feed me, mememore (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
sneaks) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
bakerstreet2017-01-13 08:42 am
sneaks) wrote in bakerstreet2017-01-13 08:42 am
(Less interested in the kinds of firsts that imply established long-term relationships here, although I can probably swing first anniversary with canonmates. Cross-canon welcome. No Wardens, please.)
[They've been dancing around each other for a while now -- or at least, Hawke has. He still isn't sure if Jon is feeling the same but that's neither here nor there at the moment.
What is here and there in the current moment is their shared state of shirtlessness. Hawke might be an extremely proficient mage, unparalleled if you ask him, but his ego is the last thing that needs stroking. The point is, he knows and understands the need of being physically capable of defending himself should the need arise. So once it became clear that both he and Jon were stuck in this nondescript medieval mashup fortress for a while, he'd started inviting the other man to spar slash wrestle with him to exercise and burn off energy.
(This was a mistake, if only because as they grew closer, so did Hawke grow fonder.)
Their latest wrestling match has come to an end and they stand separated by a short distance. Hawke's hands rest on his thighs as he catches his breath, a trickle of blood running down his face from where he'd accidentally been headbutted in the nose. As he stares at Jon, his breathing ragged and heavy from exertion, he comes to a decision. It's certainly not a wise decision, or even remotely smart, but Hawke knows what he wants. With determination plain across his face, his fingers hook in the waistband of Jon's breeches and tug him closer; Hawke closes the rest of the distance between them and -- shyly, at first, growing bolder by the second, catches Jon's lips in a kiss.]
What is here and there in the current moment is their shared state of shirtlessness. Hawke might be an extremely proficient mage, unparalleled if you ask him, but his ego is the last thing that needs stroking. The point is, he knows and understands the need of being physically capable of defending himself should the need arise. So once it became clear that both he and Jon were stuck in this nondescript medieval mashup fortress for a while, he'd started inviting the other man to spar slash wrestle with him to exercise and burn off energy.
(This was a mistake, if only because as they grew closer, so did Hawke grow fonder.)
Their latest wrestling match has come to an end and they stand separated by a short distance. Hawke's hands rest on his thighs as he catches his breath, a trickle of blood running down his face from where he'd accidentally been headbutted in the nose. As he stares at Jon, his breathing ragged and heavy from exertion, he comes to a decision. It's certainly not a wise decision, or even remotely smart, but Hawke knows what he wants. With determination plain across his face, his fingers hook in the waistband of Jon's breeches and tug him closer; Hawke closes the rest of the distance between them and -- shyly, at first, growing bolder by the second, catches Jon's lips in a kiss.]
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