The Unintended Consequences of Morning

Daybreak filtered slowly into the room, and Anders slowly became conscious, a little at a time, awakening to the feel of a hot mouth wrapped around his already-throbbing knob. There was only one person who ever woke him up like that, and it was eight times in a row. Which meant he was back at the Keep. A smile touched his face. The Keep. Oh, thank fuck. Because he'd been having the worst nightmare.

"Mmm, starting early Zev? What's Luke going to say?" Anders didn't open his eyes. He didn't need to.

Until the lips slid off him, and the wrong elf answered him. "Yes, indeed, what is Luke going to say, that you're still dreaming of his beloved all these years later?"

And then Anders was completely awake. This? This was not the Keep. This was the latest in Kirkwall Murder Mansion chic. And that was Fenris lying between his legs.

"Andraste's flaming sword!" Anders gulped air, hands fluttering. "I just — I'm so sorry. I was having a dream, and — You're the second person to ever wake me up like that, and I just—" thought I was home. Thought none of this had really happened. "— thought you were the first."

"Hawke doesn't…?" Fenris could find fewer and fewer reasons that Anders put up with Hawke.

"Hawke doesn't wake up before me. You can thank Justice. Or all the time on the run." Anders just looked bitter and horribly sad, and Fenris could tell it was nothing to do with Hawke.

"And I ran, too, so neither of us sleep," Fenris joked. "This is not the mood I meant to wake you in."

"This isn't the mood I meant to wake in. We're even." Anders rubbed his face and stared at the ceiling. "This isn't like you. What brought this on?"

Fenris shrugged and looked at the fire. "I like the way you taste. Isabela was teaching me to read one of Varric's books again, and … I should know better than to take ideas from Varric's books."

"What? No, it's a great idea. I love it. I just thought I was somewhere else." Anders covered his face with both hands, thumbs hooked under his chin, and breathed slowly.

"Perhaps I should be glad you don't associate me with this. If Hawke did wake before you…"

Anders choked on a laugh and moved his hands so he could breathe while laughing. "You asshole."

"Well, you do like fucking me."

"Are you going to put your mouth back around my knob, or are you going to lie there all morning taking the piss?"

"Hmm, decisions, decisions. Both are such tempting choices," Fenris purred, affecting wide-eyed innocence.

"Seriously, Fenris, if you're not sucking me off, I've got a clinic to run." The world was crashing down around him again, with the light of day.

"Do you want me to shut up that nagging voice and keep you in bed until noon? All you have to do is ask."

All you have to do is ask… Anders turned an unpleasant shade of pale. He'd heard words like those in too many stories. Demons, elven gods, swamp spirits. "Fenris? Since we're having one of those extended mistaken identity moments, could you do that glowy thing for me?"

Fenris looked confused, but closed his eyes and took a deep breath, disjointing himself from the world. Anders wrapped a leg around Fenris's back, and brought Justice forward — much easier as distressed as he was, at the moment. The cracks and bolts of blue raced down his body toward Fenris, leaving a stronger Fade-glow, where they touched. After a few moments, Anders sighed with relief and choked back both the spirit and his own panic.

"I'm asking. I'm yours until noon, if you can shut it up."

"I thought you already asked?" Fenris looked even more confused, running one glowing hand along Anders's thigh, thumb tracing the stripes of spiral scar.

"I just needed to know you were really you, and not some demon or something. There's something wrong with today."

"And what demon would tempt you with me? I'm sure there are better choices." Fenris pressed in on that one spot that always seemed to loosen all of Anders's joints, completely avoiding the obvious joke about already-inhabited bodies.

Anders slumped bonelessly against the pillow, except for the leg still wrapped around Fenris's waist, which tensed expectantly. "And that's why you're the obvious choice. Why would I suspect you?"

"That may be just stupid enough to have some actual merit." The corner of Fenris's mouth tipped up.

"I'll take my points where I can get them," Anders sighed, as Fenris's tongue pushed under the edge of a scar, forcing the Fade-glow into his body. It lit along his nerves, at once comforting and erotic.

This was now, he was here, and he'd make the best of Kirkwall — and if Fenris and Hawke were the best of Kirkwall, he was doing well. Everything else could be worth it, for this. Fenris's mouth on his thighs reminded him that he enjoyed being alive, and when that mouth closed around his knob again, his leg finally relaxed, heel coming to rest just above Fenris's tailbone.

Anders sighed, softly, lip caught in his teeth, arms splayed on the pillow, by his head. One hand pinched and twisted his ear, the fingers of the other twined in his hair. Fenris's tongue nudged his foreskin back, and Anders's head tipped back against the pillow, a ghost of a smile on his face, as his entire body loosened further. He basked in Fenris's dim glow, in the feel of the Fade against his skin. Even Justice could be distracted like this, which honestly boded ill for Anders's survival, in the long run, but for now, it was a welcome silence.

Fenris's lips left him again, with a low sound of amusement. "If I didn't know you so well, I'd think you'd fallen asleep."

"I actually have fallen asleep with Hawke. It's like a long, beautiful dream I'm half-awake for. Just keep waking up and passing out, every couple of minutes. Warden stamina only goes so far, some days." Anders smiled dreamily, eyes closed.

"Sounds nightmarish," Fenris grumbled, licking his fingers. "And even Wardens need to eat. Maybe that's why you don't pass out on me — we have supper, first."

"You? You of all people telling me I should eat?" Anders laughed uproariously. "Suck my throbbing knob!"

"I believe that's what I was doing." The faintest hint of a smile touched Fenris's lips, as he shoved two unusually solid, spit-slick fingers into Anders. "But, I thought you might appreciate if I took the time to put my mouth to another use for a moment."

Anders's toes curled, and his heel dug in. Fenris tipped his hips back, the extra inch, until Anders's heel was right on the curve of his tailbone, and went back to sucking.

The room was nearly silent, but for the last settling of the fire from the night before, a few wet sounds, and the occasional sharp breath. Anders was devotedly soundless, and Fenris loved every tiny gasp and hiss he could draw out of the healer. He curled his fingers, and Anders choked off a noise. Fenris wondered, sometimes, what Anders would sound like, if he weren't so afraid to be heard. And Fenris wondered what he, himself, would fuck like if he weren't so revolted by touch. Some things he'd never know.

Fenris tapped that spot again, stroking it, and pressing in just at the end of each tiny sound Anders made, until the mage began to pant, bucking between his hand and his mouth. The only parts of Anders to tense were his face and his feet, heel grinding down against Fenris's tailbone. Fenris moaned, long and low, and then he was swallowing, again and again, as Anders spilled down his throat.

Anders laughed, as he started to come down. "Come up here and fuck me. Don't think I can't feel your ass flexing."

Fenris made an inquisitive sound, as he licked his way up and off of Anders's knob. "How much of me do you want inside you, mage?" He purred it and the sound was somewhere between a threat and a promise.

Below him, Anders shivered, eyes agleam. "As much of you as you'll put into me."

And, for a split second, Fenris very nearly asked, if that was how Anders ended up with Justice. Thankfully, he had the sense to realise the answer to the previous question would very rapidly become none, if he were to bring that up. He slid his fingers out and wiped them off on the sheet, before he hooked one of Anders's legs over his arm and leaned forward.

"Grease," he demanded, holding out his free hand.

Anders complied, calling up a small grease spell into Fenris's hand, and Fenris quickly applied it to them both, before lining himself up, and pushing just hard enough to tease.

"Tell me, mage, before you go all quiet on me again." If there was a thing Fenris had learnt to like, it was being desired, not demanded.

"Oh, fuck, Fenris, please." Anders made sure his voice cracked at the end. He'd learnt to beg so prettily, so long ago, but Fenris enjoyed it in a different way, and Anders loved to watch those big green eyes soften for him. "I want you on me and in me. Please, Fenris, please. I want you to grab me by the heart and fuck me. Take me, Fenris. Please."

Anders was so beautiful, when he begged, but that ragged edge of terror always crept into it, and that still bothered Fenris on so many levels. Bothered him even more the way it made him that much harder, but he still pushed in, slick and slow, watching Anders clutch at the sheets, as his breathing took on an almost meditative rhythm. One day, maybe Fenris would try it, find the appeal of that nearly unshakeable control, in a moment the mage had shown him was for letting go. (And, certainly, Varric's books agreed with that assessment.) But for now, this was the only time Fenris truly let go, and he cherished every second of fearless pleasure.

Fenris set a steady, smooth rhythm, as his fingers wandered Anders's scars, lingering on that dangerously ugly one that faced off one hip. This one was his favourite, with its pockmarks and the thick ridge where the torn muscle had been reworked and replaced, instead of reattached. It was a reminder that not all healing was done well. It was a potent insult to the old Imperium, in its own way, and to feel it on the body of a mage who understood the physical and philosophical implications of it could almost put a smile on Fenris's face. Almost.

He ground in hard, as he dipped a ghosted finger through the wicked scar in the middle of Anders's chest, and Anders purred, almost inaudibly, the sound caught in his chest.

"This?" Fenris asked pushing two fingers in, and gently brushing the scar below the surface.

Anders squeezed his eyes shut and nodded, grinding back against Fenris hard enough to earn a gasp.

"Do you want me to put my hand inside you — all the way into your chest — so I can feel the way your heart beats against my fingers?" Fenris asked, quietly, dipping his fingers in just far enough to tease.

"Yes," Anders hissed. "Please."

Nothing in the world could turn Fenris on quite as far or quite as fast as that. This mage begging to be touched on the inside, in places hands weren't supposed to go, in ways Fenris had a habit of killing people. Fenris bit his lip, to keep his focus, as he pushed his hand the rest of the way in and wrapped it around Anders's pounding heart. His own breathing grew erratic as Anders met his every thrust, squeezing, and that warm heart kept time against his fingertips.

And then, Fenris squeezed back, gently, and Anders's hips lifted off the bed as he spattered his chin, the ends of his hair, his chest, Fenris's arm. And the only sound from Anders a raspy squeak, that settled back into panting, as he rolled his hips again, twisting them back, pulling Fenris down.

"Tell me," Fenris demanded, pounding in as hard and deep as he could get himself, hand still loosely curled around Anders's heart.

"Come for me," Anders pleaded, and from the look in his eyes, Fenris knew how much the mage wanted to grab him, to knead him, to hold him, but he couldn't — the magic in those hands was too much. Instead, Anders twisted the sheets. "Send me to work with you dripping down my thighs. Send me home to Hawke slicked up and full of you."

And that was the image that tipped Fenris over the edge. Hawke cleaning up after what he'd started. He knew Anders wasn't done. He knew Anders wasn't anywhere near done. Not after two. The man needed four or five, and the idea of him plying Hawke for the rest, with Fenris's seed still inside him — The world was reduced to a storm of golden glitter, blue light, and the heartbeat against his palm.

The heartbeat brought him back, and Fenris eased his hand out of Anders's chest. "Do something useful," he muttered.

Anders pulled the blanket between them, and Fenris untangled himself from Anders's leg, before collapsing onto it.

"One of these days, we're going to die like this," Fenris groaned, quietly.

"Yeah, but what a great way to go: fucked out and sweaty, wrapped around a man you can barely stand, out of bed. We'll be legends." Anders chuckled giddily. "I could go a few more…"

"Nnnngh," Fenris protested, pressing his face against the blanket and Anders's chest.

"Well, since you're so enthused, do you mind if I keep going without you?"

"I'm going to slip out, if you move." Fenris complained.

"Knock it off before I start to think you're sweet on me," Anders shot back.

"Well, I'm definitely on you."

Anders took that as a hint and licked Fenris's ear. "Salty. You're salty on me. In more ways than one."

Fenris lifted his head to say something and finally slipped out. Anything he might have meant to say left him. "Venhedis."

Anders made a small, disconsolate sound at the sudden emptiness, and then, "Move up. I'll wrap the blanket around you."

"With me on top of you." Didn't stop him from moving and wadding up the other pillow next to Anders's face, so he'd have somewhere to rest his head, while the mage finished himself off a few more times.

The blanket draped across his back, followed by an arm that stretched down across his thigh. "Why not?"

"You spoil me, mage. I'll get used to it."