Chapter Text
O Maker, hear my cry:
Guide me through the blackest nights
Steel my heart against the temptations of the wicked
Make me to rest in the warmest places.
Transfigurations 12:1
The Hanged Man was, as always, dark and bedraggled. It wasn’t a high-end bar, but it was generally friendly, at least moderately clean, and most importantly for a man of his means, cheap. Anders sat with his back to the corner, sipping his drink, and watched the patrons come and go.
Friday evenings were always spent here, so he could at least tell himself that he met people outside of his normal circles of Chantry and clinic, even if he usually arrived, drank, and left alone. The normal crowd tonight was a bit boring, if he was honest with himself: familiar melancholy people in singles and groups, drowning their sorrows quietly in alcohol and company. As Anders’ gaze swept across the room, though, a new face caught his attention, a man working his way across the dim room to the bar.
Even if he hadn’t any interest in taking people home any more, this man was stunning - well-built, tall, with a chiseled jaw to die for, dusky skin matched perfectly with a dark beard. Anders smiled into his drink, taking another slow sip, and let his eyes travel idly over the newcomer’s body, admiring the way his band tee showed off his muscles, and the way his jeans curved against his ass. Shaking his head, he sipped his drink; it was better not to let himself indulge in such thoughts, lest they leave him feeling even lonelier or give him urges he could never fulfill.
Anders let himself take one last glance at the man, and was startled to see he was being eyed in much the same way. He looked away quickly, not wanting to be caught staring, willing himself not to blush. Excellent, now you’re the creep in the corner of a bar, staring at younger men. He debated leaving, but decided that it might be too obvious, and the thought of returning to his cramped, dingy apartment was a dismal one.
The other man, however, seemed to have no similar compunctions, as he snagged his drink from the bartender and headed directly for the corner, cocky smirk on his face. Anders watched him out of the corner of his eye, frowning apprehensively, and only turned his head to look directly when the man was too close to ignore.
“Can I help you?” His voice was supposed to be cold, discouraging, but only came out nervous. Maker, it had been a while since he’d spoken to someone he found attractive, and the whole situation didn’t make it any easier. Caught staring at someone when he had no intention of doing anything about it? He may as well melt into the floor.
Making an obvious point of looking Anders up and down, the man raised an eyebrow. “I certainly hope so. Or did I mistake the way you were watching me from across the room?”
Anders hoped he wasn’t blushing. “You were - I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”
“You didn’t mean to - what, find me attractive?” He leaned on Anders’ table, mouth set in a grin. “I can’t blame you, I’m damned attractive. And so are you, for that matter.”
Now Anders was definitely blushing. This had better be discouraged from the start. “Well, you are, but…” And that wasn’t what he had meant to say at all. “I’m not here for that.”
“What are you here for, then… oh, I’m Hawke.” He held out a hand, and Anders took it, to be polite. “Garrett, technically, but everyone calls me Hawke.”
“Anders,” he replied. “Just that, for now, I suppose.”
“Ah, you’re going to be secretive on me?” Hawke cocked his head, giving him a look that was more searching than appreciative. “Unless you’re not interested?”
Anders floundered for a moment, trying to find the correct words. He ended up saying, “It’s complicated. I’m just here to relax.”
“Well, I can be very relaxing, Anders.” Hawke winked at him. This wasn’t going as planned, not in the slightest, and Anders really should have stopped this immediately and apologized for wasting the man’s time, but instead he froze, eyes locked on Hawke’s as he tried to remember how to speak.
“I’m sure you can be,” he finally responded, fiddling with his drink. No, wrong, don’t say that. “I mean, um. I’m…”
“Hey, it’s all right,” Hawke said, and his manner changed from overly flirtatious to something a bit friendlier and less predatory. “If you want me to go, I can. No worries.”
Anders contemplated it, but shook his head. “I wouldn’t mind a conversation.” He glanced up at Hawke. “But, just a conversation.”
“Deal.” Hawke smiled, and slid into the booth across from Anders. “So, what brings you here tonight, if you’re not looking for a handsome man to keep you company?”
The blond couldn’t help but chuckle. “The company is welcome. I come out once a week, have a drink, and I watch people go about their lives.” His gaze swept over the room. “Tonight is… not as exciting as usual.”
“And then you met me, right?” Hawke waggled his eyebrows ridiculously.
“Sure.” Anders raised an eyebrow. “And then I met you. What are you doing here?”
Now it was Hawke’s turn to look out at the room, instead of meeting Anders’ gaze. “Looking for a hot piece of ass, of course, what else would I be doing here?” Anders had learned to recognize a half-truth, though, and he waited patiently until Hawke squirmed the tiniest bit. “Just got back into town. I’m just… trying to settle in.”
“Sounds familiar,” Anders nodded. “This place isn’t bad, if you like dark and cheap.”
A grin quirked on Hawke’s face. “I don’t mind dark and cheap, but I think I prefer pale and mysterious.” He looked Anders up and down, intention obvious.
Anders covered his cough with another sip. Had it really been so long, that he was blushing like a schoolgirl at the simplest suggestion? “I’m sure I’m not mysterious.”
“Oh, not at all. You just come here to enjoy the ambiance of this delightful bar, drink alone in the corner and people-watch, and then vanish into the night. And you have no last name. Nothing mysterious about that.” Hawke grinned and drank, leaning back against the booth comfortably.
Anders smirked a little, and shook his head. “I suppose it might be odd, but I’m just a private person, I guess.”
“And you’ve not made any friends and other company to keep you entertained, this entire time?”
“I don’t really have the time. I… work, almost every day, and then I spend time volunteering. It’s all very boring.” He looked Hawke over, feeling more comfortable and yet on edge as old habits started to kick in, urging him to tease and compliment the handsome man before him. He wondered idly if Hawke would find someone else to talk to that night, someone else to go home with who could suit his needs.
His expression must have betrayed his thoughts, as Hawke leaned forward again, forcing him to look up. “It sounds dreadful. Maybe you haven’t found the right company? I’d be happy to make your life less boring.”
“I wonder what your particular brand of ‘exciting’ entails.” Anders smiled coyly and ignored the voice in his head chastising him for his behaviour.
“Oh? I thought this was just a conversation.” Hawke didn’t wait for him to answer. “Would you like to come home with me then? I wonder how you’d like it. On your knees? Or… me on mine?” His gaze trailed over Anders’ face, noting how his mouth opened slightly, and yet he didn’t object. “I think I’d prefer to be on my back for you.”
Anders pursed his lips, eyes narrowing. He’d laid the ground rules; if Hawke thought him a cocktease, it would be his own fault. “You’re looking to be taken, then?” he asked lightly.
“Either way, but… you look like a man who’d give it to me nice and rough.” Hawke tilted his head, considering this pretty, intriguing blond who apparently didn’t want to be taken home but still encouraged him to say dirty things. He wondered how far he could go. “Would you push me down on your bed?” he purred, voice dropping. “On my stomach? Hold me down with a hand between my shoulders and slick your fingers inside me?”
A spike of lust caught Anders by surprise, and he shifted uncomfortably, images he thought he’d left behind teasing at his imagination. Still, old habits died hard, and he lifted his chin, raising an eyebrow. “Such filthy things you say to a perfect stranger,” he chided. “One might think you were trying to get a rise out of me.”
Hawke chuckled. “A rise, indeed,” he said. “Is it working?” He took a sip of his beer and waited for Anders to respond, eyes glinting over the rim of his pint glass.
“If I say ‘no’, will you keep trying?” Anders smirked, but rising feelings of guilt were starting to overpower his curiosity. He licked his lips nervously, then realized that would probably only encourage Hawke. It seemed there was no easy way out of this; part of him regretted letting this conversation get as far as it had, but the other part missed this, the easy back-and-forth of flirting, feeling desired, thinking of all the ways hands and lips could draw sensation over skin.
Hawke drained the rest of his glass in one go, then braced his elbows on the table and leaned towards Anders, a dangerous smile on his face. “I’d much rather you said ‘yes.’ Or, rather, made me say ‘yes.’ Or ‘please,’ or ‘more,’ or ‘fuck, harder, Anders, yes, fuck me like you own me.’” His voice was dark, silky, perfectly sinful, and that was it; this was too much, and Anders was a fool for letting it get this far.
Anders’ hands shook as he set his glass down and pulled himself out of the booth. “I… I’m sorry. I have to go. It’s…” He didn’t look at Hawke, he was too ashamed to do so, and didn’t even finish his thought before turning and leaving.
Hawke’s good mood evaporated in an instant, pulling himself upright with a frown and a twist in his stomach. Well, shit. He’d pushed too hard, like usual. Swearing, he pushed his empty glass away, clinking against Anders’ abandoned one, and dropped his forehead into his hand.
The images simply would not leave him alone. Anders was still frustratingly aroused by the time he got home, and he slammed the door to his apartment harder than he’d intended. Pressing his forehead to the cool wood, he sighed, trying to ground himself with a grip through his shirt on the amulet of St. Kristoff. That man. That infuriating, tempting man who caught his imagination by saying the most lustful things, and the way his voice had dropped when he begged...
Garrett Hawke probably thought the worst of him, now, thought of him as an unstable tease who got in over his head because he didn’t know what he could handle, and then left rudely without a word. Even the thought of Hawke’s rejection couldn’t quiet him, and Anders groaned, resisting the urge to slip a hand down his trousers, just to relieve some of the ache. Maybe a cold shower would help, or slipping off to his clinic in Darktown to do some work.
He did neither of those things, and instead sank into the torn couch, recently rescued from a nearby dumpster, and picked up the book resting on the coffee table. A bit of reading to distract his uncontrollable thoughts. Maker, how had he let this happen? How had he let himself be swayed so easily to temptation?
It was another hour before Anders felt himself calm enough to try to sleep, and after saying his nightly devotions, he crawled into bed, still thinking of the way those brown eyes sparkled at him.