Thinking about Fenris and Anders’ hands. How Fenris doesn’t like to be touched, but likes Anders’ hands. Appreciates the beauty in the line of his fingers, the width if his palms. Appreciates, now, the power that flows through them, capable of healing or harming.

Thinking about Fenris waking in the middle if the night, the pain enough to drag him out of sleep. Of Anders turning to him, words unneeded, pressing careful fingers and palms against him, easing the pain where he can. Muttering soothing nothings as Fenris floats in the dark, everything else drowned out by the sound of Anders’ voice, the feel of his hands.

anonymous asked:

I woke up so i'm giving you more: its 4 in the morning, theres some guy shoveling the snow

Scratching his hip, Fenris pads into his kitchen, over to the stove. The read out above the burners glows 3:59 as he grabs the kettle. He’s been unable to sleep and had decided to exploit his insomnia by working on his book.

But first, tea.

He carries the kettle over to the sink and is beginning to fill it when he hears a noise outside.

Lifting up on his toes, Fenris scowls and peers out the window above the sink. Scowls harder when he sees a bundled figure in his front yard shoveling snow from his walkway. The sidewalk beyond him is cleared, as is the walkway to the neighboring house on the left. Having only moved in within the last month, Fenris still hasn’t met that neighbor. Hawke calls Fenris a hermit. Fenris argues he just doesn’t like people.

Aveline calls them both idiots.

Fenris sighs and puts the now full kettle on the stove, starts it boiling. Wraps his robe tighter around him. There’s no time like early morning to introduce himself, right?

The air bites at his bare ankles when he steps onto the porch and he shivers, crosses his arms. “Excuse me,” he calls to the figure in his yard. “Excuse me, hi. Wouldn’t it be better to wait until it stops snowing?”

The figure continues shoveling and then looks up, the streetlights—and the light on Fenris’ porch—revealing a man’s face. He’s attractive, jaw stubbled and strong, eyes friendly.

"Maybe," he says. "But then it would be that much harder."

Fenris tilts his head. “Do you often shovel stranger’s yards in the middle of the night?”

"You’re not a stranger," the man answers. He sounds a little breathless, breath a white cloud in the air. "You’re my neighbor. And it’s not the middle of the night, it’s early morning."

Fenris rolls his eyes, can’t help it. “As much as I appreciate it, you really don’t have to…?”

"Anders. And I know. I don’t mind. I used to do it for the couple who lived here. Habit and all that." He stops, close to Fenris on the front steps. There’s snow caught in the copper gold hair that peeks out from under his knit hat. His cheeks are flushed and his eyes are dark and Fenris feels something stir within him.

"I mean," Anders continues. "Unless you mind? I can stop. I mean, after tonight. I won’t leave it half done."

Fenris shakes his head. “I don’t mind,” he says. “But let me…I don’t know. I was just making a pot of tea? If you wanted to come in and, uh, warm up.”

Anders smiles, wide and bright. “Do you often invite strangers in for tea in the middle of the night?”

"You’re not a stranger," Fenris says, smirking. "You’re Anders. And I’m Fenris. And when you’re done with that, I’ll make sure you’re warmed up—I mean. Tea. I’ll make sure you have tea."

Anders smirks back at him, and Fenris rolls his eyes. Goes back inside. Figures writing can wait until later.

I just want to write epic “I’m so angry at you for putting yourself in that situation but so relieved you survived” Anders/Fenris kisses.

The kind with desperate hands and mouths.  The kind that leave bruises.  That need reassurance that the other is flesh and blood, living and breathing against them.  Fast and hard.  Sweep you off your feet, pin you to the wall kisses.

This is what I want.

Writing Update

- Posted the third part of Fenders fic last night:  Interference.

- Just finished typing up the fourth part (6000+ words, Fenris POV, explicit).

- I don’t know how many parts it’s going to be overall, but I do have it plotted out—thanks to several multi-hour long car conversations with cautionzombies—through the end of DA2 and beyond.

- Next part…the shit hits the fan.

- Have made a tag for the series here.

Anders/Fenris Snippet

“I can feel you when you do that, you know,” Anders says.  He’s bent over his pack, digging for a biscuit that’s somehow gotten loose.  Fenris is by the fire, occasionally stirring a pot—rabbit, he’d said, holding the animal up earlier.

“Do what?”

Anders looks over his shoulder.  Sure enough, Fenris is watching him.  He’s unreadable at the best of times, but the dancing shadows from the flames, the overhang of his hair, make it full impossible to tell what he’s thinking.  Probably something uncharitable.

“Watching me,” he says.  He finds the biscuit, turning to join Fenris across the fire.  “You’ve been doing it since.  Well.”  He feels himself blush, hopes that Fenris attributes it to the heat, and clears his throat.  “You know.”

Fenris nods and stirs the pot.  “I know.”

Anders wants to sigh or scream or knock the damned rabbit stew into the damned fire.  He’s been on tenterhooks waiting for retribution, and Fenris is…he’s…Anders doesn’t know what Fenris is anymore, to be honest.  He’d stopped hating him long ago, and maybe that had  been for Hawke, at first, but the more he’d found out about Fenris—gleaning pieces here and there—the more he’d understood.

He couldn’t not fight back, though.  Not when he’d been so specifically and viciously attacked.

Anders blows out a breath, takes a bite of his biscuit.  Watches the way Fenris’ unfathomable eyes follow the movement.  He wonders if he’ll die tonight, if he’ll have to fight for his life in this cave, or if maybe, maybe…

“You confound me.”

Anders snorts, almost choking.  “I confound you?  That’s rich.”

Fenris frowns and picks up a bowl.  Filling it with stew, he passes it across the fire.  His fingers when they brush Anders, are hot; Anders feels them like a brand.

“Eat,” he says, and serves himself.

Anders sighs, cursing under his breath.  “Fenris,” he says, “I—”

Fenris raises a hand.  “Perhaps it is better if we do not speak.”