Author's note: This is extremely silly, and I have no idea if there's any overlap between these two fandoms besides me. But it happened and now I have to share it. My friend, neowolf, gave me the prompt: Anders finds Dante's coat. Bizarre though the idea was, that was enough to get me writing.

There were few things in life that Dante truly loved. His favorite guns, Ebony and Ivory. Rebellion, the sword passed down from his father. A greasy pepperoni pie from the pizzeria down the street. But the thing he loved most, the thing he cherished above all the others was his coat. Battered, riddled with patches, stains and burns, it still kept him warm. It flowed around him like a part of his body, never failing to echo his movements with grace and beauty. It fit his shoulders like a glove, hugged his torso tenderly and kissed his calves with every step. Ankle-length and just the right amount of weight to feel substantial without holding him back, it was the most beautiful shade of red he had ever seen. Luscious like a bright red apple with flashes of ruby undertone. It had been his constant companion from the start, the very first item he'd purchased with a demon-hunting bounty. And now it was gone.

He didn't know how it had happened exactly. He had been spinning through the air fighting a dozen enemies at once—as was his style—when he felt a draft over his spine. A creature had grabbed him from behind when he tumbled to the ground to evade its scissoring claws, but he landed wrong and dropped his guns. That never happened. What happened even less than that was that his coat flew up over his head. But before he knew it, the sleeves were being ripped off his arms and his coat was flying away.

Feeling a sudden chill, he looked up in helpless horror as the thing that had attacked him carried his precious coat off into the distance. He tried to go after it, almost forgetting his guns in his rush, but by then the thing was disappearing through a rift of some sort in the wall, a great swirling purple and green pool of light. Nothing to do but follow. He fell headfirst through a cloud of light and color and landed in a shallow pool of dank water. He'd been in enough sewers to recognize the place on smell alone.

Sitting up in the muck, he looked around desperately and groaned. "Shit." The demon he had been chasing was nowhere in sight. Dante punched the ground and immediately regretted his fit of anger when foul-smelling water splashed right in his face.

The Hanged Man was usually quiet at this time of day, but it had become a whole lot less quiet as soon as Hawke banged through the door and demanded a round of drinks. Aveline and Daisy followed behind him, along with another man Varric did not immediately recognize. He was tall, of a height with Aveline, a bit on the rugged side with the stubble on his jaw, but the blond hair half tied back from his face softened his features.

Blond hair. Varric nearly spit out his ale. Shit. It was Blondie. But what the hell was he wearing? Varric had always imagined that Anders' taste in fashion was restricted to what he could find in one of the old barrels around town amongst a few moth-eaten scarves and pouches full of pebbles. But he seemed inclined toward Tevinter fashion wherever he could find it, and the quilted fabric and suede—hell even the ridiculous feathers—really seemed to suit him. The coat he was wearing now couldn't have been less like his usual foppish style.

And yet.

Varric squinted at Anders as he approached, mug of ale hovering just beneath his lower lip as he debated how he felt about the riotously red leather hanging around Anders' shoulders. It was no less worn than his usual coat, but for all the wear and tear it had a lived-in look that reminded Varric a bit of his own favorite duster. But that color. He never would have guessed that the mage would look good in crimson. He seemed far better suited to a cooler palette, but this coat just looked so...masculine on him. For perhaps the first time ever, Varric found himself truly believing Rivaini's lewd stories of Anders' exploits as a younger man. Sparklefingers, indeed. More like Lavatouch.

Varric grimaced. And he called himself a writer. Shaking off the bad taste of his lame word choice, he cleared his throat and lifted his ale. "Nice coat, Blondie."

Anders preened a bit, attempting to rub some dirt off the battered cuff. Beside him, Hawke just rolled his eyes and wandered off to the bar to chat with Isabela. Daisy was looking up at Anders with her mouth agape, and judging by the way her lips were chapped Varric suspected she had been doing so for quite some time. Aveline, on the other hand, looked pissed. Or something. Whatever it was, she was staring, not at Anders exactly, but at his coat.

"But you know," Varric continued thoughtfully, "people usually replace an old coat with a new one. They don't just replace it with an equally old one."

"I know," Anders admitted. "But I couldn't help myself. It was just lying there in an alley in Darktown with a pair of kittens curled up inside. A little black one and a little white one. I decided to call them Ebony and Ivory. Anyway, I carried them back to the clinic on the coat. And then I thought, why not? I'll give it a try, you know, just to see if it fits."

Varric nodded, though he didn't really get it. "After the kittens had been all over it and everything," he mused with distaste.

"I know!"

Varric really didn't know. "Well, anyway, let's just hope it doesn't stink as much as your old one."

Anders hugged the coat closer as if to shield it from Varric's accusation. "My old coat didn't stink."

"Oh yes, it did."

"To high heaven."

"Like a zoo."

Varric wasn't sure which comment had come from which person, but he supposed it didn't really matter, because what happened next was so bizarre that it might have actually broken his brain. Aveline, who had been following Anders closely enough to breathe down his neck, bent her head down into the crease of his collar and took a deep breath. The breath was followed by an even deeper sigh, the overtones of which went straight to Varric's groin—and it was a sound that had come out of Aveline! Varric shivered in confusion.

Anders was likewise affected and jerked away from Aveline as if he had been shocked. "What are you…?"

But his flinch only pushed him toward Daisy who grabbed his arm and then began rubbing her face against the leather.

"Mm...Anders, you smell like Isabela talks."

"So good," Aveline echoed with something that sounded an awful lot like a moan.

Anders was frozen in place, eyes wide as the two women continued to pet him.

"Oh yes, essence of kitten." Scratching his forehead, Varric puzzled over the allure of the coat. "It will get them every time?" Imagination as big as the Waking Sea and he was at a loss.

Then Isabela sidled over, giving Anders a very slow, very heated once over. "Mm, sweet thing," she said, voice so deep it must have been coming from her toes. "Where did you find that delicious coat?"

Traumatized, Anders could only croak out one word. "Kittens?"

Aveline had an arm wrapped around Anders' waist at this point, one hand pawing his chest while she continued nuzzling at his back. Daisy had wrapped his arm around her slight shoulders and looked as if she was trying to crawl inside one of the pockets. And then Isabela walked right up to him and turned, somehow managing to slip halfway inside the coat with him, cooing as she pulled the front flaps around her shoulders with a sigh.

"What the hell?" Hawke came to stand next to Varric, his expression about as dumbfounded as the one Varric could feel on his own face.

"No idea."

"Help?" Anders pleaded from within the depths of the coat.

Before Varric or Hawke could react, the front door of the Hanged Man slammed back against the wall and an angry man stomped inside. He was tall and handsome, brutish with just the right amount of charm to make it look good, dressed in sleek black clothes that hugged his muscular physique and a pair of thick boots made for doing damage. His icy blue gaze swept the room from beneath a fringe of white hair that could have been pulled straight from Fenris' head, eventually settling on the Anders pile at the center of the room. "You," he growled, "are wearing my coat."

"Damn, and I was just looking forward to having a go with it at some point," Hawke muttered under his breath.

Brows lifting almost to his hairline, Varric looked from Hawke back to Anders and found that tall, dark and handsome had managed to evict the mage from the coat without completely dislodging the women. Stumbling away, Anders landed half on the table with a stunned expression, his tall frame looking bereft without a coat. Taking pity on him, Varric pulled his duster off the hook near the door and swept it around Anders' shoulders as if to protect him from indecent exposure. The duster barely reached his knees, but it actually fit him surprisingly well otherwise. Straightening a lapel, he looked down at Anders with a strange feeling fluttering deep in his gut.

Eyes focusing on him warily, Anders whispered, "Not you too."

Shaking himself, Varric laughed. "No, of course not. You're safe with me, Blondie. I just hadn't expected it to fit so well." Still, he couldn't help but lean possessively in Anders' direction as he perched on the table beside him.

Tall, dark and handsome was shrugging into his own coat with a sigh of relief that was nearly obscene. He seemed oblivious to all the feminine attention, perhaps because he was so used to such a thing that it mostly escaped his notice.

"What's your name, sweet thing?" Isabela asked, her body already a few steps past exchanging names as she wrapped a leg around his hip.

"Dante," he replied with a slow smile.

"Hi, Dante," Hawke interrupted, shoving his hand toward the man brusquely. "Nice to meet you."

Dante looked at Hawke's outstretched hand in surprise. "Yeah. And who are you?"

"Hawke. This is sort of my city. And those are sort of my gang." He gestured vaguely to Isabela, Aveline and Merrill.

"Feeling a little jealous?" Dante's grin was downright sinful.

"Listen, I don't know where you got that coat, but I think it might be possessed by a demon or something."

Shrugging, Dante agreed, "Half-demon, at least."

"Either way, cleaning up demonic possessions happens to be one of my favorite pastimes, so, unless you want me to take care of that coat for you…"

"Message received." Dante began extricating himself from the women with the ease of someone who had had a lot of practice. "Thanks for taking such good care of her, ladies," he added as he gently pushed them away.

Aveline whimpered, her empty hands pawing at the air. Isabela comforted Merrill with a hand on her shoulder. "It's okay, kitten. There'll be other coats."

"Hey, Hawke," Dante added as he walked toward the door, "I actually happen to be a demon hunter myself. You ever looking for a new hunting companion, give me a call." He flicked a card in Hawke's direction before disappearing through the door and back into the night.

"Devil May Cry," Hawke read off the card. "What does that even mean? It sounds like Dwarven poetry."

"Anders!" Aveline said suddenly, her eyes more lucid than they had been since she walked through the door. Varric felt the mage flinch beside him. "Have you been using blood magic?" she demanded, poking him in the chest.

"No! Of course not!" Anders replied, aghast.

"Then how do you explain—"

"I think it's best if we just try to forget it," Hawke interrupted, patting her on one pauldron. "It will only give you nightmares. His grin faded when he looked at Anders. "Andraste's flaming knickers. How do you manage to look so good in other people's coats?"

"This one's mine," Varric hissed, hand instinctively clutching at the leather which happened to be on top of Anders' thigh.

Anders was out of the coat and across the room quicker than Varric could track.

"Blondie, wait."

"No!" Anders called over a hunched shoulder as he retreated, arms wrapped around his waist as if as a shield. "I haven't been groped this much since that time we went to the Rose. I'm going home."