A/N: This is an Anders/Hawke chapter set a few days after he moves into Hawke Mansion. I'd had Anders kicking around in my head and wanted to try and write something simple and sweet from his perspective.

Maker's breath, he forgot how wonderful it was to sleep in a bed. With real stuffing inside a mattress instead of a stained and tattered piece of canvas stretched over wood. Pillows to cuddle his blonde head instead of his coat wadded into a ball to keep it from being nicked in the night. And blankets long enough to stretch down to his toes and further beyond. Anders spent so long scraping by he nearly blanked on what living properly was like.

How much was that your doing?

I did what was required to survive.

You did what was required to survive.

He pinched into his eyes trying to stave off the headache that inevitably followed him getting into it with Justice. That wasn't exactly right, Anders aware that he was supplying both sides of the argument just from different angles. Normally, they avoided all the subjects that could come between them, smoothing the problem down until they seemed to agree on everything. All save the one currently slumbering beside him.

Hawke was... In all his days, all his time sneaking out of the tower and hiding through the back alleys of Ferelden's darker streets while relying upon his charm and good looks to get what he needed, he'd never met anyone like Hawke. Not just her heart, which had to be large enough to let half of Kirkwall inside it, nor her explosive sense of humor. Anders suspected that even Hawke could have gotten Justice to laugh on occasion, she was that persistent about it with nary a hint of self consciousness when a joke fell flat.

What all but tacked Anders' tongue to the roof of his mouth the first time they met was her size. He'd seen a qunari woman once, and rather enjoyed that little bit of heresy with her before the templars caught up, but Maker, Hawke all but dwarfed her. Dwarfed every woman he'd ever met, not just in height but strength and mere presence. Perhaps he should be intimidated by it, feel the need to out-man her and show off his own power, but that childish fear never stuck to him.

How much of that was Hawke's doing? Sweep into his life as if she has nary a care, crack a few bandit skulls, then nuzzle a box of kittens she rescued from a rage demon. Was it any wonder she'd warped his thoughts and rattled Justice from deep in his soul for three years?

Something in sleep quieted the louder than life giant. While curled up at night in his clinic, doing his best to not think about the parts of her he ached for, Anders formed the theory that Hawke was the type to sleep fully on her back, mouth open in a snore. No doubt she'd extend her arms and legs and somehow move around the bed until she was perpendicular from where she began.

But no. She slept on her side with her knees curled inward, both palms pressed together to comfort her head. And he'd been lucky enough to wrap his arm around her intoxicating stomach while laying beside her. Four nights now. Even after she agreed to let him stay, he could scarcely believe it.

From shit-central to Hightown, it was an impressive move up. But what calmed the sarcasm on his tongue and also riled up the spirit in his head was the effect her presence had upon his heart. It was impossible to imagine. If Anders tried to stop and count the number of beds he'd hopped into and out of, often while being chased by templars who weren't in the mood to join in, he'd be at it all day. Numerous faces, some forgettable, some breathtaking, bodies of varying sizes and shapes, different races, different genders. All that mattered in those days was that it was warm, willing, and he had a few free hours.

How in the Maker's name did this one woman grind everything inside of him to a total halt? Love? What did he know of love beyond that ghastly story Varric kept trying to get him to read before it went to print? It sounded nice, in theory, but so did the Circles. We keep the mages safe, that way none of you people scared of your own shadow will try to kill a ten year old child terrified of being able to start fires. Love? Who wouldn't want to feel like their chest was being flattened by an ogre every time they glanced at their object of affection, fear of her not returning it striking in equal measure to what to do if she did? It's truly maddening to consider.

"Humph," Hawke moaned, her body twisting under the blanket until she rolled to face him.

Anders let his hand rest back into the divot where her hips slid in to create her waist. She had the most adorable set of black freckles dashed upon her nose, a fact he'd noticed sometime after she helped him with Karl. There were more than a few pages of his manifesto bearing a crude likeness to Hawke on the back of them.

She was never her warrior self in his drawings, nor laughing as was typical in the tavern. Anders wanted to give himself the quiet moments that seemed rare with this woman. A slight smile, an enigmatic look, sometimes she was twirling a rose. None of it ever felt right.

Staring at the woman beyond his wildest imagination he was beginning to understand why he'd failed with his amateur artistry. Even in the depths of the fade, she never lost that edge of mischief that drew his fevered body to her side. There were truly none in thedas like Hawke and, for its sake, it better hope there never would be.

A hand lashed out under the blankets to curl first over his waist then tug tighter until reaching down to cup his ass. She gave a pinch and her stormy eyes rolled open. "You were watching me again, weren't you?" Hawke grumbled, but there was a game in it. He forgot how much fun it was to play.

"Can't imagine why I'd want to stare at you," Anders grinned as he tugged up the blanket to reveal her breasts stacked together in overflowing cups. On Hawke's great frame she never seemed top heavy, but he couldn't get his hands to fully embrace her breasts - the fact leaving Anders panting their first night together. Slowly he trailed his fingers in steps against the top breast, her warm skin calling to him as he dipped down to circle around her dark nipple.

Hawke's lips parted, a pant beginning as he thumbed her the best ways he knew how. Sex was where Anders shined. Even after all those years abstaining at Justice's urging and his own shattered ego, he never forgot his skills. It was hard for him to guess at how experienced Hawke was. She was a woman who didn't blanche from anything she wanted, but there was a timidity at times. It was almost as if she feared touching him might hurt, as foolish as that sounded.

Well, it depended on how hard she did it, and - if in the right mood - he might prefer it.

Her hand kneaded tighter against his ass, tugging his hips closer to her welcoming body. To emphasize how badly she wanted him, Hawke slipped her leg overtop of his, opening herself up. The headache rose back up, banging its fists about how there were injustices in the world that didn't require expounding energy upon such matters of the flesh.

Anders waved it away, his body dampening down his brain as the libido took control. Pinching against her nipples, when Hawke gasped in her ecstatic agony, he caught her parted lips in a kiss. She snickered a moment at it, then returned the kiss tenfold, her tongue almost playfully bouncing against his. Andraste's ass, she was an impossible woman to get a handle of, which only drove Anders' attentions hotter than he thought possible.

He wanted her, thought of her in every way he could, and she seemed happy to oblige. Hawke's wandering leg slid upward, her ankle digging into Anders' leg and thigh until she hooked it right under the ass she seemed drawn to. Not that he could entirely blame her, it was a pretty good one. The warrior woman melted at his lips as he began to work his way away from hers and down towards those mountainous breasts.

Her smooth brown skin was invitingly warm. Anders smoothed his hands further down her sturdy waist until the palm rose up to meet with her hips. Maker's sake, those hips that wiggled and waved enough to drive him madder than any spirit in his head ever could. Hawke shifted slightly, her bountiful chest pushing against his. Was she trying to tell him to hurry up?

When Hawke gripped onto the top of his arm, Anders knew she planned to tip him over onto his back and straddle him. Andraste's flaming ass that was a glorious sight, Hawke staring down at him with her face perched from right atop her pair of breasts. But he had other plans. Cupping tighter to her waist, Anders moved to push her onto her back. She gave in quickly, the smile rising to her lips as he perched on top of her. Still just as beautiful as he remembered.

Anders moved to lean down, his freed hair slipping towards his face, when the entire bed shifted out from under them. "What in the fiery void?" he cursed before feeling a sandpaper tongue lick all over his side. "Maker's sake, Hawke! Get your dog off!"

"Dog," she staggered up to her elbows. Her face was attempting stern, but that was a facet of life Hawke was incapable of. "Get off the bed now, please," she practically sang song to the drooling menace. Of course he didn't listen but crawled over the rumpled sheets to slobber all over Hawke. Laughing at her silly animal, she began to rub up and down its head, rewarding the thing for not listening.

Anders tipped his head back and sighed, which caught Hawke's attention. "Oh, uh, that kinda killed the mood, huh? Sorry," she hung her head while scooping the great mabari off with one hand. A hundred and fifty pounds of dog landed upon the floor while Hawke kept staring sheepishly at Anders' stomach. He felt a sting for ruining her fun, it wasn't her fault he wasn't a dog person, but Maker's sake, was it too much to ask the thing to at least keep off the bed?

A grey and white head bobbed around from the other side of the bed, yellow eyes staring up to see when the grouchy human would leave and he could return to his favorite mistress. "I don't think he's used to you being here, yet," Hawke mumbled to herself.

He wasn't the only one. Anders screwed up his eyes and pitched back to his side to land upon the bed. Hawke maintained her vigil upon the ether, her hands clasping nothing, until he slid in tight against her and pressed his lips to her shoulder. After trailing a few kisses against her skin, Anders glanced up into those stormy grey eyes. She seemed to be studying him, as if she wasn't certain what to make of this mage she let into her bed. Not that Anders really knew what it was to be wanted into a bed. At least not on any sort of permanent basis.

An idea struck him and he sat up, "Stay here."

"Okay..." Hawke watched him leap out of bed to slide on his trousers. Anders followed that up with his boots and began to reach for his tunic but waved it off. The thing was so stained it could practically stand up on its own. "So, I... What are you doing?"

He turned to smile at Hawke, "It's a surprise. Just stay here, in bed. I'll be back soon."

"Soon meaning ten minutes cause you have to take a piss, or...?" she waved her hands around, uncertain what was going on.

Padding quickly over the floor, Anders grabbed up her wandering hand and took one quick kiss from her. "Soon means soon. You're going to stay in bed, right?" He asked while sliding out the bedroom door.

"I guess, since I seem to have no choice," Hawke grumbled, both hands falling flat to the bed as he closed the door behind him.

He had no idea what time it was, but there was no dawn light breaking through the windows. More than likely everyone was still asleep, thank the Maker. The last thing he wanted was to run into Hawke's mother in the kitchen. She'd been understanding of Hawke letting her old friend who toiled away in Darktown stay in the mansion, less so about him bunking in her daughter's bedroom. No doubt Leandra Amell had plans for her only free daughter that didn't involve her being tied with a mage revolutionary.

That was another new one for Anders, meeting the parents. Perhaps one of his quick rendezvous had hopes that he'd turn out to be the settling down type but even if they'd invited him along to family dinner, the templars would have yanked him out before the first course. He had no idea what he should do or say to Hawke's mother beyond a few polite topics like the weather, or knitting. Good thing he picked that up in Amaranthine.

Padding silently down the stairs, Anders rounded back towards the kitchen and larder. The hearth was lit but not roaring. He kicked the flat iron griddle into the fire with his boot then turned to try and get a sense of the pantry. Bodahn ran the place with his little iron fist, often shooing Hawke's friends away while he rustled up vittles for them to share in. There had to be flour and some sugar in a bag at the back. After that all he needed was a leavening agent and eggs.

Maker's sake, was he really going to do this? Anders yanked free a small bowl and placed it on the counter. Yes, he was, because it was for Hawke. She'd taken so many risks on him for no reason and, as idiotic as it sounded, he felt that he owed her something. A way to prove that he wasn't going anywhere, for any reason. And what said that better than food?

It didn't take him long to rustle up the ingredients, Bodahn having a surprisingly easy to understand system. Stirring the gloop as it slowly formed a batter, Anders plopped a bit of lard onto the griddle and watched it smoke away. Maybe it got a little too hot on the fire. This ought to go fast.

Dumping the first bit of batter into a misshapen circle onto the griddle he finally thought to look around for a spatula. It'd probably come as a surprise to most who knew him that Anders was capable of cooking. Most who grew up in the Circle were lucky to be able to crack an egg without having it splatter back into their eye, but he wasn't dragged off at a young age when the magic found him. It was his mother who taught him how. Every morning they'd stand by the hot griddle, Anders in charge of turning the pancakes while she mixed up the batter and watched like a hawk to tell him when to flip. Then in would come his father and brothers, all exhausted from the morning chores and ready for breakfast.

A frown curdled in his stomach at the thought of his father. He sneered and flipped over the first pancake. It crusted a bit on the outside, Anders having waited too long. Well, that could be hidden with butter or scraped off later. Either way, that'd be his. He had to get Hawke's just right.

It was strange how normal the day was when she came to see him in the clinic. Hawke had been out of sorts, everyone doing their best to pretend they didn't know why, while also acting as if the elf's vanishing wasn't related. Even Varric hadn't spoken to her much, Hawke seeming to keep to her house and rarely venture out. That in itself was so unlike Hawke he feared she may have fallen ill as well. Anders had been thinking of heading out to find her when she suddenly appeared at his doorstep.

"What in the Maker's name are you doing?" were the first words out of her mouth. There was no pain, no lingering sign of tears in her eyes; she was back to normal.

"Putting out milk," he explained.

"Hoping fairies will fix up your shoes?" she chuckled while sliding up onto the table, but the woman was so tall her feet didn't leave the floor. Maker, how badly he wanted to scale those legs of hers. To feel them wrapped around his waist and...

"Shoes, tunic, pauldrons, damn near everything I own," Anders laughed, trying to shake off his libidinous thoughts. There seemed little point in indulging them now after what the elf did.

Hawke joined in with the laughter, "I wasn't going to say anything but you've been leaving a bit of a feather trail as of late."

"Oh?" Anders tried to glance back over his shoulders to see the greater gaps as his pauldrons kept balding.

She leaned forward and wrapped her fingers around his exploring ones, "It ain't so bad. I know how to easily find you at least. Just got to follow the feathers."

Andraste, take him, but when she smiled like that it took all the strength in him to not taste those full lips. Anders chuckled at her joke instead, "Thank the Maker the templars aren't smart enough to figure that out." He felt the curdle in his soul at thinking of templars but shook it away. Almost bashful eyes took in Hawke, "You're looking well."

"Oh?" she dipped her head down, a hand skirting across the tunic that pulled taut from her straining breasts. "Here I thought it looked like I got dressed in the dark. Which I did, funny enough. Turns out there is enough room inside my wardrobe and now Varric owes me two Sovereigns."

"Maker's breath," Anders laughed, shaking his head at the absurdity Hawke went to at times. It struck him on occasion that he would sometimes do the same in his pre-Justice days, taking on bets if only because it staved off the march of time and inevitability of death.

"So," Hawke stirred her fingers against the table, "I ain't heard much from the mage resistance? Got any new pamphlets to scatter around in people's libraries when they ain't looking?"

Anders wandered over to his books and pushed a few around, even while knowing the truth, "I'm afraid not. There's been a rash of boils and bunions that's kept me from doing anything important."

Her face scrunched up into disgust and then she laughed it all away, her long hair shaking in the light, "You say the sexiest things sometimes, you know that, Anders?"

The laugh was in his throat out of a sense of obligation but he didn't feel it in his heart. He wanted to whisper so many naughty things in her ear, what he dreamed of doing with her and to her, the likes of which would test the limits of even her strength, but... That fucking elf.

Staggering up, he smiled wider to hide the missing laugh and folded his arms, "What you've already done for the mages here is..."

Hawke waved her hand in the air, cutting it off, "It's nothing."

"That's far from true. How many others turn their noses away, slam their doors out of fear of reprisal, and you... You risk so much for people you don't know. It's amazing," he blinked at her, aware of the awe seeping into his voice. "I've never known anyone with as great a heart as you."

"That, um," she shifted on her seat before falling to her feet. "I just do it to, you know. You have to know, you do it all the time."

"I..." He didn't. For years he took his few freedoms where he could and cared little for the other mages. Let them fight their own battles, Anders had his. He was too selfish to stop and think that combining their might and forming bonds with the others would allow them all to triumph together. Not until Justice. Not until...

"I'm a mage, gives me a vested interest in their plight, but you have no reason to care."

She almost blushed, a finger tugging on the hair curling around her ear before Hawke shrugged, "My family. I know what it is to grow up on the run from templars, even if I ain't the one they're exactly hunting."

A fair point. It wasn't as if Hawke was average. Maker's sake, Hawke was anything but average. But she knew more of the life of a mage than other non-mages across thedas.

"Plus," she lifted her eyes and they gleamed at him, "some of the mages are pretty damn cute. That makes it easier."

Do not do this. You will hurt her. You will break her heart when you must leave. Because there is injustice to fight. There is no time for such matters when mages remain locked in the Circle.

Shut up, Justice.

Anders dashed towards her, his hand curling around Hawke's cheek as he pressed his lips to hers for a kiss. Whisper soft at first, her lips succulent and pert, when she dug her fingers into his waist Anders awoke with the fire in his soul. How badly he wanted it. How he ached for it. Sucking her lip into his mouth, tasting this insane and awe inspiring woman, he feared stopping for what would come next. But breath was necessary, and the spirit was burning behind his eyes. Anders slid his lips from hers and swallowed in his guilt.

"Don't stop," Hawke said, her grey eyes shining bright as she stared into his only a breath away.

"This isn't wise," he gasped even while giving into temptation and tasting another kiss from her.

She laughed at that, "When in all the time you've known me have I ever done anything wise? Walked into the deep roads full of darkspawn, fought giant rock creatures that talk, fought a dragon, willingly went to a place called the bone pit. This list could take awhile."

"Hawke..." The part of him that cried for focus was silenced by his heart beating rapidly at the thought of giving in to her. "If you think you can risk it, if you're willing to try, then...I will come to you tonight."

Her eyes drifted down across his face as if studying him closely. Then she knotted her fingers back through his hair before she smiled, "You damn well better."

Anders snapped out of his revere and hurled the pancake onto a plate set by the fire to keep warm. He increased the output, batter circles spreading across the sizzling griddle, which he tried to focus on. Ignore the part of his soul insisting he walk out that door and return to his clinic. No, he shook his head, that wasn't what was pressing upon his heart. It was that damn elf.

He didn't know if he should be grateful that Fenris was even more of an unpredictable prig than Anders previously thought, or want to rend him ear from ear for turning his back on Hawke. Maker's breath, how could anyone rise from her bed and just...leave? He'd done it time and again to others, but Hawke was something special, something Anders had never seen in all of thedas. It took a dead heart to turn away from that.

Two more pancakes landed on the plate, Anders giving the death glare across the batter watching for bubbles rising. It threw her when he asked to stay. He knew it even as the words left his mouth, Hawke already having dodged from his admitting he loved her. Maybe he shouldn't have pressed her at that moment, given her a chance to weigh the idea or at least waited until she was ready.

You know why you did it.

I thought you didn't care. Staying away from distractions is all that bothers you.

This is all foolish. You're arguing with yourself.

Maker take him, Anders glared over at the stack of pancakes rising up off the plate. The pile wobbled due to the altering sizes heaped on top of each other. This wasn't just some foolish gesture to try to thank Hawke for any of the multitude of things she'd done for him. No, he was trying to get her to forget.

Forget the elf.

Forget she ever glanced at the mage-hating cretin.

Forget she ever lost him and see what she could have instead.

That was why he asked. Not out of a fear of the templars or even having to cure another round of dysentery in his bowels courtesy of Darktown letting dead rats swim in the water. Deep in his heart, Anders feared that when the rabid dog returned with his tail tucked between his legs he'd manage to trick Hawke into taking him back. And Anders couldn't do a thing to protect her from whatever Fenris would do to hurt her.

Scattering the last of the pancakes onto the plate, Anders tried to search around for a tray. There was always a tray to hold it and perhaps a vase of flowers. Sadly, he couldn't find neither and bundled a fork and knife in his hand under the offering while sliding out of the kitchen. He got as far as into the greeting room before realizing he was no longer alone.

"Ah, Master Anders," Bodahn called with a wave, "Up early, I see."

"Yep, I was just..." Anders eyes drifted over to spot Leandra standing in the corner doing her best to not look at him. Oh shit. Great time to think that the shirt wasn't necessary there, Anders. At least he put pants on, otherwise he'd probably be chased out of Hightown by an old woman wielding an umbrella with the same force her daughter does a broadsword.

"Ma'am," he tried to bow his head at her, but that caused the pancakes to begin to slide off.

Leandra watched a moment longer, her pause seeming to stretch into eternity, before she said in a smooth voice, "Good morning, young man."

"Is that for Mistress Hawke?" Bodahn asked, the dwarf blisteringly unaware that anything was off. He tipped his head towards the cooling breakfast that Anders now feared would be devoured by the dwarf's sort-of son.

"Yes," he nodded, feeling the prick of wandering eyes land upon him.

Sandal slipped away from his enchanting box, his lips wide open as he proclaimed, "Pancakes!" with the same enthusiasm he did "Enchantment."

"I should probably get them to her," Anders jerked his thumb up the stairs. What in the Maker's sake was wrong with him? This was far from the first time he'd been caught half dressed. Once, all he had on when the husband walked in unexpectedly was a ribbon not where it would have made any difference. Even then, with the man shifting into an enraged bull, he could laugh it all off with a bit of witty repartee. But this woman froze him to the bone, Anders scampering away before she did or said something to ruin his chances with Hawke.

He made it halfway up the stairs, when Leandra's voice called out, "When you're finished, could you have my daughter find me? She promised to escort me to the shops today."

"Uh," Anders bobbed his head, his nose nearly striking into the golden pancakes. "Sure." As he reached for the door to Hawke's bedroom, he heard a tiny little laugh break from below, the older woman finding all of this hilarious.

Shaking off the out of place blush, Anders cracked open the door and groaned at the sight before him. "Hawke..."

"What?" she whipped her head up at him, her hair falling into her face. The woman was stretched at a 45 degree angle off the bed, her one hand rubbing up and down the dog's belly while the other kept flipping through a journal she plopped onto the floor beside her.

"I thought you were going to stay in bed?" he groaned, waving his hands at her failing to follow the simple direction. On the plus side, she didn't manage to get dressed, giving Anders the perfect view of her long back extended in the reach, her breasts skimming near the floor.

She smiled at him, "I am still in bed, see." And then that mad woman wiggled her toes that remained hooked upon the blankets.

"How were you going to get back up there?" he asked, curious to see if she could pull it off.

"Um..." Hawke swung her head towards the bed and then began to walk upon her hands backwards. She managed to get her ass to crest right along the edge, but that's when the problem stuck. "I hadn't quite, there was gonna be...maybe if I..."

Shaking his head at her lagging ingenuity but unbreakable tenacity, Anders sat down on the bed. He slid the plate onto the end table then moved to reach his arms around Hawke's stomach. At about the point of contact his brain connected the visuals of a naked woman's gloriously plump ass spread out on the bed while she pressed upon the floor with her hands. How easy it would be for him to slip his palms under her thighs and stretch them up to grip her ankles around his waist as he...

Breakfast, remember. Your gift or placation. However you're choosing to view it now.

Anders assisted Hawke up off the ground, the woman twisting quickly in his grasp as she gripped onto the canopy and hung off it a moment. That left him with a view of her chest stretched even longer than usual, her breasts beckoning for him to keep them warm.

"Alright, I'm back in bed. Gonna tell me why?" Hawke interrupted, the woman seemingly unaware of what her naked body could do to him.

"This," Anders placed the plate into her lap.

Uncertain, Hawke dropped her hands and picked up a pancake, "You made me breakfast?"

"In bed." Maker's breath, this shouldn't be so difficult.

"Oh," she laughed, "I get it, breakfast in bed. You're trying to be romantic." Hawke rolled one of the pancakes up in a tube, then moved to take a bite. She paused, her eyes darting up to him. "These aren't made from the blood of templars, are they?"

"No," Anders shook his head.

"Okay good, cause you're always going on about drowning us in blood, and while it is rather romantic while being all stab-brood dramatic, I'm not sure consuming viscera agrees with my constitution."

"Will you eat the damn pancake already," Anders cried while deep inside he felt laughter stirring. Her kind of nonsense was the same he'd have spewed before Justice. Was it any wonder he found a strange calmness in being around this woman?

Hawke shrugged and dove in, the woman chewing through half of it before she gasped, "This is good. Really good and fluffy." Finishing off the first in two bites, she moved on to the next. "Bodahn's are always like rocks; thin, tan rocks. How are you so good at pancaking?"

"I'm a man of many talents," Anders chuckled.

Her hand broke from the pancake feeding frenzy to curl up his waist and slide down to the hip. With an insatiable hunger in her eyes, she smiled, "Don't I know it."

"Here," she scooped up a pancake and dropped it into Anders' hands. "You should eat some too. It's only fair."

"I did bring..." he turned over to the knife and fork that were clearly superfluous. Hawke had her own way of eating them that silverware would only impede. Shaking away the thought, Anders shared in the meal meant for the woman he loved. After a few, she slid in next to him, her arm wrapping around the small of his back while she rested the plate upon their touching thighs.

He was far slower in gorging himself, savoring the rare meal to grace his stomach that wasn't covered in mold spots. Sighing, Hawke lay her head upon his shoulders, her free hand caressing the fine hair sprawled across his chest. "That's the first time I've ever had breakfast in bed," she smiled.

"Really?" Anders glanced over at the woman with a fancy family name and mansion.

She shrugged a shoulder then buried her nose into the side of his neck, "I tend to do more vigorous things in bed than eating."

"Like sleeping?" Anders chuckled. The plate slipped off their laps as he turned towards her, taking in a kiss that tasted of golden fluff.

"I am a very passionate sleeper. Damn near champion at it, in fact. And you are so damn cute when you sleep."

"Me?" he gasped.

"Those long eyelashes curled up on your cheeks while you're no doubt dreaming of all the ways you can gut templars and string their intestines around the hall for Satinalia," she laughed, her smile never parting far from Hawke's lips. "It makes me want to wake you up and do the other thing beds are good for."

"Well," Anders shifted closer, his fingers skirting further down her naked skin to cup the breast he ignored earlier. "I don't think any templars are going to come barreling through the front door at this minute."

"Damn straight," Hawke laughed, "they'll have to get through Bodahn and Sandal first..." She kissed him hard, her lips plunging over his, "And if any survived, I'd cut then down where they stood." There was a serious threat ringing in her words that stirred Anders hard. To watch her naked, eyes blazing, sword in hand, while taking on the templars to protect him... Those strong hands drifted off his chest down towards his pants. Knowing his luck, she'd try to pry them off before he had a chance to remove the boots too. The woman seemed to be obsessed with Anders in nothing but his boots.

"I mean it," she paused from fully undressing him, her stormy eyes rolling open to stare into his, "I'll do whatever I can to keep you safe, for as long as I'm capable of lifting a sword. And not too drunk either, because Maker that really throws me off."

"Hawke," he curled a hand around her face, holding her beautiful eyes steady as he stared deep into this promise she made. This vow to him. And Hawke never went back on her promises to anyone. You were worried over nothing. If she wanted the elf, if she still cared for him, she'd have trailed him and brought him back. She went to you, chose you, let you in to love. Stop fretting about such minor matters and return to the mages.

As the burning for justice faded from his mind, Anders smiled at the small bit of peace in his heart. "I love you," he murmured before cutting off her oncoming quip with his lips. She'd say it eventually, on her own time. Hawke's will was immutable and could alter the very fabric of thedas itself. Not even Anders could move it.

She slid away from the kiss, her hands circling around the back of his waist. "I'm glad you stayed, Anders. That you're staying here."

"Me too," he smiled, his hands softly drawing her hair out of her face.

For a beat she blushed, her eyes drawn downward, when Hawke dashed forward, toppling Anders onto his back. Her hands pinned his down, her legs straddling over his stomach while those glorious breasts drifted right out of his reach. Dipping her mouth lower until her warm breath skirted across his skin, she snickered, "Because you're going to make breakfast from now on."