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Step 1: Anders. Step 2: Hawke's Dick. Step 3: Profit.

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During summer in Kirkwall, the only real way to have fun is to have a friend with a pool. Varric, luckily, is that friend; his house has been open every weekend, only asking for beer and food in payment for the break from the heat. Anders has been sunburned only once during their gatherings, which is a miracle considering his complexion. Though the sun is getting lower in the sky, he’s still smearing sunscreen on under the patio umbrella when Isabela thrusts her phone in front of his face.

Look,” she says earnestly. The glare makes it hard to see the screen, so Anders wipes his hand and takes it from her. She leans in to join him, skin smelling of coconut. “Remember last week?"

Anders doesn’t have to ask “Which part?” because he knows she’s referring to the discovery of a forgotten hula hoop in Varric’s shed, and how they all laughingly took turns trying to spin it. And then Hawke took a try, and despite the jokes about him not being able to fit due to his musculature, he managed fairly well. Anders remembers it being much more than “fairly well” for personal reasons, and when Isabela plays the video she recorded of a zoomed-in view of Hawke’s hips gyrating, he’s immediately hypnotized all over again.

“That’s not the best part.” Isabela taps an option, and the video slows, and so does Hawke’s movements; it turns from something alluring to something downright obscene, the man’s abs taut and bronze in the sun, the trail of dark hair leading into his swim trunks somehow much more tempting than it normally is. Then her pink-speckled nail draws Anders’ attention to the trunks themselves, and the visible lift as Hawke’s hips rock back, and Anders realizes that...

...that his long-time crush is ridiculously hung, and he swallows a whimper and manages a weak, “Maker."

“I bet he knows how to use it, too, just look at those hips.” Isabela says conspiratorially, patting his arm. “Already shared the video with you. You can watch it to your little heart’s content.”

“You’re a saint,” Anders says, eyes still wide when Merrill comes over to see what they’re looking at.

“Oh, is this another cat video? You find the funniest ones, Anders… oh.” The girl stares as the video replays automatically, then puts her hand to her mouth. “Oh my.”

From the pool, Varric takes that moment to scold them, just as Hawke rounds the corner, clad in those same swim shorts. “What are you kids doing now?”

Anders nearly throws the phone at Isabela. “Nothing!” he says, clearing his throat and trying very hard not to look at Hawke’s crotch. He mostly succeeds.

Isabela smiles and drapes herself across a lounger chair, waving her phone at them. “Showing Anders my blackmail of Hawke from last week. He’s impressed with your massive talent.”

Varric snorts and says, “Phrasing,” but Hawke just matches Isabela’s wicked grin. Anders swears he can feel Hawke’s gaze behind his sunglasses, and gets up quickly with a nervous laugh, jumping in the pool to cool his blood.

The afternoon passes with mercifully little other embarrassment on Anders’ part, and he’s certain that Hawke has forgotten Isabela’s comment with how casually normal the man acts. He couldn’t help himself from stealing glances at Hawke even before becoming blessed with this dark knowledge; now he’s surprised that he can even concentrate on playing water tag.

Or maybe he can’t, because Fenris tags him in the shoulder a little harder than he has to, which jars him away from daydreaming about strong arms holding him up against a wall. “You’re it. Wake up and play or get out of the pool.”

“You’re so competitive,” he replies, then closes his eyes and counts ten. He hears Merrill’s giggling to his right and moves in that direction, trying to gauge her position by the sound of splashing. Fenris and Isabela call out taunting to further distract him, and he wonders why he can’t hear Hawke doing the same until from behind him there’s a loud, “I’ll save you, Merrill!” and Anders opens his eyes with a shriek because he’s suddenly in the air and inhaling quick before Hawke pitches him back into the water.

Part of him can’t even be upset, and it’s the same part that flails out and gets a handful of Hawke’s firm ass as he surfaces, grinning at the surprised yelp his friend gives. Flipping hair from his eyes, Anders says, “You’re it."

“Ooh, I missed it, do it again!” Isabela calls out.

Hawke isn’t mad; he grins and grabs Anders’ wrist lightly as if he expects another grope. “Nope, not without dinner first.”

Anders laughs, a little forced with how dizzy the show of Hawke’s strength has left him. “I brought cookies, does that count?"

“Maybe as dessert.” The grip around his wrist tightens, urging him closer, close enough to feel Hawke’s breath and watch water trail enticingly down his neck. “Anything else to offer?"

And wow, this teasing is different now, this is up-close-and-personal and Anders doesn’t know if Hawke is fully joking or not, but the flippant reply that he should give comes out as a whimper instead, and he doesn’t even think to pull away. Hawke’s lips quirk, almost a smile, and holds him steady.

Until Fenris hits Hawke upside the head with a pool noodle for failing to adhere to the sanctity of the game, which means Anders is forgotten in the wake of Hawke’s vengeance, and a very comical version of a swordfight with pool toys ensues.

He and Hawke continue their strange dance around each other for the rest of the afternoon, full of friendly touches and glances that linger a bit too long; something has changed, but Anders is too nervous to initiate or ask about it. He’s always been one to brush off teasing and flirting from Hawke, thinking himself incredibly out of his league, and perhaps he’s just too hopeful and reading into their interactions.

Once it’s dark, the group gradually moves to Varric’s comfortable outdoor lounge to eat and relax. Anders tries not to look at Hawke more than normal, still trying to figure out what’s going on. Maybe it’s sunstroke, he thinks, sipping the appallingly strong margarita Isabela made for him. He’s spent too much time outside, and is starting to get delusions. He settles into the cushions he’s laying on and idly listens to some work conversation between Hawke and Isabela. Varric heads inside to finish up a project, and Anders doesn’t realize he’s starting to doze off until Hawke clears his throat.

Everyone else has vanished, and it’s just the two of them. It feels almost romantic out here, with only some string-lights and the gentle blue glow of the pool to see by, the air still and heady with lingering summer heat. This shouldn’t be as alarming as it is, Anders thinks, instantly alert. A small part of him adds that it shouldn’t be so arousing, either, and he swallows nervously.

“You tired?” Hawke asks, setting his beer down. He’s changed into different shorts, but they’re no less distracting. “Did Izzy’s drink knock you out?”

Anders shakes his head. “No, I’m alright.”

“Good.” Hawke stands and walks to him slowly like he’s approaching a nervous animal. The man looms for a moment, looking him over with such intensity that Anders is sure Hawke can hear his heart pounding. He moves to get up but Hawke crouches down first, a strong hand resting on his shoulder, keeping him in place. Hawke’s thumb brushes the collar of his teeshirt and he can’t even gasp, he doesn’t dare move.

“Say the word,” Hawke says quietly, dark eyes locked with his, “and I’ll back off.”

It’s almost as if Anders has been given permission to think again, and the first word that slips out is a breathless, “Don’t.” He realizes his error as soon as Hawke’s expression clouds, and he rushes to grab the man’s arm before Hawke can pull away. “No, wait, don’t… don’t back off. Please,” he adds when Hawke grins dangerously, and then that large hand clenches and pushes Anders back, down against the cushions, so forcefully it nearly knocks the breath from him.

Hawke is so solid above him, hard and hot everywhere Anders can reach, fingers sliding blindly across Hawke’s chest and down to feel those lovely abs as he’s kissed with what feels like as much pent-up longing as Anders has himself. Teeth graze his tongue, one hand sliding up behind his head and gripping his hair, and he moans against Hawke’s mouth as the other hand moves between them to pull Anders’ shirt up.

Obediently, Anders raises his arms, but Hawke only tugs it up enough to free his head, arms still trapped in the fabric. In a tantalizing display of strength he's flipped over, helpless with his hands pinned to his chest. Maker, he doesn't think he's ever been so hard so fast before, and all he can do is nod when Hawke asks, “Is this what you want?” He's so eager for anything, fuck, just the thought of Hawke's hands, tongue, cock make his mouth water.

Anders bites back his surprised noise as his jeans and underwear are tugged unceremoniously down to his thighs. He arches his back, rocking against the cushion and Hawke laughs quietly. “Eager?”

“Three years is a fucking long time to wait,” Anders replies breathlessly, and then immediately regrets it, blood running cold when Hawke's hands stop their path across his hips.

There's silence for a few moments while Anders curses himself for ruining the mood, but then Hawke's pulling his hips up, ass in the air. “Can't believe I could have been doing this years ago,” Hawke murmurs. Before Anders can process that, he feels Hawke's beard against his cheeks and a warm, wet mouth against his hole. He bucks and mewls at the first stroke of Hawke’s tongue, vainly trying to cover his mouth because he knows he's going to scream otherwise, shaking and trying to muffle his noises against the cushion.

Hawke doesn't stop, even when Anders starts whispering (he hopes it’s whispering, could be shouting for all he knows, dazed with pleasure, Andraste’s tits, Hawke is good with his tongue), “Fuck me, fuck me, please, oh Hawke, please fuck me,” and it's only when he tries to rock back against that evil mouth and the tongue pressing against him, into him, that Hawke grips Anders’ hips hard to hold him still.

Hawke's growl ricochets through him as nails dig in. “Not done yet.” Anders whines again, aching from the sharp pricks of pain and Hawke’s utter control over him. His cock jerks against the cushion and fuck, how is he so close to coming already?

Anders keeps shakingly murmuring, “Please,” Hawke groaning and working his lips wetly against him like the man can't get enough (and neither can he, it's so good he doesn't even care that he's drooling all over the cushions). He's practically getting fucked by Hawke's tongue, pinned by unyielding hands as Hawke rims him within an inch of his life, but it's not enough, he’s seen the evidence and needs that huge cock inside of him.

Apparently Anders actually put that into words without realizing it; Hawke makes a noise that's absolutely feral and bites a bruising mark into Anders’ ass cheek. “You sure you can take it?”

“I can, I want it, please please,” Anders manages, trying to meet the man’s eyes over his shoulder, but Hawke’s looking away, grabbing Isabela’s coconut oil, of all things.

The fierce façade breaks and he chuckles. “Left it out, ‘just in case’,” he says with a grin. “She's devious.”

“She's wonderful,” Anders corrects breathlessly. That reminds him that they're doing this in Varric’s backyard, and he reluctantly says, “Wait, maybe we shouldn't, the others - ”

“- Were told to fuck off. Isabela took Fenris and Merrill, and Varric is still working.”

Hawke gets him on his back with another cushion under his ass, jeans thrown carelessly aside and arms still tangled in his shirt. He lets Anders pull him down for a hard kiss, then sits back on his heels, narrowing his eyes when Anders tries to free himself; it's all the order Anders needs, and he swallows thickly and stretches his arms above his head. He realizes that Hawke could tell him to do most anything right now and he would obey without question, as long as it meant getting fucked. That thought should probably be worrying, but logic is quickly silenced when Hawke gets to his feet again, eyes raking over Anders with an incredibly smug expression as he undoes his fly, the vain ass. 

Then again, maybe his pride is justified; Anders can't help whining when Hawke's shorts slide down his hips and his cock is revealed, hard and huge and as glorious as the rest of him. Fuck, it's long, and as thick as Anders’ wrist, and his hips jerk unconsciously when Hawke grips it, fingers barely closing around the shaft, idly stroking down the heavy length. Anders doesn't know how in the world he'll manage it but he wants it in him. 

“Fuck,” he breathes, spreading his legs. “Hawke.

It’s not gentle, the way Hawke determinedly works him open, clicking his tongue when he slides a second finger in. “I don’t know if I’ll fit,” he says, half-joking. It doesn’t slow his hand, thrusting as deep as he can go, twisting his fingers while Anders writhes helplessly.

“You... you will, please, I want you.” His heels dig into the rug as he listens to the slick noises between his legs, and he tries to rock onto Hawke’s hand. The other man’s having none of that though, and grabs one leg behind the knee, bending it up and back, spreading him wider for a third finger.

Anders can’t even think anymore, he’s too consumed with need, his cock slick and throbbing against his belly. He nearly comes from the stretch of four strong fingers inside of him, angled just right, it’s a miracle he doesn’t. “Please please please fuck me!”

Hawke curses harshly, withdrawing his hand, and Anders is pleased by his stuttered breathing; Hawke isn’t unaffected by this. Oil slicks over that lovely cock and there’s a chilling moment of uncertainty when it presses against his hole (Maker, he’s never taken anything so big before). But Hawke looking up at him for permission, that dazed smirk on his face, that soothes him, and he nods eagerly.

And then he nearly screams and clenches his teeth, back arching; the pressure, the stretch, fuck it hurts, and Hawke is murmuring to him soothingly and he tries to relax and remember to breathe because he wants it so badly, but oh Maker, this might kill him. His fingers twist together over his head and he closes his eyes, trying to focus on how good it’ll be after this, this pain covering the bone-deep echo of pleasure. He breathes in a gasp as the head of Hawke’s dick finally slides inside, and lets out a full-body shudder that has both of them moaning.

Anders nods at Hawke’s inquiry, manages to breathe enough to pant, “Slowly,” and arches with a whimper when Hawke presses hesitantly, carefully further.

“You sure?” There's such concern in Hawke's voice that he hesitates himself, until the man shifts and starts withdrawing. Anders keens and tightens his legs around Hawke's waist, desperate.

“Don't stop, Maker, don't you dare stop,” he babbles, squeezing around Hawke's dick with another shudder. “I can take it, just… Slowly ”

Hawke groans low in his throat and rocks his hips in a slow, steady rhythm, Anders making high-pitched, breathless noises that will absolutely embarrass him later as he's opened achingly slowly around Hawke's massive cock. He can feel every inch as it slides into him, Hawke's muscles straining with the effort of holding himself back, and just the idea of that tightly wound control snapping and Hawke pounding into him mercilessly has Anders tensing again - but not with pain.

“Ah- ah- wait!” he cries, and Hawke stops instantly, Anders clenching around his thick length and tossing his head, legs shaking. “I'm.. Oh fuck.” His cock jerks, precum spilling onto his stomach.

“Maker,” Hawke breathes. “You want it, don't you?”

Anders can't answer in words as he's suddenly so close without even a hand on himself, his entire body tense, only whimpering when Hawke trails his thumb over the smear of fluid on his belly. He finally exhales, winded, aching in every way. “You're so big, I can't…”

“Then why do you sound like you're gonna come?” Hawke asks smugly, hand teasing further downward. “You like it that much? Getting split in half by my cock?”

Andraste help him, it's all Anders can do not to buck his hips and fuck himself on it. He whimpers and writhes, tears leaking as he shuts his eyes tight to try and focus on anything but the hot, huge cock working its way inside him and Hawke's muscles flexing, fingers wrapped in the fabric of his damned shirt so that he doesn’t reach up and tear Hawke's shoulders to shreds. He doesn't realize his name is being called until a hand grabs him by the chin, his eyes flying open, Hawke pinning him with the heat in his gaze.

“Look at me,” he growls, breath heavy, licking his lips. “Want to watch you take it.”

The next slow thrust is all it takes, thick length rubbing unavoidably against his prostate. Anders comes with his eyes locked to Hawke's, curling forward with a cry as he shudders and spills, incoherent syllables mixing with gasping breaths as he clenches around Hawke's dick, dimly aware of the sharp curse in his ear.

He's still trembling when Hawke kisses him, hard and hungry and stealing what's left of his breath. At his whimper for air Hawke breaks the kiss to nuzzle against Anders’ cheek, beard scraping his skin. "Can you take more? Because I'd really like to fuck you now," he murmurs.

Anders’ legs tighten; he'll ache for days and he's already so sensitive, but there's nothing in him that wants this to stop, he's too far gone, lost in the sensation of Hawke surrounding him. "If you stop I might cry.”

A grin breaks across Hawke's face. “You're fucking perfect, you know that?”

It's so casual and earnest, and Anders can't help but smile in return, emotion threatening to choke him even as he acknowledges how ridiculous the situation is, that Hawke would say something so endearing while Anders has his arms bound over his head, as he's in the middle of getting fucked into oblivion.

And then the warmth turns into searing heat when Hawke trails his fingers in the mess on Anders’ stomach and pulls out to slick his cock with it. He only has time to whine pitifully at how empty he suddenly feels before Hawke thrusts in again, newly slick with his own cum, and Anders’ arousal builds again like it never even faded.

Hawke is patient and determined, grinding his cock deeper and deeper with every movement. Anders feels like it never ends and he doesn't know if he wants it to end, it's so fucking much and he’s so full he has trouble breathing but each short gasp comes with heat searing across his skin. Above him, Hawke’s muscles flex and tremble with cautious restraint; he’s muttering something over and over, low and dark, and it takes Anders a moment to hear him over the blood pounding in his ears. “That’s it, baby, you can do it, almost there...”

“Oh fuck!” Anders whines and finally, finally, Hawke’s buried in him to the hilt, balls deep and throbbing with heat. He can hardly think, he doesn’t even dare move, body taut as a bowstring and shaking as Hawke lets out a groan and nuzzles against his neck. He’s never felt so full, so stretched open, so claimed in his life. Everything burns and he never wants it to stop. “P-Please, oh, I can’t…”

“You can’t?” Hawke teases, breath against his ear, teeth catching his earlobe for the briefest second, so sharp compared to the raw ache of the rest of him that he squeaks in surprise. “You did, you took it so well. You feel fucking amazing, Anders.”

There’s a strong possibility that Anders won’t ever be able to speak again after this, as it seems all he can do is make eager, embarrassing noises as he clenches around Hawke’s dick, and he tosses his head desperately. “Please!” he begs, and Hawke growls, low and dangerous.

Anders’ toes curl as Hawke rocks his hips back, dizzy at how that thick cock pulls against his rim (and he has a fleeting, hysterical thought that he’ll definitely be able to assure Isabela that Hawke knows how to use it), and then Hawke thrusts, fucking into him with steady, slow precision, and all he can do is take it. 

It's fiercely gentle, the way Hawke fucks him, less like he's being careful and more like… like he thinks Anders is something to be adored, savored, worshipped; it's enough to make a man mad, that look on Hawke's face as he fucks him open, all savage longing and desire. Hawke’s thumb runs over his bitten bottom lip and he automatically opens his mouth for it, tasting his own cum, fuck. His noises aren't coherent anymore, haven’t been for a long time, gasping and moaning and begging in syllables around the finger between his lips, filled so impossibly full and pinned down by Hawke's strong body.

Maker help him, he wants more, harder, he doesn't care if he'll be limping tomorrow, he needs it. Anders arches helplessly into the next thrust, urging Hawke deeper, and laps at Hawke's thumb as he grinds onto his dick. There's another delicious growl, Hawke's teeth bared, restraint cracking as he stops holding back and finally fucks him. That huge cock thrusts so deep he swears he can taste it, and Anders wails.

And Hawke, the devious, evil man, lets his thumb slip from Anders’ mouth and places his hand on Anders’ slick, taut belly, groaning low in his throat. “You're so full of my cock, I can feel it when I fuck you.”

A pained noise escapes Anders as he arches, the thought alone almost enough to undo him. Hawke's hand wraps around his cock and he shouts, Hawke's name and whatever desperate words his mind can conjure: “Yes, so good, give it to me, fill me up, please!”

A few more savage thrusts and Hawke grunts, thrusting so deep it hurts, cock throbbing in the tight clench of Anders body and he swears he can feel it from the inside when Hawke comes, hot and filthy and fucking filling him. He clutches desperately at Hawke's chest, arms still caught in fabric, riding the edge of pain as Hawke's grip tightens until he chokes on a scream, coming hard, milking Hawke's massive dick as they both shudder.

Hawke’s weight collapses onto Anders’ chest and he gasps, entire body raw and overstimulated, but he still holds Hawke close, as close as he can, fucked out, shivering, still so full. It's worth the discomfort, all of it; Hawke kisses him, sweet and careful, and nothing else matters.

“Fuck,” he whimpers breathlessly as Hawke breaks away, tensing as the man tries to withdraw. “Don't, stay in me,” he says without thought, despite the ache.

“You're shaking,” Hawke scolds. He brushes damp hair from Anders forehead and places a kiss on his brow. “You act like this is the only time I'll be fucking you tonight.”

Despite the shudder of heat that runs through him at Hawke’s words, Anders starts to protest that he can't possibly endure that again, he'll need at least a day to recover properly and doesn't know if he can even walk, and then he latches on to the promise of this not being a one-time event, heart fluttering. “Just tonight?”

“Tonight, tomorrow, next week, next month…” Hawke says with a grin. “Maybe a proper bed from now on, though.”

“And less coconut,” Anders adds, nose wrinkling. He'll never be able to smell it again without thinking of Hawke's dick.

Which was probably Isabela’s plan all along, but it's a small price to pay.