[ Anders' tone is firm, and there isn't any give in it, just like the hand on Carver's shoulder is unflinching despite being the weaker of the two of them. His other hand carefully unbuckles his long coat, hoists up the skirt of the robes underneath until they're a tangle around his narrow waist. He's only half-hard, but his black trousers are tight enough that they outline every inch. ]
Get me out.
[ Anticipation hums through him. He can't remember the last time he had this — once or twice at the Wardens' camp, maybe, or earlier in Denerim. Certainly nothing since Justice. But the spirit is quiet now, darkly satisfied at the sight of a man in Templar armor on his knees. Which had been the theory they were supposed to be testing.
Not that he's going to stop. If Justice is actually going to shut up and let him have this, he's going to take it with both hands. That the Templar in question is Carver Hawke is just a bonus. When his dark lashes are lowered to hide his blue eyes, Anders could almost believe he's a beardless, younger Garrett. ]
[It's obvious, the way they look at each other. Carver hates when Garrett drags him out with Anders, how insistently the man presses him about mages, goes on about how good it is that he grew up with siblings like Bethany and Garrett.
What's worse, though, is how Anders no longer keeps behind the rest of the group, how he starts trailing close to Garrett like a puppy, hangs on his every word like it's gospel. When they go to the clinic, Garrett asks Carver to wait just outside, hears their hushed voices but can't quite make out what they're saying and something sour twists in his gut when they emerge, Anders smiling gently and Garrett clasping a hand to his shoulder, familiar and comfortable.
Anders is disgustingly infatuated, and Carver knows Garrett, knows how easily he could fall for him in turn and the thought makes him feel ill.
So this--humiliating as it is, to be at the mage's feet with no weapon at his back--is satisfying, in an ugly sort of way. Anders wants his brother, but his brother is at the elf's mansion, and Carver has always wanted what his brother has.
This will have to do.]
Is please not in your vocabulary? [Carver glowers up at him through his lashes, even as his fingers move to the fastenings on his trousers, trying not to fumble with them. He's never done this before, doesn't want to make that obvious to Anders, though he wonders whether he already knows. Whether he and Garrett have ever talked about him.]
[ Anders asks, sharp. He doesn't want to say please, doesn't want to beg, mostly because he doesn't want to give Carver the satisfaction. But despite the viciously enjoyable burn of cruelty, his hand is gentle when he reaches down and tousles Carvers hair. Whether it's affection or deliberately displacing his dark fringe so it falls differently is debatable.
It's probably better not to think about what Hawke would think if he saw them. Hawke trusts him to be a good man, and Anders knows that this might be betraying that trust, but honestly there are just things about him and his life Hawke can never know. Darkness that shouldn't touch him. ]
I'd like it a lot more if you kept your mouth full.
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[ Anders' tone is firm, and there isn't any give in it, just like the hand on Carver's shoulder is unflinching despite being the weaker of the two of them. His other hand carefully unbuckles his long coat, hoists up the skirt of the robes underneath until they're a tangle around his narrow waist. He's only half-hard, but his black trousers are tight enough that they outline every inch. ]
Get me out.
[ Anticipation hums through him. He can't remember the last time he had this — once or twice at the Wardens' camp, maybe, or earlier in Denerim. Certainly nothing since Justice. But the spirit is quiet now, darkly satisfied at the sight of a man in Templar armor on his knees. Which had been the theory they were supposed to be testing.
Not that he's going to stop. If Justice is actually going to shut up and let him have this, he's going to take it with both hands. That the Templar in question is Carver Hawke is just a bonus. When his dark lashes are lowered to hide his blue eyes, Anders could almost believe he's a beardless, younger Garrett. ]
no subject
What's worse, though, is how Anders no longer keeps behind the rest of the group, how he starts trailing close to Garrett like a puppy, hangs on his every word like it's gospel. When they go to the clinic, Garrett asks Carver to wait just outside, hears their hushed voices but can't quite make out what they're saying and something sour twists in his gut when they emerge, Anders smiling gently and Garrett clasping a hand to his shoulder, familiar and comfortable.
Anders is disgustingly infatuated, and Carver knows Garrett, knows how easily he could fall for him in turn and the thought makes him feel ill.
So this--humiliating as it is, to be at the mage's feet with no weapon at his back--is satisfying, in an ugly sort of way. Anders wants his brother, but his brother is at the elf's mansion, and Carver has always wanted what his brother has.
This will have to do.]
Is please not in your vocabulary? [Carver glowers up at him through his lashes, even as his fingers move to the fastenings on his trousers, trying not to fumble with them. He's never done this before, doesn't want to make that obvious to Anders, though he wonders whether he already knows. Whether he and Garrett have ever talked about him.]
no subject
[ Anders asks, sharp. He doesn't want to say please, doesn't want to beg, mostly because he doesn't want to give Carver the satisfaction. But despite the viciously enjoyable burn of cruelty, his hand is gentle when he reaches down and tousles Carvers hair. Whether it's affection or deliberately displacing his dark fringe so it falls differently is debatable.
It's probably better not to think about what Hawke would think if he saw them. Hawke trusts him to be a good man, and Anders knows that this might be betraying that trust, but honestly there are just things about him and his life Hawke can never know. Darkness that shouldn't touch him. ]
I'd like it a lot more if you kept your mouth full.