Title: Rhapsody in Ass Major – Chapter 22
Fandom: Dragon Age
Characters: Anders ♂, Artemis Hawke ♂
Rating: E (L3 N4 S4 V0 D1)
Warnings: Drunken stupidity, Artemis is fucked right up, Anders has some issues, teh gay, the internet is for porn
Notes: Anders had never been able to resist a pretty face for long. And Artemis really is the pretty one of the Hawke brothers.
Anders’s body was a line of heat against his back. Artemis pressed back into him for a moment before turning to face him, ignoring the way his robes twisted uncomfortably. "Or we could do this," he said, voice rough. He pressed as close to Anders as he could and nuzzled under his throat, brushing the lightest kiss to the soft skin under his chin. It was both a statement and a question, a plea to drown out his thoughts a little while longer.
He was going to ache all day, if he let this go on. It was going to be the ammunition Justice needed to keep talking him out of things like this. This was a bad idea. He’d said that to Cormac, too, and look where it got him. But, this was Artemis, with his short trigger and his earthquakes. But, there hadn’t been an earthquake in the Deep Roads.
There was a time when he wouldn’t have had to talk himself into this. He reached around Artemis and firmly squeezed his ass. "Will you be as unhappy with this, this time, as you were the last time I did it?"
The hand on his ass was an encouraging sign, but Anders’s question brought Artemis up short. "It’s… it’s not that," Artemis stammered. Maker. Is that how it had looked? "I… have a tendency to overthink things." Understatement, but surely Anders was familiar with some of his… idiosyncrasies. He choked back the angry lump in his throat and continued to talk to Anders’s neck. "I don’t really know how to do this sort of thing sober."
And Maker, he wanted to. He wanted to be able to let go on his own. With Fenris, he…
Artemis’s thoughts shut down at that. What he had wanted with Fenris was irrelevant.
"Then, let’s play a bit of a game. I’ll think for both of us, and all you have to do is tell me yes or no. No reasons. No explanations. Your word is final, until you tell me otherwise." Anders smiled like nothing in the world was wrong, while all the while everything was wrong. He’d done this before, but from the other side, and he’d been… he’d been someone else, then. The cold ran through his bones, as he finally understood how hard this had been, but it was much too late, and he’d never have the chance to apologise to a dead man. "You’re welcome to change your mind, but you’re equally welcome to make a single decision and just push it aside. No worries. Your wish is my command, and you don’t even have to think up the commands. Does that sound good to you?"
Artemis nodded, one hand twisting in Anders’s shirt. "Yes," he said, voice rough. "Yes, it does." Anders was being far more patient than he deserved, even if he wasn’t the one Artemis would have liked to share this with. Do nothing unless told. Think nothing. He could try that.
"This?" Anders asked, hand squeezing again, where it had rested motionless against Artemis’s bottom. Might as well start where they’d left off.
"Yes," Artemis sighed, forcing himself to relax.
For a while, that was all Anders did, just kneading Artemis’s ass, squeezing and stroking it in all the ways he knew Cormac loved. It was almost the same ass, if on a very different brother. "What about your neck? What if I were to kiss it? Maybe nibble it?"
Artemis arched into the hand on his backside. "Yes," he said a little enthusiastically, "to all the above."
Anders let Artemis’s flexing and hip motions guide his hand, as he lowered his mouth to that pale neck. Pale in comparison to Cormac’s anyway. Most things were pale in comparison to Cormac. But, he nibbled at the bit of bone behind Artemis’s ear, licking just beneath it, nearly worshipping that tiny spur of bone with his mouth, before he moved on, showering gentle kisses and sharp bites down the length of Artemis’s neck, following the line of the muscle until he was licking into the divet at the front of the collarbone.
"You are welcome to put your hands on me anywhere it suits you. Anything you think you would like," Anders breathed across Artemis’s neck. He didn’t expect serious harm. Not this time. "Would you let my hand beneath this robe, to touch your legs? Just a bit of massage. Nothing more or less."
Artemis swallowed, adam’s apple bobbing against Anders’s lips. He tilted his head back to give Anders free rein, breath quickening. "Yes," he sighed. Maker, yes.
He ran his hands over Anders, across his flanks, up his back to curl his nails into the meat of shoulder there. One hand continued up to cradle Anders’s head, fingers sifting through blond hair and shaking loose his tie. Artemis wanted to kiss him, desperately wanted to, but he knew Anders needed to be able to speak for this to work.
Anders continued to kiss and lick Artemis’s neck, occasionally catching a bit of skin in his teeth and holding it for just a second, before moving on. His hand moved down, pulling up the thick, green robe until his fingers connected with skin. This was almost second nature for him. He traced the lines of the muscles first, getting a feel for the way Artemis’s flesh sat, before he began to press and squeeze, feeling the muscles begin to relax into his hand, subtly softening as he worked his way up and down one thigh. This was important. This needed to happen first.
He tried not to move away from Artemis’s hands, dropping his shoulder and stretching down to reach the top of Artemis’s calf, working the same not-quite magic, there. His fingers rubbed to either side of the shin bone, kneading at little imperfections. For a long while, he spoke not at all.
Finally, when he’d worked most of a leg into a softened and probably slightly sore state, he dragged his hand up and stopped just below Artemis’s hip. "And may I take your bare ass in my hand and squeeze?"
For the second time that night, Anders had reduced Artemis to a puddle of goo, albeit a puddle of panting, lightly trembling goo. By then, he wanted to tell Anders that he could do whatever he wanted with his bare ass, but the game was important, so he played his part. "Yes," breathed. Then, on the next breath, "Anders."
Artemis’s hands resumed their search, mapping out the contours of Anders’s back, nape, and ass. Anders was larger than Fenris in nearly every way, taller, broader, and he could feel Anders’s muscles bunch and slide under his palms. Stubble rasped pleasantly against his skin, another layer of sensation, reminding him where he was and who he was with. It was better this way, to be grounded here, in this moment, instead of a fantasy of what could have been, instead of finding something else to hide behind.
Sliding his hand up to cup that ass that would never cease to be incredible, however many Hawkes he found it on, Anders pulled back to look at Artemis’s face, again, to take stock of the situation. "Do you want to tell me what I missed?" he asked, noticing something a little off in Artemis’s eyes. Either that was some unvoiced desire, or it was something Artemis didn’t need to be thinking about, right now. Either way, the question would acknowledge that it was there . He remembered that being the first question he’d answered in the negative, once upon a time. The question he kept answering in the negative, for weeks.
Artemis shut his eyes, unable to meet Anders’s stare and the patient concern he found there. He shook his head and whispered, "No." It wasn’t something Anders needed to know, not right now, and it wasn’t something Artemis wanted to dwell on. He opened his eyes again and brushed Anders’s lips with his, feathering a kiss down along the curve of his jaw, tasting the salt of his skin and feeling the prickle of stubble on his lips.
"Then what if I pull you ever so close to me and work your back and ass as I did your legs? Close enough that I can feel your heart beat." That wouldn’t be the only thing either of them could feel at that … lack of distance. Anders wasn’t going to offer that, but he’d offer himself in other ways. This needed to end well, and … that probably wouldn’t.
His hand caressed Artemis’s ass in much the same way it had over the robe, but each lingering touch seemed to hold so much more, against bare skin. There were a hundred things he wouldn’t say, because they weren’t questions, and they were probably also spectacularly offensive.
Artemis panted against Anders’s skin, hips moving in small circles of their own accord, in time to Anders’s kneading hand. "Yes," Artemis said, scooting even closer to Anders, pressing them together from thigh to chest. Against his stomach, he could feel Anders’s… oh. Well. Calling it a ‘knob’ would be a misnomer, wouldn’t it?
"Maker," he breathed, reaching down between them to brush his fingers against it through Anders’s trousers.
Anders squeezed his other arm under Artemis in the least uncomfortable place he could find, hands moving, as promised, along his back kneading the muscles, squeezing and pressing, pushing his fingers into knots Artemis had probably forgotten used to feel different. Minutes passed, and the hand on his staff kept stroking, as he continued to work, trickling healing magic in, as he cleared up the easiest spots and started to open the worst. Finally, his mouth got the better of him. "Am I wearing too much for you?"
"Yes," Artemis eagerly agreed, "far too much." Anders’s hands alone were incredible. Artemis was eager for the rest of him, to see the shapes his hands had mapped out earlier. He tugged at the ties to Anders’s trousers in a question of his own.
"Go ahead. My hands are full." Anders shifted, trying to kick his boots off, under the covers, so he wouldn’t have to take his hands off Artemis’s back. Finally, the pleats at the seam on one opened up, and he fought it off him, hands still discovering and rediscovering all the years of unfortunate things Artemis carried with him, on his back. In his back, to be more accurate. He wondered what Artemis would be like without this tension, here, or that one, there. A force mage might lack finesse, but he could move the weight of the world.
Artemis pressed a kiss to Anders’s chin, to his throat, lips and tongue tracing the line of an artery and tasting the pulse underneath. All the while, his fingers worked, undoing Anders’s laces, and Artemis thanked the Maker he had sobered enough to do that. He pushed up the hem of Anders’s shirt, rucked it up over his stomach as far as all the tangling limbs would let him, hands clutching at the newly discovered skin before trailing back down to work leather trousers off his hips. He kept his lips at Anders’s throat, following it up to an ear, where he paused to nibble at the lobe.
But Anders’s hands were the real magic, tracing lines of heat across his back, sinking in in places he didn’t know he had.
Anders squirmed out of his trousers, after kicking off the other boot. He wanted those hands on his skin — some of his skin, anyway. More than half of it, at least. And there were places he wasn’t sure counted as ‘skin’ that he wouldn’t mind those fingers, either. One hand darted back down, breaking the pattern he had going, to squeeze Artemis’s fabulous ass again, pulling him close all over again, this time with one less layer between them. "What if I say I want to get you naked?" he asked, echoing their earlier banter.
"I’d say you should say ‘please’," Artemis quipped before he could stop himself. Smiling against Anders’s skin, he said, "But for you? Alright."
Artemis nipped at the corner of Anders’s jaw before pulling back so he could pull off his robe. He’d told Anders he should have just left it off, but it was worth it for the way Anders looked at him now, as though he hadn’t just seen him naked minutes before. When Artemis laid back down, they were skin to skin, Anders’s shirt the only thing separating them. His heart pounding in his chest, Artemis pressed a shy kiss to Anders’s lips. They could kiss for a moment, he thought. Anders could talk after that.
Anders could have done without the kiss. It was like getting kicked in the ribs, the way the memories washed over him. These are the things you do not, and so on. But, this wasn’t about him, it was about Artemis, and he recovered quickly, passing it easily off as surprise, as his hands squeezed Artemis’s bare flesh, lustily. He kissed back like he hadn’t been kissed in a very long time, forcing that one memory to the front, and trying to recreate it, here and now. Just for this, and then he’d put it away, again. Just for this, he couldn’t be here.
Limits. He’d almost forgotten what they were, how to have them, and that he did still need some of them. At least he’d kept his shirt on, thus far.
His hands wandered Artemis’s body, stroking and caressing, and he rested his staff against Artemis’s thigh. "Do you want to be inside me?" he asked, at last, tearing himself away from the kiss.
And Artemis may have actually whimpered at that question, still relearning to breathe after that kiss. Words. Yes. He needed them to answer. He considered Anders and all the pale skin under his hands, considered his need pressed to Anders’s hip, considered Anders’s… mage staff against his thigh. "No," he decided after a beat. "I want you in me ." Maybe he was being too ambitious, but, well, his mother had always told him to aim high.
There was a pause in which Anders stared blankly at the mage in his arms. Oh, no. That was not how this was supposed to go. He tilted his head back and huffed out a deep breath. "If you want that, we have to talk about that. You are not your brother, the last time I checked."
Another awkward pause. "So, let me start with the easy one, first. I’m a Grey Warden. You know that. What you may or may not have noticed, that night in the cellar, is that this leaves me … Perhaps you’ve heard the phrase ‘legendary Warden stamina’? It doesn’t go down. Or, it does, but I don’t expect you to be responsible for that. Again, you are not your brother, and he is … crazed. To put it politely."
Artemis tried not to bristle at that. He knew this wasn’t about sibling rivalry or keeping up with his big brother, but there was certainly a part of him that believed he could do whatever — or in this case, whomever — his brother could. "Warden stamina? Gee. Never heard that," Artemis said dryly. "I mean, it’s not like my brother bleats like a cow when you two get going or like I can hear absolutely everything you two do to each other in the middle of the night." He gave Anders a pained look. "Hard to miss all that, you know. Or you know, sleep through it."
He softened the sarcasm with a chuckle, reaching up to toy with Anders’s hair, twisting gold strands around his finger. "Now, if only we had a healer to make sure I’d be okay…" he said with a crooked, mischievous smile. "Magic is a wonderful thing."
"You can hear that? Andraste’s flaming knickers. I will never be able to look your mother in the face again." Anders turned several shades of red and tried to bury his face under Artemis’s. "Pardon me. I’m just going to curl up and die of mortification."
Artemis bit his lip hard to keep from laughing. "I can hear it, because I never sleep. Mother takes sleeping draughts every night. The house could be on fire, and she wouldn’t know. Rather dangerous, really, considering the number of mages in the building and our usual combustible levels of stress." He kissed Anders’s forehead and pulled back to look at him.
"So, you’ve heard all that, and you still want to do me. I’m sure that should be flattering, so I think I’ll just take it that way, and move on." Anders kept his eyes squeezed shut. "Are you actually combustible? I knew a mage who was actually combustible. It was horrible." Another deep breath, and he actually moved on, pointing at his… staff. "The other point. That? is probably not going to fit. It is not a decent or reasonable size by anyone’s standards, unless one is banging Qunari, or so I’m told. I knew a Warden who acquainted himself with it on several occasions and went on to refer to it as ‘the flagpole’, compounded by jokes about running his ass up the flagpole. One day, I got tired of the jokes and I didn’t clean up after us, and the next morning I woke up tied to the roof, with a storm coming in. Naked. The flagpole is not to be taken lightly."
Artemis’s shoulders shook with stifled laughter. "The flagpole," he said, glancing down at it. "Glad I finally got to know its title. As for fitting? Well, only one way to find out." He was, perhaps, far too curious for his own good. All the Hawkes had more balls than sense. Speaking of… "And didn’t we already establish that my brother and I inherited the same ass?"
"Well, if you really want to find out how far that goes…" Anders ran a finger full of healing magic up Artemis’s side, from his hip to his ribs, then up around his nipple. "I’ll clean up after it. But, don’t say I didn’t warn you."
He rolled onto his back, one arm across his belly and the other one still under Artemis and casually groping his ass. "First of all, the next question in this entirely degenerated game is ‘do you want me to eat your ass, first?’ The question after that is ‘where and how do you want me?’ I’m not sure of your preferences for this sort of thing, but I’d suggest you introducing yourself to it, rather than me introducing it to you. At least the first time. But, we all know what you think of my suggestions." He grinned lazily.
Artemis was usually much drunker whenever he had to answer these kinds of questions. Or, rather, he was much drunker and then he and his partner would just let things fall where they may. Drunkenly. "Er." He went over his options, each one more lewd than the next, then tried to remember which question was first. "To question one, yes," he said, and now he was the one who wanted to hide his face in mortification. The thought of Anders… "As for question two…" Don’t overthink it, he reminded himself. He thought of Fenris on top of him, behind him, but he supposed he ought to follow at least some of Anders’s advice. "What you suggest should be, er… fine."
Anders pulled his arm out from under Artemis, carefully heaving himself into a sitting position, and when had he gotten this close to the edge of the bed? He moved over, knees spread across Artemis’s legs, with just enough room for Artemis to get out from under them. "You should be on your knees, for this first part," he pointed out, tracing a finger down the inside of one of Artemis’s thighs.
On his knees. Sure, he could do that. He was already on his knees for this man in a metaphorical sense. Might as well make it literal. Artemis bit his tongue to keep from saying any of this aloud. His mind was gibbering the way it did when he was nervous, and the weight of what they were doing, what Artemis had asked for, hit him. But he sure as fuck wouldn’t back out of this.