Archive of Our Own

“Andraste’s ass, Hawke,” Varric grunted, struggling to hoist his drunken mess of a friend back to his feet. The man’s face was plastered with a grin, eyes glazed over as he looked up at Varric. Both of them wobbling heavily, the dwarf managed to somehow succeed, slinging Hawke’s arm over his shoulder. Very slowly, he began to shuffle them forward, his own arm clutching Hawke’s waist for extra support. “Come on, let’s get you home. You’ll never hear the end of it from Carver if you-” another grunt as the two of them almost lose balance. “-If you pass out in the street.”

He should have known not to bet on Hawke in that damn drinking game. Oh, he got his money alright. Hawke just wouldn’t quit until that poor dock hand’s guts were all over the Hanged Man’s floor. He hadn’t worried about the consequences until his friend’s head nearly hit the table and he started giggling every time he failed to get out of his chair. So here they were, all but limping back to the Hawke estate, Varric nearly buckling under the unsteady weight of Hawke’s armor. Why he felt the need to get fully suited up for a night out at the tavern… well once he thought about it for more than a second the question answered itself.

Hawke occasionally mumbled incoherently as they walked. Any time they swayed a little too heavily, he would giggle again and clutch onto Varric’s duster for support. He just gritted his teeth and heaved them forward until at last he could see the estate in the distance. A sigh of relief and frustration escaped him, but then he felt Hawke stop.

“What- Come on, Hawke. You need to-”

“Why don't I have a nickname?”

He almost lost hold of him for a moment. The question caught him completely off guard. He hadn’t ever thought about it before. Hawke was just… Hawke. It fit him perfectly. He sighed again and forced the two of them forward. “I’ve had a few of them knocking around in my head, but nothing beats a bird of prey.” He could see now that there were no lights on in the estate. Great.

“That’s not- Everyone else gets one, Varric and I’m stuck with my family name?” He can feel the shift as Hawke tries to pull away to face him, but the grip on his waist is enough to hold him in this state.

“Aveline doesn’t have a nickname.”

“Aveline could’ve had a nickname, but she- she didn't like Red.”

Finally they managed to make it to the doorstep. Varric carefully propped Hawke up next to the door, debating for a moment if he should just leave the man there and be done with it. Of course he wouldn’t, though. “Fine, you make a compelling argument. Ask me again when you can see straight. Now where are your keys?”

A smirk tugs at Hawke’s lips, his eyes scanning the dwarf in front of him. His expression is borderline devious. “Oh I can see just fine.”

Varric refrained from rolling his eyes, muttering a curse under his breath. His ears burned as he held out his gloved hand. “The keys, Hawke? Or would you rather I wake up the entire estate to haul your ass inside?”

The man snorted and began rifling through the pockets of his armor, one hand reaching out to Varric to steady himself. They were still standing close enough that it found the collar of his shirt. At this, Hawke seemed to become distracted, focussing on his own fingertips as they slowly traced Varric’s plunging neckline. A hand reflexively grabbed Hawke’s wrist before he could feel the pounding in his chest. “Maker, remind me never-”

“Isabella got to-”

“I never said she took me up on it! Besides, she-”

“She’s a sexy Rivaini pirate woman? And I’m what-”

Before Hawke could finish that thought, Varric gripped onto the man’s belt with his free hand and tugged him closer with a short grunt, releasing Hawke’s wrist to search his belt pockets for the damn key. That shut him up. When he finally found it, he let go of his friend and waved the key in front of them. “There. Do I have to drag you inside too, or did you finally figure out how to walk again?” Hawke stared at his best friend, his already liquor flushed face redder than before. He had apparently been rendered speechless. Varric chuckled and unlocked the door, holding it open and nudging his chin inside. Raking his hands through his hair and taking a shaky breath, Hawke pushed himself off the wall and followed, managing not to fall over.

The whole place was dark, everyone probably already asleep. The fireplace in the hall was down to smoldering embers, barely giving them enough light to make it into Garrett’s room. Hawke hadn’t said a word the entire time. Varric figured he would at least stay to make sure Hawke’s fireplace was lit and the idiot was sitting far enough away that he couldn’t fall into the flames. He could hear a dull clanking behind him on the bed as he left the room again to grab firewood. By the time he returned, Hawke was sitting on the edge of the bed, crouched forward with his elbows propped on his knees and his face in his hands. Varric guessed the drowsiness was finally hitting him.

It didn’t take long to get a fire started. He thought a moment about leaving, he really should. He’d done enough already. But when he turned to see Hawke still sitting in that same position, he froze. It had been close to ten minutes. Was he…? “Hey. You alive over there? You know, you shouldn’t fall asleep like that or you’ll probably end up with a cracked skull.”

Silence. He stepped forward, reaching to gently shake the man’s shoulder. Hawke moved to brush his arm away, revealing a deep blush that had spread across his face. “I’m fine, Varric.”

“You need me to get you a bucket?”

“No.”

“Alright…” He rolled his shoulders and crossed his arms. ”I’m not leaving until you’re at least laying down. I didn’t drag your ass in here just for you to fall face forward off the bed.”

“Varric, I said I’m fine,” he grumbled, trying to sit up to look at him, but wincing and grabbing at the sides of the bed to steady himself. Immediately Varric had a hand back onto his shoulder, clutching tightly to ground him. The other hand cupped his cheek, concern written on his face as he tried to catch Hawke’s eyes.

He chuckled softly. “Look at you, Hawke. You’re still absolutely shitfaced. You haven’t even taken off your armor, here-” The hand on his shoulder shifted down to begin working on the straps to his pauldron, while the other reluctantly fell from his face to the buckles of his breastplate. If he could at least get the idiot out of these and safely lying on his side in the stupid bed, he can leave. To his surprise, Hawke didn’t protest as he tugged the bulky metal off of him, only watching him carefully the entire time. Varric tried to ignore how close the two of them were, how he could feel Garrett’s breath. He tossed the bits of armor to the side, deciding that Hawke could do the rest himself, and moved to go.

He didn’t even get the chance to turn before a hand once again clutched onto the collar of his tunic. “Varric… I-” His gaze fell to the dwarf’s lips, sending a surge of panic through his veins. Oh. Shit. He tried to gently back away, but Hawke held firm. He could feel his pulse surging through his ears. Shit, not like this.

“Hawke,” he growled, maybe a little sterner than he intended, “Stop. You’re drunk.”

The man leaned forward, trying and failing to tug Varric down to meet him. His voice dropped to a sloppy murmur. “Isn’ that how most your stories start? Why don’t you tell me a story?” Still clinging to his shirt, Hawke’s free hand begins to tug slowly at the dwarf’s belt. Shit! With a frustrated groan, Varric pushes himself away.

“Dammit, those stories start with me drunk. I may not be a saint, but I have standards.” He knew immediately as the words spilled out that he had fucked up. Hawke flinched back and turned his head to stare into the fire. Shit.

“Standards. Right. Of course.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“And Isabella meets your standards just fine, with her giant-”

“That’s not what I meant! Maker, why do you keep-”

“Look, I get it, Varric. She’s-”

“Nice to look at, sure! That doesn’t mean I’m going to-” He honestly didn’t want to finish that sentence. Rivaini was fun to flirt with, banter playfully. She flirted with half of Thedas for god sake, what made him so different? But he knew. Because he felt it when Garrett’s eyes sometimes lingered on Blondie for a little too long. He closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. “Hawke… All I’m saying is I’m not going to take advantage of someone who can’t even stand on their own.”

The man let out a bitter snort, brushing the dark hair from his eyes before looking back at him with another smirk. “If that’s all you’re worried about…” He stands, wobbling for a moment with his arms flailing slightly for balance. Barely a moment later, he’s falling forward into Varric’s chest, eyes squeezed shut to stop the room spinning. Gently Varric lowers Hawke back onto the bed, cradling his face once again.

“Dammit Hawke,” he mumbles softly before pulling him into a kiss. It starts soft, brief. A wordless confession. But the second their lips touch, it’s like his entire body goes up in flames. The next kiss is harder, hungrier. The noise that escapes Garrett’s throat sends ripples of electricity straight to his core and for a moment he doesn’t care about anything anymore. He doesn’t want to care at least. Not as Hawke tugs again at his belt, clumsily pulling it loose and tossing it to the side. Not as his own hands are desperately clawing at what remains of Garrett’s armor, gasping for air each time their lips part before diving back for more.

Not until he can taste the sour remnants of ale on Hawkes tongue. Slowly, but firmly he pulls the two of them apart, staring painfully into the other’s eyes for a moment. Not like this… “Go to sleep. Please. We can… I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

Still breathless, Hawke finally nods, but reaches for Varric’s hand. “Could you stay? I won’t ask you for anything. I just don’t want you to go.”

Varric sighs and quickly glances around the room, spotting the desk. “Yeah. I’ll do some writing or something. Ok? Now,” he combs his hand gently through the man’s hair, pushing it aside to place a soft kiss on his forehead before dropping his arms and backing away from the bed. “Get. Some. Sleep. Don’t make me knock you unconscious. Aveline would kill me.”

With that, Garrett exhales and relaxes, leaning over to work on removing his boots. “Fine.” After a few seconds he manages to kick himself free of them and fall back onto the bed with an exasperated sigh. Varric shakes his head and rubs a hand roughly down his face, trying his best to clear the fog and douse the flames. Guess he’ll find out in the morning if this was something he could actually hope for, or if it was just the ale messing with Hawke’s head. Removing his duster and draping it on the back, he sinks into the pathetic excuse for a desk chair. He watches as Garrett’s eyes flutter closed and his breaths slow to a steady rhythm of sleep. He's not sure how long he sits there, just watching him as his pulse returns to some semblance of normal. But eventually he tears himself away, finding a spare parchment and quill and doing the best he could to work.

Varric couldn’t be sure how many hours passed sitting at that desk. Hawke didn’t have a clock in his fucking bedroom. Typical. All he knew for certain was that those were the longest and shortest hours in his life. Any time he tried to write something, he couldn’t find words. Nothing sounded right, felt right. By the time he noticed dawn breaking through the curtains, the pages were nothing but crossed out phrases. Maker, he was exhausted. He didn’t even know why he was still there. Why he didn’t just sneak out when he thought Hawke was too unconscious to notice. Still, this wasn’t the first time he’d had a sleepless night filled with sexual frustration and writer's block. And Hawke had asked so nicely. The bastard.

Hawke occasionally stirred a bit in his sleep, though never enough to wake. He managed to wiggle himself under the sheets at some point. A couple times, Varric heard something fall to the floor only to notice that the man had removed more of his clothes. A sock. His bracers. The other sock. Some belts. Varric nodded off a few times himself while staring into the slowly dwindling fireplace. Never for more than a few moments. Eventually, while he was once again brainstorming for his next book, he caught Garrett propping himself up by the elbow, currently facing away from him. His hair was a bit of a mess, but he had honestly seen Hawke with worse.

He set down the quill and watched Hawke scan his surroundings, watch his eyes fall to the bits of armor strewn all over the floor, to his own belt. Watched him lean over the side of the bed to pick it up and examine it before finally sitting up and glancing in his direction. It seemed to take him a moment to make the connection. “Why… are you still here, Varric?”

“You asked me to stay, didn’t you? Practically begged me. Besides, had to make sure you didn’t die choking on your own stomach from all that ale. What would your poor mother think?”

“I didn’t-” Hawke sighed and pressed a hand to one of his eyes, wincing. And there’s the hangover. “What, so you've just been there this whole time? Haven’t you slept? What time is it?”

“How should I know? You don’t have a clock in here. Just past dawn as far as I can tell.”

“Maker, Varric, we have a guest room! I’m not a child, you could have gotten some sleep.” Hawke checked briefly under the blankets before pulling them off and standing, hand now rubbing one of his temples. He shuffled over to the fireplace and just stood there for a moment. Varric was somewhat relieved to see he was still wearing his trousers and the tunic he must have been wearing under his armor.

“I never said I didn’t sleep. This chair is perfectly comfortable.”

“You’re such an ass.”

He chuckled, taking a second to stretch and crack his neck. “Well aren’t you a ray of sunshine this morning? I’m not surprised. Must be quite the hangover.”

Garrett scoffed and let his hand fall heavily back to his side before starting towards the door. “I’ve got to piss. Leave or don’t, but I’m sure you’re exhausted.” He disappeared into the hall before Varric could shout at him not to fall in, leaving the door open. The fireplace in the foyer was lit now hinting at signs of life elsewhere in the estate. Must have been later than he realized. He could smell some sort of buttery pastry.

He really should leave. Obviously if Hawke remembered much of the previous night, he didn’t seem to show it. Or care. He just couldn’t bring himself to go yet. So he shuffled through the mess of parchments he had scattered over the desk, doing his best to pick out anything he wanted to keep. He would just throw the rest in the fire on the way out. The sound of bare footsteps approached and Garret strode back in carrying a couple of goblets and a pitcher. Despite holding the two cups, he looked genuinely surprised when he saw Varric standing there, folding strips of parchment and tucking them into his coat pocket on the back of the chair.

“Water. If you want. And there's some scones or something in the kitchen. I didn’t ask.” The man stopped just beside him and set everything on the desk. He poured himself a cup and drank it heavily. Varric had to stop himself from staring at how his throat bobbed with each swallow as he poured his own. He didn’t drink it though, just held it and stared at Hawke’s disheveled form leaning against the desk. Waiting for… What exactly?

For Garrett to look him in the eyes and tell him to leave.

But he didn’t. He just stood there. Nursing a second cup of water while Varric watched, occasionally taking a sip himself. Finally, Hawke sighed and raked his free hand through his hair before setting down his goblet. He took a quick glance at the stack of parchments that Varric planned to discard then calmly walked over to the door. Varric was expecting him to just leave again, but instead he closed it and reached above the frame for what he could only guess was a key to lock it.

At this Varric set down his own cup, going on the defense. What in Andreste’s tits-?

“I can open it back up if you like, but… “ He trailed off as he turned back to face his dwarven friend. “I’d rather avoid interruptions.” Slowly he stalked back towards him until the two of them were at nearly arms reach. “And you owe me, Varric.”

Varric shifted to back away, but felt the damn desk chair bump the back of his calf. “Owe you? For what exactly? Heaving your inebriated ass across town? I don’t owe you shit.” That earned a snort from his friend.

“That’s true. Thank you, by the way. I don’t think I ever said it. I was…” the man’s eyes drifted down to his lips, to his chest, then snapped back up. “Distracted.”

Ah. There it is. He ignored the wave of heat rising up his neck as he forced himself to sit back down into the chair. As casually as he could. Keeping Hawke’s gaze and crossing his arms over his chest. He tapped his boot on the floor nervously, though slow enough that it could pass for impatience. “And what exactly is it that you think I owe you?”

Garrett’s dark and tired eyes softened into a sheepish grin. He took a couple more steps forward until their legs brushed against each other. He bent down so their foreheads were nearly touching, leaning a hand on the desk next to them for support. The heat travelled up, now rushing into Varric’s ears along with his pulse. “How about a story?”

The fucking bastard knew exactly what he was doing. Part of Varric wanted to slide out of this chair and back to the Hanged Man. Back to his own misery. He hadn’t felt this way about anyone in years. Hell he couldn’t even truly say he was over that affair. And now he’s found himself tangled up in another mess. A very available, very willing, and very stupid mess. And he didn’t want to untie this particular knot.

Varric leaned back a bit, settling more comfortably in the chair and maintaining eye contact with Hawke. Slowly, he took hold of the man’s waist, guiding him into his lap. The chair creaked a little under them, but despite being ordinary and uncomfortable it held. Once Garrett settled, he let one of his hands fall to the man’s thigh, thumb tracing gentle circles across the fabric. He wasn’t the grand storyteller his reputation might imply, but he was damn sure going to try.

It was hard to tell which of them closed the gap first. One second they were gazing at one another and the next their lips were crushed together. There was no longer the lingering taste of ale, Hawke’s mind and intentions were abundantly clear. Varric’s eyes fluttered closed as he felt warm and desperate fingers clutch into his hair, pulling him closer still. He couldn’t help but tighten his grip as he felt a low groan against his lips. Maker’s sweaty ass. Already he could feel his cock beginning to strain against his clothes.

It didn’t take long for Hawke to notice and begin grinding his hips, grinning into the kiss and letting his hands start to roam downward. This of course elicited more ridiculous creaking noises from the chair, and a few grunts from Varric. The hand gripping at Garrett’s waist tugged at the tunic until he found an opening to slide his fingers under. He traced the man’s hip bone, feeling the heat of his skin even through the leather of his glove. Hawke broke away and gasped, head tilting back. The dwarf took this opportunity to brush his lips down his neck and trail kisses down to his collarbone. Looking down into his lap, he could now see Garrett’s bulge forming as well. Varric fought himself not to touch him just yet, hoping he could make this last as long as possible. Hawke, on the other hand, apparently had other plans.

With surprising fluidity, he slid out of his friend’s lap and onto his knees on the floor. Varric could feel the absence of heat immediately and leaned forward with another grunt to try and kiss him again. Hawke obliged, though quickly broke away and brushed his lips to Varric’s ear. “Tell me a story, Varric.”

Maker, he's worse than a damn fangirl. He could feel Hawke's hands begin to tug at the hem of his tunic, pulling it upwards and exposing his stomach. With an impatient growl, he just pulled the damn thing off, the sudden chill helping to sooth the heat radiating from him. A shudder rocked through him as Hawkes fingers playfully curled through his chest hair and slowly traveled to his groin. “Shit, Hawke,” he muttered, biting his lip and leaning back.

One hand worked at the buttons of his trousers, the other teasing him through the cloth, causing him to lightly buck against his hand. After a few moments Hawke was able to pull Varric's trousers down enough to free his cock, throbbing, the tip wet already with a bead of precum. If it had been anyone else affecting him like this, he might have been embarrassed at how easily he was making it. Another devious grin from Hawke as he traced a single finger up its length, catching the liquid spilling out and licking it from his fingertip. A strangled cry leapt from him and he gripped the desk, other hand digging into his own thigh. “Come on, Varric. You're so good at telling stories. I want to hear your voice.”

At this point Varric could barely think straight, much less form a coherent sentence. He stared down at Hawke, expecting him to tease another moan from him. It finally clicked that he wasn't going any further. That he was waiting for a reply. He couldn't help but let out a breathy chuckle. “You're serious?” He racked his brain for something he didn't have to think about. Something he could just prattle off that Hawke hadn't already heard.

“What, did you think I was trying to be poetic? I thought this would be easy for you. You never shut up.” He absentmindedly traced that same finger back down his shaft, watching as Varric squirmed at his touch. “You stop, I'll stop.”

He choked out another laugh, picking a stupidly easy memory and latching onto it. “Fine. If that's what you want.” He gave himself a moment to take a deep and grounding breath. “I’d been chatting with my editor over a pint about this idea I had for a new serial. Some murder mystery, you might be familiar.” He tensed, taking in a sharp breath as Hawke gently wrapped his fingers around his cock. Slowly, too damn slowly, he stroked him. All the while staring up at him with those sultry eyes.

He cleared his throat and swallowed, “Anyway, he started complaining about a little merry band getting in the way of some of the Coterie’s more valuable jobs. Kept bringing up this asshole apostate they couldn’t exactly pin down. I’d heard his name floating around before, but I dismissed it at the time.” Eyes never straying from Varric’s face, Hawke continued slowly pumping him, occasionally leaning forward to run kisses along his stomach and inner thigh. He could feel sweat start to bead on the back of his neck as he struggled to keep his voice from shaking.

“When Bartrand tossed the name out, however, it caught my attention. Said he was meeting him up at the market and planned to tell him to fuck off. That he didn’t trust the guy on reputation alone. I know a thing or two about reputation, so I followed him to Hightown.” He had to look away from the scene below him. How was he supposed to concentrate with Hawke staring at him like that? Touching him like that? So when he felt lips wrapping around his tip, he wasn’t prepared. A pitiful groan shuddered out of him and he had to let go of the table to bite down on his knuckles. When he glanced back down, Hawke was grinning around his cock and still looking up at him expectantly.

“Shit, Hawke.” His other hand tangled roughly into the man’s hair. “You’re making this really fucking difficult.” The devious shit just winked at him. He couldn’t help but chuckle at his fucking audacity. “Right. Well, when I spotted my brother storming through the market, I was a bit surprised to see two guys following, begging him to hire them. He was a damn idiot for turning them down. Never could see the smaller details in that big picture of his. Guess that’s what I was for. Anyway when I finally got a good look at the pair I just had to tail them.” Hawke had begun working his way down the length of him, drawing circles with his tongue. The hand grasping him slid down to fondle his balls. He wanted desperately to just shove his cock down Garrett’s throat and fuck that sarcastic mouth of his, but he knew he wouldn’t last more than a few seconds. No, he was going to play Hawke’s dirty little game for now.

“There stood the most beautiful bastard I’d ever seen. With this brat I had to assume was family based on the resemblance and the way he trailed along like a dog. And they just got mugged by some- Nnnh…” He felt the heat of Hawke’s mouth take every inch of him, brushing against the back of this throat before the sensation of a soft whimper. He noticed the man’s shoulder moving and followed it down to the hand reaching beneath his own trousers. “Ah. So you finally realized who this story is about. How could I possibly think of anything else at a time like this?” Time to play my own hand. Gently as he could, he kicked the man’s arm away and pressed his boot into Hawke’s groin. This earned him a deep moan, the vibrations of which sent goosebumps all across his skin. His grip in Garrett's hair tightened, eliciting more noises and a shudder felt down to his very core.

Andraste’s tits, he was already getting close. He tried to continue as Hawke greedily started sucking him off, hoping it would slow down the process. “I-I took the opportunity to make a big show of retrieving your stolen coin purse. Had to make a good impression and all that. And let out a little bit of- Nnnh -frustration on the sorry rat’s face. My brother’s wasn’t close enough.” He let his head fall back, panting. Hawke didn’t stop this time, instead grinding his hips against his boot. He gave into his urges and used the leverage he had in the man’s hair to push himself deeper, thrusting his own hips. As expected, this did nothing but bring him dangerously close to the edge. “Shit! Wait- H-Hawke-” he gasped and tried to yank back, but this only made Garrett groan and buck into his boot again. He felt hands slide under him to grope at his ass and the muscles in Hawke’s throat relax as he took him faster.

“I’m- It’s too- Fuck Garrett!” He arched and let out a shaky groan, clutching frantically into Hawke’s hair with both hands now. A wave of numbing ecstasy washed through him as he spilled into the man’s mouth. Hawke let out a grunt of his own as he drank it up, loosening the grip on his ass and rubbing soothing lines up to his chest. Varric panted and finally managed to tug Garrett’s face away from his still pulsing cock. A line of saliva and cum followed from his lips and the man before him gasped, eyes fluttering closed. “You… You keep pulling my hair, Varric and there’s going to be a problem.”

Another tug, forcing his head back. One of Varric’s hands released its hold though, moving to grasp his chin. Slowly, he wiped his thumb across Garrett’s bottom lip. Before he could lift it to his lips for a taste, the man caught it between his own, greedily sucking it clean and nibbling at the leather. He snorted and leaned forward. “That damn mouth is the problem. You didn’t let me finish.”

Hawke released his thumb and flashed a shit eating grin, peeking up at him from below his lids. “I made you finish. I already know the end of that story”

This time Varric’s laugh was lighter, fuller. He leaned over and kissed him, noting the taste of both of them as he licked at Hawke’s lips. Finally, he let the hand gripping that dark hair relax and rest on the back of his neck. When he pulled their lips away, he pressed their foreheads together and laughed again. “That was just the first chapter, Chuckles.”

Hawke stiffened and pulled away, catching his eyes. At first Varric panicked that he had said the wrong thing. That this was just a one time deal and there wouldn’t be any more chapters. That Hawke was about to close the book and put it on the shelf.

“Chuckles?? That’s what you came up with?”

Relief washed over him and he felt a tiny pang of guilt for assuming the worst so quickly. “What? You’re hilarious.”

Garrett scoffed. “You can do better than that. Give it to someone else.”

“It’s better than Waffles.”

“Waffles! Varric. Really?”

“They can’t all be hits, Hawke. I’ve had my fair share of misses.”

“One more. Please, I’m dying to hear what goes on in that head of yours.”

He sighs and shifts to remove the boot from between Hawke’s legs. He’ll admit the little gasp that followed gave him a rush of pride. Careful, Varric. Don’t go getting cocky yet. “How about… Killer?”

Shaking his head, Hawke slowly rose to his feet. His knees audibly cracked with the effort. “God, Varric. I think you’ve lost your touch.” He reached out a hand, offering it to the dwarf. “Why don’t you stick to calling me yours?”

Whatever emotion that stirred up in Varric’s chest, he didn’t want to think about it right now. Not while Garrett still had his clothes on. Not until Hawke was satiated and glowing with sweat in his arms. He took the hand and stood to meet him, tugging his pants back up with the other. They slowly guided each other towards the bed, miraculously staying upright as they tangled into another desperate kiss. Before Hawke could pull them down onto the mattress, Varric redirected them to one of the bedposts at the foot of the bed, pinning the man against it.

Patience failing him again, he pulled Garrett’s tunic free and discarded it. With the new skin exposed, Varric trailed his lips across his chest, pressing kisses until they arrived at his neck. He bit down hard enough to leave a mark and fumbled with the clasps of Hawke’s trousers. Hawke’s hands gripped Varric’s shoulders for support as he let out a pained whimper. He released the pressure, licking the now sensitive skin to ease the sting. At last the man’s pants crumpled to his feet and Varric smiled against his neck when he felt the throbbing of the other’s cock between them.

“And you said I was losing my touch,” He grumbled. He now trailed kisses along the man’s jaw line towards his lips.

“You’ve barely touched me at all,” Hawke replied in a breathy whine.

“That’s right.” Varric cued before kissing him softly on the lips.

“Wha-”

“Because you're going to touch yourself, Garrett.” The expression of pure astonishment on Hawke's face was priceless. He could almost see the blood rushing to his cheeks. It was the same look he got just hours ago when he fished that key from the man's belt. What a feast for his ego.

“Who do you think about on the cold, lonely nights? When you're lying awake in this bed? When you're aching and yearning?” He grasped one of Hawke's wrists, guiding his hand down to the man's navel. “Is it me, Hawke?”

Garret gave an irritated huff and looked away, raking his free hand down his face and covering his mouth. He was most definitely flushed now. Varric admired his handiwork for a moment, before pulling Hawke’s hand away from his face. Softly, he kissed each of the man’s fingertips before pressing the palm into his own cheek. His other hand released his wrist so he could curl a finger under Hawke’s chin and turn his face to meet his eyes. “Don’t tell me you’re embarrassed. Here, I’ll let you in on a little secret.” Hawke’s breath was ragged at this point, pupils blown out with desire. His eyes kept darting to Varric’s lips and the hand at his navel trembled slightly as it travelled lower.

“Remember that scarf you left at the Hanged Man a few weeks ago?” The hand at Hawke’s chin fell to the man’s chest, a thumb teasing very lightly across one of his nipples. His breath hitched in response. “That red one. I lied about the bartender finding it after closing.” He led Garrett’s hand from his cheek to his own chest, pressing it over where his heart was pounding. “I did. And it smelled like you.” He very intentionally glanced down to the man’s cock, smirking when he saw Hawke’s hand already there, thumb kneading lightly at the tip. “I fucked myself that night clutching your scarf to my face.”

“Varric…” Hawke breathed, leaning into him as he began to pump himself. He could feel the hot breath on his neck. Seeing him like this gave him so many ideas. He couldn’t wait to explore them. With a grunt, he shoved him back against the post and pulled Hawke’s hand away from his chest.

“Show me how you touch yourself thinking about me.”

“Varric, please.”

He chuckled. This was the same little shit that was winking at him with his lips around his cock not even fifteen minutes ago. The man had range. “Save the begging for later, Hawke.” Varric backed away, letting the hand still on the man’s chest linger until he was out of arm's reach.

He took in the sight before him, his own cock beginning to swell again as he watched. He ignored it for now, instead focusing on which idea he was going to try. Hawke looked so flustered already, it was hard to choose. He watched as the man shifted so he could lean more comfortably against the bedpost and close his eyes. His hand continued to work at himself, precum now dripping down onto one of his fingers. Maker, he wanted to lick it off. Instead, Varric very slowly scanned every inch of his body. He took note of every muscle, every freckle, every scar. So fucking beautiful it hurts.

He decided to improvise, bookmarking those plans for another day. Right now he just wanted to go wherever Hawke took him. Like he always did. He sat down on the side of the bed, and tugged at his boots while he watched the show. Once they were off, he got back to his feet and sauntered back over to Hawke. “Very good, Hawke. I’m impressed. You could even say I’m inspired.” He removed one of his gloves, itching to feel him with his bare hands. “I might even put this in one of my books.”

Hawke groaned and rolled his head forward to look at him. “Maker, Varric,” he breathed, biting his lip before continuing. “Don’t you ever shut up?”

The dwarf snickered and slowly closed the distance between them again, threading his now gloveless hand into the man’s hair. He was mildly surprised at how soft it was and how damp with sweat. “For you? Never.” Hawke uttered a delicious cry and clawed at his bicep. He grinned triumphantly at him and roughly took hold of the other’s chin with his free hand. He once again brought the gloved thumb to his lips. “Bite.”

Garrett obeyed, clamping down on his finger. Varric tugged lightly, using the leverage to begin pulling the glove off. When Hawke noticed what was happening he whimpered and quickly released his thumb. “N-no! Keep it on-” He panted, squirming against him. “Just a.. Bit longer.” Varric raised an eyebrow and tugged the glove back in place with his own teeth. Noted.

He replaced his thumb at Hawke’s lips with his middle finger, easing it into his mouth. The man sucked eagerly, closing his eyes again. He carefully slid it in and out a few seconds before adding his ring finger. “That’s it. You’re doing so well. Keep going,” he purred into Garrett’s collarbone. He was close enough to see the man’s rapid pulse in his neck. A bruise was forming where he had marked earlier. The man writhed beneath him, his nails digging now into the skin of his arm.

Varric was starting to grow impatient with his own teasing, his cock now aching for more attention. Dammit, get a hold of yourself. He refused to fall victim to his urges again. Not until Hawke gave the signal. With a bit of effort, he shifted the two of them into a better angle towards the bed and removed his fingers. Carefully, he reached down and gripped Hawke’s thigh, lifting it so that he could prop his foot on the bed for extra support. Briefly, he returned the gloved fingers to the man’s mouth, pumping them until he noticed drool spilling from his lips. Perfect. Very slowly he pulled his gloved hand away.

The hand in his hair tightened its grip as the other fell between Garrett’s thighs. Mindful not to get in the way of Hawke’s self care, Varric cupped his balls, kneading lightly with his thumb. He teased one of his spit slick fingers at his entrance. A strangled groan erupted from Hawke’s throat as he threw his head back in bliss, legs trembling and threatening to buckle. “Va-” Before he could choke out his name, the dwarf shoved his head back down and crushed their lips together. With open mouths, their hot breath mingled, tongues gliding across one another hungrily. Varric slid both fingers in his ass and pushed himself against the other’s body to hold him steady against the post.

In seconds, he felt Hawke’s hot release on his chest and a heavy shudder. The man whimpered against his lips and let go of his cock to grip onto the back of Varric’s neck. The dwarf pumped his fingers a few more times in his ass before sliding them slowly out and resting it on his elevated thigh. The hand in his hair loosened its grasp to massage at Garret’s scalp. He pulled away from the kiss just enough so he could speak against the man’s lips. “Mmm..” he growled, nuzzling his nose against Garrett’s. “Did I live up to your fantasies?”

Hawke was still gasping for breath, rubbing his thumb affectionately at the base of his neck. His cock was still throbbing between them. “Fuck me, Varric. Yes.” Varric chuckled and gently kissed the man once, twice, a third time. And there’s my signal. He stepped back just enough to drink in the sight of Hawke’s trembling frame before smiling wickedly and murmuring, “Well. Since you asked so nicely.” Grunting, he shoved the man’s head sideways towards the bed, causing him to flail and tumble onto the mattress. He took another step back. “Where do you want me?”

Garrett grinned up at him, eyeing the mess he made now running down Varric’s chest. His gaze caught the wet spot bleeding through the dwarf’s pants. “In the ass preferably.”

Varric snorted and began removing his trousers. “On the bed, Hawke. Where on the bed?” Dirty beautiful bastard.

Hawke scrambled to his knees and reached over to slap one of the pillows before crawling over to the other side and reaching down under the bed. Varric climbed in and stacked the two pillows, laying back and waiting. Small bottle in hand, the man made his way back over and straddled him. His cock was still hard as it brushed against his own, causing him to bite his lip as he looked lustfully up at his best friend. His partner. “And so the Champion of Kirkwall remains ever vigilant.”

Said Champion removed the cork of the bottle with his teeth and drizzled a nutty amber liquid over both of their cocks. Antivan grapeseed oil? Well, shit… Hawke took Varric’s gloved hand and tugged the leather off before guiding it down to the pair of them. “Always for you, Master Tethras.”

He grimaced a little, but took the hint and began spreading the oil onto their sensitive and twitching cocks. “Don’t call me that, Garrett. It reminds me of my brother.”

Hawke wiped at a pool of oil that had landed on Varric’s navel and rubbed it between his fingers. “Then don’t call me the Champion. It reminds me of my crushing responsibilities and impending doom.” He reached behind him and massaged the oil into his own ass, grunting at the sensation.

Varric huffed out a laugh and gathered the both of them in his hand, slowly stroking them together. “Point taken. You ready?”

“Maker, you have no idea,” he breathed in return, shimmying up to line Varric up with his entrance. He planted both hands on the dwarf’s chest for support as he slowly sunk down on his cock with the help of Varric’s guiding hand. The both of them moaned with relief, fitting together like the missing piece of a puzzle. Garrett just sat there for a moment, panting before looking fondly down into Varric’s eyes. “You know I’m madly in love with you, right?”

Varric’s head swarmed and he had to grasp tightly onto one of Hawke’s hands to ground himself. No. He didn’t know. In fact, until last night he was hopelessly oblivious and lost in his own pitiful yearning. Garrett’s light was blinding and it was all he could do to remain in it’s shadow. But now he could feel nothing but the warm rays of his summer sun shining down on him and it made him want to weep. He didn’t know how to reply. He hadn’t said those words since it was her holding his heart in her hands. He stammered up at him, his own face now red with emotion. Sensing his shift in demeanor, Hawke squeezed at Varric’s fingers and leaned down to him. He kissed him tenderly and slowly before whispering, “It’s ok, Varric. Whatever happens, I’m yours. And if this is the only opportunity I get to prove it to you, I’ll still die happy.”

Varric blinked away the stinging tears that had formed and wrapped his arms fully around him. He heard a desperate moan escape himself as he thrusted upwards, grinding his hips into Hawke. Hawke matched his stride, moving so that his elbows rested on either side of Varric’s head for stability. They moved together like this for an immeasurable amount of time, sweat running across their skin as the heat, the desperation, and the rhythm of their sex grew steadily higher. Varric was gasping and groaning, digging his fingers into Garrett’s back as he got closer to release.

“S-say it again,” He managed, sliding a trembling hand to Hawke’s cock and doing his best to match the speed of their bucking hips.

Garret mewled and pressed his forehead to Varric’s, panting with effort. “I’m yours, Varric.”

“No, not.. Not that, please,” he begged, back arching as he clung to the last thread of his own fraying will.

Hawke kissed him as a shudder jolted down his spine. “I-I love you”

His free hand once more found itself in Hawke’s hair, gripping at it for dear life as he stared up into his eyes. “Again.”

“I love you, Varric!” He nearly shouted, giving him all he needed to finally let go. He yelped as his cock throbbed, spilling hot cum into his ass, slamming his hip upwards into him. Hawke’s back arched tightly, head thrown back as he let out a final shaky cry. He felt the warmth splash onto his chest again before Garret slowed and collapsed on top of him.

They lay like that for a few minutes, panting and dripping with sweat and cum. At last, Hawke eased himself off and rolled lazily to the edge of the bed, reaching down to grab his tunic and tossing it to Varric. He caught it and gave a grateful hum, wiping himself off best he could before holding it back out to Hawke. The man took it and let himself fall heavily onto his back while he cleaned himself.

“Garrett,” Varric mumbled, staring up at the canopy above them.

“Hm?”

“I… love you too.”

Hawke smiled warmly and threw his tunic back onto the floor. He scooched over to where Varric lay and settled himself into the crook of his neck. His arm draped lazily over his chest, fingers playing softly with his chest hair. “I know.”

The two of them fell into silence, holding each other until that silence eventually fell to sleep. Whatever Kirkwall had planned for them today could wait until the afternoon when they woke well rested in each other’s arms.