke continued pressing open-mouthed kisses across the expanse of Varric’s torso, his hands came down to undo the front of Varric’s trousers. And that pulled another gasp from Varric – the brush of Hawke’s fingers against the bulge of his erection was electric. 

Varric bucked up against Hawke’s hand. Hawke paused in his efforts to divest Varric from his trousers, and instead slid his hand over Varric’s erection. 

“So, you do want me,” Hawke murmured.

“Of course I – fuck !” Varric cut off as Hawke gave him a gentle squeeze. “Hawke, please .” 

“Ooh, begging. That’s a new one,” Hawke teased, continuing to stroke over the front of Varric’s pants. “You never struck me as the begging type.” 

Varric huffed a helpless laugh, still rocking into Hawke’s hand. “You – you’re a bastard, you know that?” 

“I’m a hot bastard,” Hawke corrected. 

“Asshole,” Varric said, but he was grinning. 

He gave a small grunt of protest as Hawke pulled his hand away. But when Hawke then undid the front of his pants, he obligingly lifted his hips so Hawke could pull them off him. Next, Hawke divested him of his smalls as well.

And then Varric was lying completely bare across the sheets of his bed. He could feel Hawke’s gaze rake the length of his body, and his breath caught in his throat. Hawke’s attention settled on Varric’s exposed cock, and Varric felt dizzy. 

“Look at you,” Hawke breathed. 

“I - I’d rather you touch me, really.” 

Hawke chuckled and settled his hands on Varric’s hips. He leaned down to press a kiss to Varric’s abdomen. “I can do both.” 

He returned to brushing venturning touches all over Varric’s skin with his lips and hands – he squeezed Varric’s hips and teased his thighs, his lips settling over each and every pale scar he could find. But torturously, he gave Varric’s cock a wide berth. 

“Hawke,” Varric gasped. “ Hawke.”

Hawke hummed against Varric’s hipbone, and his fingers trailed inward along Varric’s thigh. Varric bucked up, desperately seeking that elusive touch.

“ Hawke. ” 

And finally, blessedly , Hawke’s fingers finally wrapped around Varric’s aching cock. Varric cried out.

“Oh, Andraste’s tits,” he hissed. Hawke laughed, and a self-satisfied smile made his eyes twinkle in the dim firelight. As Hawke began to stroke, Varric clutched at Hawke’s shoulders like a lifeline. 

After all these years, Hawke was touching him. His Hawke. His incredible, larger-than-life, brilliant Hawke – he was holding Varric, stroking him higher and higher, even as his signature laugh danced in the room. As the reality of the moment hit Varric, vertigo made his head spin. 

Varric pawed at Hawke’s trousers, pushing through the overwhelming onslaught of pressure to communicate his goal. “Both,” he managed to grunt. 

“Maker, yes,” Hawke breathed emphatically, and paused in his ministrations to eagerly divest himself of his pants and smalls. 

As Hawke leaned back over him, Varric exhaled an appreciative sigh. His hands settled over Hawke’s hips, guiding him closer. 

His Hawke. 

Hawke arched as Varric’s hands began to explore, and he groaned loudly as Varric grabbed at his ass. Varric surged upwards to capture Hawke’s lips in a desperate kiss. The movement made Hawke’s erection press against Varric’s thigh, and heat flared again in Varric’s belly. 

Hawke rocked his hips and groaned. Blindly, Varric reached down and wrapped a hand around both cocks. He pumped, once, and his and Hawke’s simultaneous moans echoed off the stone walls. Varric began to move in earnest, and Hawke threw his head back as he ground down into Varric’s touch. Hawke’s restless hands finally settled on Varric’s shoulders, and his fingers dug in with biting pressure as he anchored himself against the sensations. 

Hawke was gorgeous like this. Varric found he couldn’t tear his eyes away from Hawke’s face. Mussed hair framed his cheekbones and hung haphazardly in front of half-lidded eyes; the flush that painted his skin seemed to make him glow all the warmer in the firelight. Even as Hawke panted, open-mouthed, a hint of a smile drew Varric in like a moth to a flame. 

“Maker, Varric, you – shit . . . you feel amazing.” 

Hawke’s wrecked voice was as gorgeous as his face, and Varric felt his own cock jump in his hand. His hand sped up, which pulled another beautiful moan from Hawke’s lips. 

“Kiss me,” Varric gasped. 

Hawke grunted his approval and lurched down to capture Varric’s lips in an eager, messy kiss. Varric kissed back fervently, his strokes growing sloppy as he moved his arm to make room for Hawke. Hawke didn’t seem to mind, however; Varric’s fingers skated over the tip of Hawke’s cock, and Hawke cried out against Varric’s lips. Varric repeated the movement, this time intentionally. 

Hawke moaned and bucked hard into Varric’s hand, and another spike of white-hot pleasure shot through Varric. Varric could feel himself winding tighter and tighter as their cocks moved together, and his free hand clutched hard at Hawke’s hip.

Hawke’s sounds were becoming more frequent and rising in pitch. Varric was awash in the sensation, only just sparing enough focus to keep his hand and lips moving. So it took him a moment to register the increasing temperature of Hawke’s skin. 

But the heat grew until it prickled at Varric’s skin, far warmer than even the heat of sex. Varric’s eyes flew open, and he saw that there was a faint red-orange glow to Hawke’s skin that couldn’t be explained by a flush. Hawke’s own eyes were screwed shut, and as helpless moans dripped from his lips, the glow grew brighter. 

“Hawke,” Varric breathed, enthralled. 

He wasn’t sure if Hawke even heard him; Hawke was too far gone. Hawke rocked, rough and uncoordinated, against Varric’s hand. Varric could only hold on as Hawke chased his own pleasure with a desperate fervor.

Until, finally, Hawke let out a shout. His cock pulsed in Varric’s hand, and as he came, the heat spiked until it nearly scalded Varric’s skin. The combined sensation and wonder of the moment pushed Varric over the edge as well – he was drowning in pleasure, his mind sounding the worshipful chant of Hawke, Hawke, Hawke. 

When Varric came back to himself, Hawke had slumped on top of him, panting. The glow and heat had subsided, and their combined come was sticky across their stomachs. Varric could feel Hawke’s cock give a tired twitch against his thigh. 

“Maker, Varric,” Hawke breathed. “That was incredible.” 

Varric huffed a tired laugh. “Sentiment’s mutual. You threw in a little magic at the end there, huh?”

Hawke made a small sound against Varric’s shoulder. “Yeah, sorry. I haven’t lost control like that since I was a teenager.” 

“I didn’t say I was complaining. On the contrary, I’m taking that as a compliment.” 

Hawke chuckled as he rolled off Varric to lay nestled against his side instead. “Good. Because like I said, that was incredible.” 

Varric smiled down at Hawke as the afterglow embraced them. His Hawke. Alive and well and here, curled up against him. A fierce tenderness suffused his chest, so intense he felt he could cry from it.

“You were right,” he murmured. “We should have done this years ago.” 

“Yeah, well, I guess you’re a little thicker than you let on.” 

Varric laughed, and he could feel Hawke grin against his side.

But then, in a more somber voice, Hawke continued: “You were right, too, though. Leaving is going to be an absolute bitch now.” 

And oh, that made Varric’s heart twist. The ache of grief that had subsided ever so slightly – but never left, no – surged with a vengeance. This time, he did feel the prickle of tears spring in his eyes. “Yeah,” he said, and his voice was gruff with emotion. “Yeah.”

The silence stretched between them for a moment. A log in the hearth popped. 

Finally, Hawke mustered some levity: “So, how long do we have until the big bad Circle delegation gets here?” 

“They’re due in four days.” 

“Then we have three days to enjoy each other’s company.” 

It was too close, too dangerous. The delegation could arrive early. A mountain storm could delay Hawke’s departure. But Varric couldn’t bring himself to argue. “Three days,” he agreed. “That’s something, at least.” 

“And I’ll be back. Corypheus or Fade demons or whatever other bullshit the world comes up with next, I’ll be back.” 

Despite the worry still twisting at his heart, Varric smiled. “Never be it said that the great Hawke would let a little thing the end of the world get in the way of what he intends to do.”

“And this time, the thing I intend to do is you.” 

It was a terrible joke. Varric laughed anyway. As if drawn by the sound, Hawke pushed himself up and captured Varric’s lips in a kiss. Varric kissed back, and despite the humor from a moment before, the kiss was slow and a little somber. Varric pushed all the earnest emotion he could into the kiss, as if having Hawke know how much Varric loved him would keep Hawke safe from all the danger that they’d inevitably face. 

When they finally pulled apart, Varric promised: “When things settle down a little, I’ll send for you.” 

Hawke settled back down beside Varric, one hand lingering on Varric’s jaw. “And when you do, I’ll come and whisk you away to Kirkwall. First round at the Hanged Man’s on me.” 

“I’ll hold you to that.” 

Varric turned his head to look at Hawke properly. The knowledge of their imminent parting was still heavy on his heart, but as his eyes traced the relaxed lines of Hawke’s naked form, as he took in the expression of joy and calm that gentled the ruggedness of Hawke’s face, the weight eased. 

They’d never quite had their timings right, but for this moment, they were together. And one day, Varric had to hope, the timing would be perfect.