Title: Rhapsody in Ass Major – Chapter 2
Fandom: Dragon Age
Characters: Cormac Hawke ♂, Artemis Hawke ♂, Anton Hawke ♂, Anders ♂, Fenris ♂
Rating: E (L3 N4 S4 V0 D1)
Warnings: Drunken mayhem, teh gay, inadvertent magical encouragement, inadvertent exhibitionism/voyeurism
Notes: Drunken mayhem, loud sex, and Anton isn’t getting laid, which isn’t fair at all.
They had found something, at last. Older, the dwarves thought, than anything they knew. Anything found here wouldn’t just be old dwarf stuff, it would be the old dwarf stuff of legend. They set up a base camp, just outside the entrance, in an area that looked like it might once have held travelling merchants, like the outer courtyard of Orzammar still did. And once they all had settled, the celebratory drinking began. Even Anders managed to convince his more disapproving half that a couple of pints wouldn’t impair him substantially.
It must have been nearly dawn, when they finally lay down, most of both tents filled with people drifting in and out of consciousness, the time spent in like peering through a porthole in a storm, ghosts of things that could have been slapping against the edges of their vision, while the ground rolled beneath them. Cormac and Fenris took it well, both being practised drunks, and sat up a while longer playing at cards, before Cormac lost one hand too many, and stumbled off to collapse onto Anders, a few feet away. Fenris curled up where he was, to one side of the food chest, trying to ignore the drunken giggling that emanated from everywhere around him.
For his part, Artemis wasn’t sure who the warm body and jabby elbows beneath him belonged to, but he had a feeling they were related. The elbows were a little too pokey, he decided, so he rolled over onto his back and into Fenris’s spiky personal space.
"Hello," he said through a snicker before clapping a hand over his mouth. "Your spikes are pokey too." He tapped the edges of one of the aforementioned spikes to illustrate.
Fenris’ eyebrow crept towards his hairline. His lips twitched in a smirk. "Are they."
"Yes. I thought you should know."
Fenris took the hand that was still poking at his armor and placed against Artemis’s chest. "Thank you for informing me. How much did you drink?"
Artemis made a garbled sound that fell somewhere between "psssh" and "I dunno".
"Please don’t vomit on me," Fenris requested.
Halfway across the tent, Cormac and Anders were getting loud, each having had enough to drink that neither of them cared who heard. Or, apparently, who saw, considering that Anders had hiked Cormac’s robe up around his waist and was apparently in the process of swallowing his knob. Given the bit of a show Cormac had given a few days before, there would almost have to be swallowing involved, at that angle.
Fenris tried to keep his eyes on Artemis, but what—? No. He was not looking. Being aware of the vague shapes moving outside his field of focus was enough. More than enough. He patted at the cloth under him until he came up with… something small. A sock? A rag? He wasn’t sure. But, he threw it in that general direction. "Stop gagging yourself long enough to gag him. The entire camp does not need to hear all about what you’re doing, and how well you do it."
He was not interested in ‘that electricity thing’. No. Not at all. "Your brother is very loud," he pointed out to Artemis.
Artemis followed Fenris’s stare (and the trajectory of his sock) and saw the source of all the fuss. He stared at the shadowed shapes for one, two, three beats longer than he meant to. "Maker," he breathed, watching the way Anders’s head moved over his brother.
His brother. Right.
Artemis swallowed and looked back at Fenris, trying his best to ignore the sounds that went straight to his crotch. "Loud," he babbled. "Yes. Very loud. In every situation."
"I will not argue with that," Fenris replied wryly.
"There’s no way we’re going to sleep through this, are we?"
"Best to wait it out."
"Andraste’s tits, Cormac," Anton groused at a particularly loud note from their brother. "You’d think he was paying you."
In a strangely coherent moment, after an excruciating sound, Cormac managed an answer. "I should be paying him! Maker’s breath, Anders, if you’re ever at a loss for coin, I strongly suggest sucking dicks for it. All of Kirkwall would be yours in a matter of weeks. Have you tried putting this forth to win more weight for your cause?"
Anders bit him.
Cormac swore loudly and thoroughly enough that, in the next tent, Isabela applauded, and Carver covered Merrill’s ears. As Anders stood up, Cormac sank down, pleading with him not to stop. Anders’s only response was to start removing his own clothing, totally missing where he meant to throw it, but getting it all in the same place, at least.
And Fenris was still not looking, his eyes staying firmly on Artemis, as small sounds started over there, again. Much quieter, for now, but he had a feeling that wouldn’t last. This drunken mage, those sounds… it was almost enough to give him a complex. "Talk to me, mage. I would prefer your drunken babbling to their drunken… adventuring."
Fenris’s stare was hypnotic, eyes large and dark in the shadows slanting across his face. Artemis’s gaze drifted to Fenris’s lips, and he wondered if Fenris would punch him if he tried to kiss him.
Oh. Nope. He was not thinking about kissing Fenris while his brother was grunting like a heifer mere feet away. He cleared his throat.
"Talking. Right. That is a thing I can do. Um." Except that those sounds and the play of shadows on the opposite wall were thoroughly distracting. "What was I talking about?" he asked a bit breathlessly.
Fenris sighed in frustration. "Anything. Nothing. Just… talk, mage." Fenris’s voice was a low growl that Artemis felt as well as heard.
"Would rather listen to you talk," he said bluntly. "You have a nice voice. And a touchable ass too, if Justice is to be believed." Artemis would love to find out for sure, but he was rather fond of having hands.
"Let us not talk about my ass." It wasn’t a sentence Fenris had ever imagined himself saying. "But, if you must stop me from getting up to remove your brother’s internal organs, I give you permission to touch it. That would stop me from getting up, I think. Perhaps at some small cost to you, but I think I am the one of the two of us who might not mind if he had heart failure from the strain, in the next five minutes. Stopping me from getting up might actually be worthwhile, to you."
In the background, literal sparks flew, as the mages continued their all-out assault on the senses of everyone around them. Fenris thought he recognised the glow of ice, as well, and a brief chill brushed across his toes. Perhaps there was a point to boots, after all, if only for sleeping in. As Cormac began to howl unintelligible praise, again, while Anders did whatever it was Anders was doing, Fenris’s fists clenched and he gave serious consideration to getting up, aside from the part where he’d just given this drunk mage permission to grab his ass, if he tried.
"I kept a room, for a few days, in a cheap brothel in Starkhaven. Even that was quieter. I do not expect he will still have the respect of the rest of the expedition, in the… I’d say morning, but I think it is. Perhaps he can win it back, if we run into any darkspawn. Slaughtering the enemies of the people tends to cover a great many sins." He tried to be philosophical about it, really he did, but those sounds and the sight he would not let himself see, just over Artemis’s shoulder…
"If they keep this up," Artemis said distractedly, "they’ll summon enough darkspawn to us to save them the trouble later."
His mind was still on Fenris saying he could touch his ass, in the event of an emergency. If those noises kept up, Artemis was going to have an emergency in his smalls, and that very ass might be his salvation or his death.
"Hey, will you two hurry up?" Artemis shouted over his shoulder. He did not need to be thinking about asses or groping or hands that had been on his ass that were now on his brother.
He burst into giggles at the absurdity of the situation, burying his face against Fenris’s spiky chest. Fenris stiffened but didn’t pull away. The mage was touching him. Certainly the least annoying of the mages, but still. Touching him. There was mage-face pressed into his armour. He supposed that was the purpose of armour — keeping things from touching him any more closely than its outer surface. His fingers twitched, uncertainly.
On the other side of the tent, Anders was still strangely silent, for all the ‘yes, more, harder’ coming out of Cormac, and Fenris found himself almost grateful he only had to listen to one of them. He did not look up from the mage pressed against his chest, when a deep and utterly debauched sound spilled out of Cormac, liquid and electric. Fenris felt it wash over him, rippling through his bones, crackling between his fingers and toes. For one lunatic moment, he wondered if Artemis made sounds like that, too, and what it would take— Mage. Touching him. No.
Another wave of electricity went far afield, and a gasp choked off Artemis’s giggles as he arched into the body against his, feeling sparks sizzle up his spine. "Oh."
Clawed fingers dug into Artemis’s hip, holding him still. "Mage," Fenris rumbled, half a warning, half a promise. " Don’t move again, or so help me…"
More electricity washed over them both and crackled between them. Artemis arched again, the claws in his hip digging hard enough to draw blood. "Nngh."
"You’re doing that on purpose!" Fenris growled over Artemis’s shoulder, finally allowing himself to look past him at the rutting mages. He couldn’t see Anders’s grin in the dark, but he knew it was there.
Fasta vass. Tomorrow he was switching tents with Varric.
The next shot was either Anders finally missing or Anders finally hitting his intended target — assuming, of course, this was all intentional, which as far as Fenris was concerned, it had to be — as it landed on the point of Fenris’s hip. Every thought he might have had about any of this left his head, as the low charge raced through him, down his gauntleted fingers, into Artemis. Fenris’s head tipped back, eyes rolling up in their sockets, his body tightening, pressing closer against Artemis as his muscles clenched. His claws dug in and his hips twitched.
That was it. He was going to end them. The abomination, first. He moved as if to rise, trying to ignore the dull throb between his legs… only to be held down by a hand on his ass. A mage’s hand.
He held very still, half-raised onto his elbows, and narrowed his eyes at the owner of this adventurous and soon-to-be-unattached hand.
"Hawke," Fenris growled, noting the dazed way Artemis grinned up at him. They were in a precarious position, Artemis’s boozy breath on his cheek, hip digging into his. Any movement one way or the other, and, to paraphrase Cormac, their ‘swords’ would be dueling.
"It is pillowy," Artemis marveled, and—- Maker —-that hand had started to knead.
"Mage," Fenris choked.
"You said I could."
Dizzy giggling emanated from a pile of blankets that Fenris assumed was Anton, and Fenris weighed the appeal of just killing all of them. On the other hand, dead mages didn’t give ass-massages. On the other other hand, dead mages wouldn’t be touching his ass at all. It was terribly difficult to make rational decisions with all this groping going on, and the exceptional amount of dwarven liquor that had gone down his throat was not helping with this problem.
"I did. You have stopped me. I will not remove your brother’s organs and feed them to the camp dogs." He was aiming for disapproving, but only managed breathless.
The pile of blankets continued to giggle. On the bright side, Fenris thought he was likely to be the only one who remembered any of this, and sufficient drink on another night might be enough to solve that problem. He could be a fool, just this once. He lifted one gauntleted hand and placed his thumb on that ridiculous little patch of fluff on the mage’s chin, rubbing it gently. Humans and their incessant fluffiness had always amused him.
Artemis bent to nip at that clawed thumb, holding the tip of it between smirking lips. He looked up at Fenris through his lashes and continued to squeeze that wonderfully pillowy ass.
"Do you want me to stop?" he asked around Fenris’s thumb.
Fenris licked his lips and traced Artemis’s with the pad of his gauntlet. "You probably should," he rumbled.
"I didn’t ask if I should," Artemis countered, drunk enough to think himself quite clever for the reply. "Do you want me to?"
Behind Artemis’s back, magic was still flying and Cormac was still singing Anders’s praises, but Fenris had Artemis’s full attention.
Fenris leaned closer, closing his eyes so he wouldn’t see any of this and let his lips brush against Artemis’s ear. "Is this truly something you want to do, while your brother screams his pleasure with the healer? The healer he’s going to need, judging by the sound of it…"
His fingers spread, claw tips lightly scraping across Artemis’s cheek. Sure, it was a foul thing to say, but if this was going to stop suddenly because of Cormac, better it stop now, before they got much further. And speaking of Cormac, the man seemed to have an incredible grasp of absurd and vile expletive. It sounded like he could teach the pantsless pirate a few turns of phrase.
"Do you want to do this, here and now?" he asked Artemis, uncertain which response he would prefer.
The teeny-tiny, microscopic part of Artemis’s brain that was sober told him this was a Bad Idea (complete with capitalization), but the drunken rest of his brain didn’t see how it possibly could be. He leaned into the claws at his cheek and shivered at their sting. It was hard to think with a saturated brain in his head and a wonderful butt in his hand.
Artemis offered his throat to Fenris’s wicked claws and smiled. "Fuck Cormac and Anders," he said. "Or, you know. You could fuck me."
"Oh sweet Maker," came Anton’s muffled voice.
Artemis snared his free hand in white hair and pulled Fenris down to him in a drunken, slobbery kiss. He may have missed the elf’s lips on the first attempt, but he persevered. Fenris growled into the kiss.
In all the years he had worn them, Fenris had never removed his gauntlets quite that quickly. For all that he mightn’t have minded that dangerous edge, the inevitable bit of blood, he still hadn’t mastered opening his pants with them on, while drunk. And he was completely certain that whatever the morning might bring, opening his pants was a necessity. His bare hands clutched at Artemis, tugging the mage’s hair, stroking his slim neck, kneading that ass he had never consciously admitted he might want to touch. Perhaps Anders was right. Perhaps nice asses did run in the family. Certainly Fenris could find no fault with Artemis’s, feeling the muscular weight of it against his palm. Small and firm, as one might expect on an adventurous mage.
When the kiss finally broke, for lack of breath, Fenris pushed his thumb into Artemis’s mouth again, hauling the mage against him with the other hand. With no space between them, Fenris used the leverage to tip Artemis’s head back, ducking down to bite along the line of his jaw, hips shifting into a slow roll.
"But, I wonder," he muttered against Artemis’s neck, "are you so loud? What sounds will you make for me?"
"Fenris," Artemis said on a shivery exhale. He was never so glad for his habit of not wearing pants to bed. He mentally patted himself on the back. Good thinking, Artemis. Good foresight. With a crooked smile, he added, "That depends, doesn’t it?"
Artemis hooked a leg over Fenris’s and rolled them until the elf was completely on top of him, bracing himself on arm over Artemis’s head. Fenris’s teeth and tongue continued their trail down the curve of Artemis’s neck, worrying at the meat of his shoulder.
"Is that a challenge, mage?" he growled against bruising skin.
"Nng," was Artemis’s intelligent reply, a rush of breath against the shell of Fenris’s ear. Artemis mouthed at the tip as they writhed in counterpoint, reaching both hands down to squeeze Fenris’s ass, now, encouraging his hips to rock harder.
Finally, Anders made a sound, which was enough to catch Fenris’s attention, for a split second. After so much silence from the abomination, it was surprising. "How is he still going?" Fenris wondered, perhaps a little louder than he meant to.
"I’m a Warden. Comes with the territory."
Fenris could feel the smugness of Anders’s grin all the way on the other side of the tent, and it just annoyed him. Very well. He had his own mage to make scream. He huffed and lowered his mouth to Artemis’s collarbone, nipping along it, as he tugged at the nightshirt Artemis wore, trying to raise it at least enough to enable further skin contact. He was not quite drunk enough to believe either of them needed to be naked, under the circumstances, unlike certain other people.
Finally working the nightshirt over Artemis’s hips, Fenris paused to smooth his hands over the exposed skin, a smooth thigh, a sharp hip, and more of that inevitable human fluff. That was warm and rough under his fingers, and his hand kept returning to stroke the edges of that bit of hair, before it finally wrapped around the silky-smooth surface of Artemis’s rather appealing knob. And that was something else he wondered about, with humans. Didn’t that just… itch?
But, now was not the time to ask such questions. Now was the time to do regrettable things he could blame on the drink. He kissed Artemis firmly and intently.
Artemis tried to press back into the kiss and into the hand on his knob at the same time, something that was regrettably difficult to do when one was drunk and on the floor. He did his best, though, tangling both hands in Fenris’s ridiculously soft hair as he kissed back with gusto. He nibbled at Fenris’s lip, and his tongue traced the lyrium lines on Fenris’s chin.
Fenris’s hand tightened around him, fingers flexing experimentally, and Artemis groaned. "Maker," he breathed against Fenris’s lips. "Fucking finally. Do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted you to touch me like this?" He swallowed Fenris’s grunt of surprise in another kiss.
And okay, so maybe now wasn’t the time for desperate confessions of love (or lust, really), but Artemis was willing to confess to anything, up to and including King Cailan’s death and even that time Leandra had made him wear a dress, if Fenris would just keep touching him like that, oh Maker!
Artemis wasn’t as loud as his brother. He voiced his pleasure in breathy counterpoint to Cormac, lips open around shivery pants and small, choked off moans, and he bit his lips against even these.
Fenris eased Artemis’s lip out, with his own teeth, nibbling at it.
"Such quiet little sounds. Everything about you is understated, isn’t it?" he breathed, in wonderment, hand squeezing a little tighter, stroking a little harder. And still, the mage simply panted and occasionally squeaked, beneath him. "You would never have told me, would you?"
He wrung Artemis’s flesh in inadvertent time to the wet, thrusting sounds from the other side of the tent, the little gasps and groans much more satisfying than any of Cormac’s squalling. Fenris finally had to let go long enough to untie his leggings. Had to. Getting out of them was no longer optional. He tried to push them down, but they wouldn’t go far with him sprawled across Artemis like he was. Still, it was room enough to press against the mage’s heated flesh. The slide of skin on skin made his breath catch in his chest, and a rolling dizziness came over him, as sweat broke out along his spine. This… what was he doing? Foolish, delicious, and regrettable. He would claim to remember none of it, and neither would anyone else.
Holding up his hand, he made one simple demand. "Lick."
Artemis blinked at the hand in front of him for a moment, the reality of what they were doing, were about to do, hitting him even through the haze of drink and the stink of sex. Maker, this was Fenris. Spiky, broody, lovely Fenris. Artemis was in serious danger of overthinking this, of following cause to effect in his mind, dominoes falling one after another, until he chickened out and let this opportunity pass by.
"Fuck it," he decided under his breath. He wouldn’t let it.
He grabbed Fenris by the wrist and licked his hand with gusto, using the lyrium lines as a roadmap until he took Fenris’s fingers into his mouth, sucking the salt from his skin. He hummed and purred around Fenris’s unfairly long fingers, hips grinding up into his other hand in counterpoint to his tongue.
Sweat pooled at the base of Artemis’s spine and made his nightshirt stick to his skin. Fenris’s skin was hot against his, and they were both in danger of burning up and consuming each other in the flames.
When Fenris finally pulled his hand free, Artemis swallowed his spit and licked his lips, his stare hungry, pleading, vulnerable. "I need you," he breathed, still holding Fenris’s wrist.
Fenris shivered. What a thing, to be needed. To be wanted. To be desired, instead of commanded. "Then you shall have me."
He reached down and wrapped his wet hand around them both, using the other arm to brace himself, as he kissed Artemis hungrily. A hundred little bites and licks across the mage’s lips, as he thrust against Artemis, in his fist. He meant what he said. He did. He just had to… work himself up to the idea. A little bit of teasing and grinding would buy him some time. Or it would burn out any resistance he had left. One or the other.
And somehow, in the dark, he could feel Anders’s eyes burning into him, from across the tent. As if whatever the abomination was doing to Cormac wasn’t enough. Although, Cormac was starting to sound like he was rapidly approaching ‘enough’, more ‘ow’ than ‘ooh’. Unless they were into that. Which Fenris did not want to know.
As the easy slide became a sticky grind, he brought his hand to his own mouth, licking the musky taste of sweat and sex from his fingers. This time, when he reached down, he kept going, eyes caught in Artemis’s gaze, as he pressed two fingers into the mage. "Is this what you want? Do you want me inside of you?"
Artemis squirmed, hips jerking first away then towards Fenris’s fingers. "Maker, yes!" Artemis groaned. Anticipation made him light-headed as fingers pressed and probed, scratching an inch Artemis had forgotten he had.
Maker, it had been a while. Since before Kirkwall, at least. Probably the night before Ostagar, when Artemis had gotten just as desperately drunk then as he had tonight and one of Cailan’s guards had buggered him against a tree. That was something better in theory than in practice, he’d learned. He’d had scuff-marks from tree bark on his junk for days, and there were just some places one ought not to find twigs.
Except this wasn’t Ostagar or tree-sex. This was Fenris and… sex in the Deep Roads. Across the tent from his brother and his lover. For a moment, Artemis wondered what Brother Number Two was doing and supposed that he was probably either sleeping through it or rubbing one out under the blankets.
"Come on," Artemis growled through grit teeth, rocking back on Fenris’s fingers now. He clutched at what he could reach of Fenris, hands fisting in that ridiculous armor. "Take me. Need it. Need you."
He’d deny all of this in the morning.
Fenris looked down and spit on himself, sliding his fingers out of Artemis to spread the spit onto himself. After a few more rounds of spitting and stroking, he leaned back over Artemis and lined himself up.
"Bloody. Impatient. Mage," he declared, shoving himself in. And then the world went sideways. His mouth went dry and everything seemed to glow, flashes of light firing off behind his eyes with every beat of Artemis’s heart. His arms shook as he held himself up, gaping stupidly down at the mage beneath him.
It was good. This was the kind of good that inspired epic poetry, he suspected, but it had knocked the sense out of him. Warm, tight, and so alive, and he was not just permitted to enjoy it, but invited. Begged. Something in the back of his head suggested adding ‘fucking gorgeous mages in the ass’ to his list of what freedom meant to him, and at that very moment, he thought he might.
Finally, he remembered to move, slowly pulling back, and enjoying every twitch and flex of Artemis’s body, before he thrust back in, hard and deep. "You dreamed of me. Tell me what you dreamt. How do you like me to touch you? How do you like it, when I put myself into you?"
It was easier to try to make it sexy, than to admit he had no idea what he was doing, and he’d only gotten this far based on memories of dirty stories and pub songs he’d heard.
For his part, Artemis grappled for words, collecting his thoughts only to have them skitter away at each push of Fenris’s hips. Maker, they were… He was…
"I…" Artemis started, stopped, and licked his lips. Fenris was huge and solid and perfect inside him. "I want it… like this. Slow. Deep. And then I want it to build. I want you to let go of yourself. I want you to… to devour me."
Leather armor shielded Fenris’s back from bruises as Artemis clung to him, pulling their bodies as tight together as they could. He arched up to feather kisses over Fenris’s lips, over his chin and chiseled jaw, over every inch of skin his lips could reach. His knees pressed tight to Fenris’s flanks, heels hooked at the small of his back and drawing him in.
Artemis wanted to ask if Fenris had thought about this too. He wanted to know what Fenris wanted, what he’d ached for, but he was afraid to ask, afraid to discover what he already suspected: that Fenris hadn’t been aching for this the way he had.
"Like this?" Fenris asked, following with a few achingly slow thrusts that went in as far as he could figure out how to get himself. It wasn’t until the fourth or fifth that his hips got away from him, and he ground in at the end of the thrust, making the world sparkle around the edges. If this was as good for Artemis as it was for him, he was definitely going to take Artemis’s advice about things like this, in the future. The future… Future? No, no, no. This was for one night. One drunken night. Morning. Whatever, it was the Deep Roads; there was no time underground.
Thrusting and grinding got easier as Artemis fell into the rhythm with him, and Fenris pressed his lips to Artemis’s again. Who would have thought a body part used for such common things could be a source of such pleasure? Lips and tongues moved up a bit, in his estimation, as he kissed Artemis until neither of them could breathe. Panting and still thrusting, he gazed into Artemis’s enticing blue eyes, wonderstruck at all of it. If it was like this, Fenris was suddenly a lot more understanding of the general obsession with sex. Obsession was still poor form, but it seemed like the sort of thing in which he might indulge, occasionally.
A particularly forceful bit of writhing from beneath him leant itself to interpretation, and interpret he did, picking up the pace, and enjoying every little encouraging gasp and groan from Artemis. Sweat dripped down inside his armour, which was going to be unpleasant, later, but at the moment, there were few things he cared less about.
"You like this, don’t you?" he purred against Artemis’s ear.
Fenris’s voice was sin itself. "Yes," Artemis panted, palms tracing the armor at Fenris’s back, mapping out nonsense patterns of their own. "Keep talking. Please."
It was a reversal from earlier in the night, when Fenris had asked Artemis to speak, to distract him. Except the object now wasn’t to distract but to entice.
Fenris continued to move as he considered what to say, what Artemis wanted to hear. Then Artemis shuddered under him, at a particular twist of his hips, and he chased that, wanting to feel Artemis shake like that again. His next thrust wrung a strangled shout from Artemis, the loudest noise the mage had given him yet.
"Listen to you," he rumbled at Artemis’s ear. "Like that, do you?"
Artemis bit his lip against another shout and nodded, burying his face in the crook of Fenris’s neck. "Maker," he panted, over and over.
"Mmm. No, but from the sound of you, perhaps I will be your unmaker." Fenris had no idea where he found the wit for that quip, since he was pretty sure there was no blood left in his head. He twisted his hips. "Make that sound for me, again. I like the way it echoes in your chest."
His pace picked up, as Artemis continued to plead for divine intervention, bucking and writhing against him. And that whatever that was… That pressure, there, that… Perhaps there were benefits to mages, after all. He was relatively certain that was some kind of magic, the way the pleasure rocketed through him, clattering against the inside of his skin. "Yes," he gasped, eyes huge and round. "Yes, oh, Artemis!"
Fenris’s breathing finally got away from him, stuttered gasps replacing the long, slow panting. He wasn’t sure what to do with any part of his body, as each one sparked in turn, never long enough to choose to focus on one. His hips jerked, hard and fast, and he rutted senselessly into the mage beneath him, making sounds of pleasure and surprise, interspersed with low growls of Artemis’s name, and what he hoped were quiet encouragements. How had he gone so long without this?
Artemis’s hand scrabbled at Fenris’s back as the mage held on for dear life, each thrust knocking the air out of him in a series of "ahs", as though his lungs only obeyed Fenris and the rhythm of his hips. Fenris did manage to wring another shout from him, one that echoed in the tent and likely outside of it, but Artemis was too far gone to care. His head rolled back, and he looked up dazedly into Fenris’s eyes, marveling at how round they were, maveling at the sound of his name in that velvet voice, as he reached up to caress Fenris’s cheek. Palm molded to Fenris’s jawline, thumb sweeping in half-circles under Fenris’s eye.
So perfect. Fenris felt so… so…
Artemis couldn’t take it. He reached down between them to grasp his knob, pulling furiously in time to Fenris’s thrusts. Within moments, he was shouting and shivering, shuddering under Fenris’s onslaught as his pleasure crested, peaking in sparks of white behind his eyes. Artemis fought to keep his eyes open, to drink in the look on Fenris’s face, to tattoo every moment to his memory.
For a moment, he forgot that this wasn’t something he was planning to remember.
Fenris, on the other hand, forgot everything: his name, where he was, where he left one of his legs. It was one of those nights. Not that he’d ever had a night like this, but he looked forward to having more of them.
Warmth coiled in his chest, pooled between his hips, and he honestly thought he might die. His mouth, apparently, knew better. "Artemis! Venhedis, Artemis, please!" and so on, and so forth. He couldn’t have stopped panting out his desperation if he wanted to, but he’d forgotten how to want anything but the amazing sensation of this warm body wrapped so tightly around him, if ever he even knew. He had been, overall, poor at wanting. It hadn’t been his place to desire. But, now, a compelling lust ran in his blood, a flickering burn with every beat of his heart.
And then, with a shout of surprise, he sank entirely into the pleasure, completely befuddled by the rush of even more intense sensation. When he came to his senses, he felt damp, achy, and deeply satisfied. In the next tent, Isabela was whistling her approval, and across the tent he was in, Anders was staring and Cormac was applauding.
Fenris was certain he was supposed to feel something about all the noise, but all he felt was sated. He rolled to the side and tried to pull Artemis with him. "Stay with me," he mumbled, warm and completely dazed.
"Don’t think I could move even if I wanted to," Artemis murmured, his smile crooked and goofy and a little sheepish. He curled against Fenris’s body and tried to pull his nightshirt back down over his apparently grabbable ass. "Maker. Are they staring? Please don’t tell me they’re staring."
Best to avoid the world, at this point. Artemis did so by nestling under Fenris’s chin. His brain was still piecing itself back together after that, still trying to reform around a reality where he and Fenris had had sex. In front of his brother. Andraste’s tits, tomorrow’s hangover was going to be spectacular.
"I’m still here, you know," Anton muttered. "And if anything I’m wearing more clothes than when this started, and that just not fair." He tossed Anders’s smalls back to him and burrowed back under the blankets, muttering to himself.
Artemis groaned and hid his burning cheeks against Fenris’s neck.
Fenris reached over Artemis, remembering something about a bedroll. He pulled the blankets over them, sloppily, and tossed a leg over Artemis’s hip. Everyone else could go straight to the Abyss. He was tired, he’d just had his entire reality recomposed, and right now, he was going to go to sleep, with this incredible man in his arms. Everything else, including denial, could wait until the hangover wore off. Oh. Another use for mages. Hangover cures. He smirked at Anders over the top of Artemis’s head, as the healer pulled his smalls on, looking completely unperturbed by the fact he’d had them handed back by the one person who hadn’t gotten laid.
As Anders wrapped himself around Cormac’s back, nuzzling his neck, their last exchange was just audible. "And you can finish me off, tomorrow," Anders suggested.
Cormac just groaned. "Oh, fuck."
"That’s the plan."
Anton groped around for something heavier to throw.