[Dragon Age AU. Fenris keeps a lighthouse. Anders is shipwrecked, no memory of his past. This takes place later, because I write backwards.]

They fall into a routine after that. Fenris wakes early and takes his customary walk along the beach. He picks up smooth stones and bits of glass, contemplates the way the sand and waves wear down them both equally, and the myriad of things that can be washed onto the shore. He breathes deep and practices relaxing the muscles of his face at the thought of the man up the cliff, nameless and homeless and suddenly sharing his space. He doesn’t mean to scowl at him, but he likes his privacy and his quiet, and the man—Anders, they’d decided on—disrupts both.

When Fenris returns, Anders is always up, already brewing tea and fussing. He mutters and hums softly to himself, and Fenris wonders if he’s trying to fill up the space in his head with movement and sound.

They have tea, and Anders fidgets across the table and Fenris has to keep himself from reaching out and stilling his hands.

After, Fenris spends time maintaining the lighthouse or the bit of property. Anders reads. Or takes his own walk. Sometimes he brings a chair out into the small garden and stares out to sea, as though across its span and in its depths he can find the answers he seeks. If Fenris is honest, he understands this feeling.

They break at midday for a small meal. If Anders has been sitting outside, he’s quiet. If he’s been reading, he’s not. The more this routine goes on, the more Fenris doesn’t mind the chatter. He’s read all of the books he owns, and while they may not always agree upon them, the discussion is always…rousing.

In the afternoon, it depends. Some days they pull out a map and study the jagged demarcation between land and sea, follow lines of longitude to foreign lands. Contemplate where Anders has come from, where he’s been. They don’t discuss, yet, where he’s going to. Anders is still healing, still unsteady on his feet.

After dinner, the sun setting over the water, Anders’ face softened with the day, his voice rough from talking (as though he is trying to make up for lost time), Fenris can admit he tolerates the company.

Doesn’t mind it.

Likes it.

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.”

Anders/Fenris Snippet

Anders already looks wrecked.  His eyes are dark and fathomless, his skin flushed.  There is blood smeared across his mouth, blood Fenris tastes on his own tongue, metallic and foreign.  On his cheeks, Fenris can still feel the burn of Anders’ stubble.  Against his hip, Anders is already hardening.  Reaching down, Fenris cups him, watches as his head tips back, his eyes closing even as his mouth falls open around a moan that makes Fenris’ own cock twitch.


“We’ve already established how bad we are with words,” he says.  He squeezes Anders’ once before letting him go, waiting for Anders to open his eyes and look at him before continuing.  “But I will take you home and fuck you until you take leave of your senses if you say the word.”

Anders blinks at him, once, and licks his bottom lip, a slow drag of tongue Fenris can’t help but follow.

“I think,” Anders says, his voice so rough Fenris barely recognizes it, “we’ve already done that.  Yes.”