On the ipad and asks are BOTHERSOME but…a DA2 Ian and Anders being unexpectedly domestic?
The small farmhouse lay snugly in the shadows of the thick forest, still not resettled after the ravages of the last blight. The fields were barren, the barn in ruins, but the house itself still stood solid. Smoke filtered out of the low chimney, and hints of light escaped the closed shutters. The forest ate both scents and lights within a hundred yards, leaving the isolated farmstead safe in its privacy.
Inside, the firelight lit up the small kitchen, smokier than it ought to have been since it was long since last time the chimney was used. The two men didn’t seem to mind though, maybe because the smoke hid the fact that neither of them had a chance to get clean in days.
“You do realize that we technically have a rebellion to run?” Anders was lounging at the table, meticulously cleaning dirt from the feathered coat he had shed in the sudden warmth of the kitchen. His blonde hair was tied back from his face, but enough strands had escape to make him reach up and brush them back now and then.
“Technically,” Hawke said with a shrug as he peeled another potato to put in the abandoned pot that they had found. Not for the first time he wondered whether it was proper etiquette to use the Bassrath-Kata for things like that, but the dagger was handier than his other weapons, and it wasn’t like he saw eye to eye with the Qunari these days anyway. “I’m sure they can manage without us for a few days.”
“I wonder…” A familiar frown descended on Anders’ face, causing Hawke to chuck a piece of potato at his forehead before he started thinking about work again. The resulting grimace made him light up in a teasing smile.
“Are you sure this is not just because you don’t want to eat my cooking?” He cut into one of the onions he had managed to scavenge, dumping that in the put as well. Even though the farm was abandoned, he had managed to find enough tubers still in the ground to make for a tasty stew, especially since the dried spices had not been considered worth looting. Sometimes, living like this took him back to his days on the farm back in Ferelden, before the world fell to pieces around him. What would his life had been like if they never had to flee? Probably a whole lot more boring, he quickly decided.
“Maker’s breath, Hawke, your cooking is fine.” Anders looked half exasperated, half amused, but at least he was smiling.
“That’s not what you said last time.” The squirrel went in with the potatoes, and Hawke had time enough to wipe his hands and saunter over to the table.
“Last time the kitchen ended up on fire!” The complaint was loud, but Anders looked slightly less pouty as the rogue dumped himself in his lap and threw an arm around his neck.
“You weren’t complaining then,” Hawke adjusted himself a little, just to make the mage under him squirm back. “That was the easiest way to deal with the inquisitors.”
“We had to sleep in the forest that night! Again!” Anders might be squirming, but he was far from mollified. “You promised me there would be no more doing that. What was it you said?” He lowered his voice into a fair approximation of Hawke’s lazy drawl. “We will run this war in a civilized manner!”
Hawke laughed and tried to interrupt the mage with a kiss, but Anders turned his head so it only grazed his stubbled chin.
“Civilized includes beds.” The finger that tapped Hawke’s chest turned into a soft caress. “And no, beds in caves doesn’t count. Or ruins.”
“I’m not the one you should complain to,” Hawke complained. “Take it up with the blighted inquisitor hot on our heels.”
“She was not the one who promised me a hot meal and soft bed tonight.” The mutual complains were silenced with a kiss, followed by a deeper one.
“She’s also not the one who promised to nail you into the mattress.” Hawke knew exactly how throaty his voice sounded, and if he hadn’t been as hungry as he was, he’d go looking for that mattress right then and there.
“If you can refrain from burning down the house until then.” Anders trailed his fingers up his side, little tendrils of green removing the aches and pains of a road too long and harsh.
“I make no promises,” Hawke said with a teasing grin. “Especially if you keep distracting me like that.”
Because that was sadly one truth about them both. Fire followed in their footsteps. At least out here they couldn’t burn anybody but themselves. And that, Hawke thought to himself, was sometimes the only thing you could ask for.