Apr 062015
 

Title: Rhapsody in Ass Major – Chapter 23
Co-Conspirator: TumblrMaverikLoki
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, inappropriate uses for magic
Notes: SUPER HAPPY FUNTIMES. By which I mean ‘smut’.


Artemis rolled over and hitched himself up on his knees, folding a pillow under his chest for leverage and comfort. He looked over his shoulder at Anders and offered him a cheeky smile, his body one tight coil of anticipation as he all but told his nerves to fuck off.

Anders’s hands smoothed down Artemis’s back, thumbs pressing in to either side of his spine, between his hips. He worked tiny circles there, leaning down to press his lips to one cheek. For a while, that was all of it, kissing and massaging, until Artemis stopped looking like he was expecting something to go wrong. And then Anders moved his hands down, squeezing and kneading that gorgeous ass some more, as he nibbled at the end of Artemis’s tailbone.

It occurred to Anders, as he buried his face in Artemis’s ass, that he probably should have shaved — that he would have shaved, this morning, if he’d have any idea he was going to spend the morning eating ass — but, he hadn’t, so he let a trickle of healing flow through his fingers as he nuzzled and licked. Artemis did not taste like Cormac, and to be honest, Anders would have been surprised if he had, but there was some part of him relieved to discover the Hawke ass was genetic, and not a single instance in multiple places sort of thing, like some old Elven ruins he’d read about.

Anders’s scruff tickled. That was the first thing Artemis thought and the last thing for a while. It was a struggle to keep still, to keep his hips from twitching under Anders’s ministrations, and his fingers dug furrows in the pillow. He could safely say this was one thing he hadn’t done, drunk or otherwise, so he was taking careful notes. He closed his eyes and sighed something that could have been Anders’s name.

Humming contentedly, Anders toyed with the hole, lapping at the rim and darting his tongue against the opening, never quite pushing in. One couldn’t get a tongue that far in, and he’d generally found it better to leave that to other body parts. Still, he kissed passionately, intently, as if the world had shrunk to this tiny space his tongue occupied. One hand continued to knead Artemis’s devastatingly shapely ass, and the other moved down, stroking and squeezing the inside of his thigh.

After several minutes, Anders pulled back a bit. "Enjoying yourself?"

Artemis let out a noise that was somewhere between a hum and a purr, vibrating in his throat. "Yes," he sighed, because that had been part of their game. "You?"

It seemed the polite thing to ask, and Artemis genuinely wished to know. It was painfully obvious how much Anders was doing for him, and Artemis thought… well, Artemis thought he just needed to stop thinking.

"Enjoying myself? No. Enjoying you? Oh, yes." Anders dragged a nail down the inside of Artemis’s thigh and then concentrated for a moment. Just a bit of grease, this time, no need for an oil slick. He pressed the tip of one finger into Artemis and bit his lip, contemplatively. "And wondering if I can work you open enough that you don’t skin me and I don’t gut you."

A nervous, self-deprecating laugh crept out of him and he cut it off with a swallow, slowly stroking Artemis’s insides. Healing still radiated from his hands, unnecessary as it was, just to keep the muscles relaxed. He pressed a kiss to one ass cheek and slipped in a second finger. "Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?"

"Doesn’t hurt to remind me now and then," Artemis replied with a crooked smile, words a bit breathy and breath a bit ragged. The touch of magic helped. It was soothing and familiar and sang with a note that was distinctly Anders. Anders the mage, the healer, his friend. He could understand the affection his brother had for this man, however long Cormac denied it.

He was distinctly not thinking of the last man who touched him like this, not with Anders’s magic around him, on and in his skin. He started to rock back into Anders’s touch, biting his lip against the sounds that wanted to escape.

There was the reaction Anders had been waiting for. His free hand stroked Artemis’s lower back, keeping a slightly different pace to the fingers he thrust in and out. He flexed his hand, tugging at the edges of the hole a little, stretching a little bit at a time. He expected this might take a while, but he had all day. And Justice could shut the fuck up. That latter point might be more difficult to achieve, with images of the clinic clattering through his head.

"What about this?" Anders asked, a tiny crackle dancing between his fingertips, as he stroked the softness of Artemis’s insides. "Are you interested in a bit of a spark?"

Artemis remembered the light show Anders and Cormac had put on in the Deep Roads. "Yes to magic," he said with an anticipatory shiver. He stilled for a moment and added, "Your magic, that is. Yes to your magic." He didn’t mention the earthquake or the wine cellar, but he knew he didn’t need to. The memory had him flushing to his hairline, and he wondered if that was one of the things they should have discussed before starting this. Artemis had no way of knowing whether something like that would happen again, especially without alcohol dulling his sense of his surroundings.

There was a strong possibility that this was going to end with one of them doing damage to the other.

"Yes to my magic, but not to yours? Hmm… A shame. I was looking forward to learning what sorts of unusual applications were flourishing outside the tower." Another jolt shot across Anders’s fingertips, this one followed by a trickle of grease. His other hand still rubbed Artemis’s back, soothingly, smoothing away the sudden twinge.

His third finger toyed with the rim of the hole, too soon, but he’d get there. After each jolt, it seemed Artemis relaxed a little more, the muscles more inclined to give. It was a matter of timing, because if Anders screwed this up, he’d be lucky to get his fingers out, for a bit, never mind get anything larger in. Electricity and grease, again and again, until he finally slid his fingers most of the way out, and then worked on getting three of them in, fingertips pulled together, tightly. "Do you know how soft and warm you are, inside? How incredible it feels to be inside you, to have you against my fingertips?"

Artemis’s reply was incoherent, a soft, bitten-off groan to punctuate gasping breaths. Artemis had never thought about it until now, but Anders had a nice voice. It wasn’t the deep, growly kind that trembled down his spine but the kind that poured over his skin. "Tell me," Artemis panted, deciding he liked to hear him speak.

He was out of his mind with need by then, knuckles white where they fisted in the sheets, in the pillow. He wasn’t used to being so determinedly cared for. In the past, he was prepared for maybe a minute or two, maybe with grease, and then he was holding on for dear life. But he knew he couldn’t rush this, for Anders’s sake as well as his.

"More," he panted anyway, just to see what Anders would give him.

"More?" Anders purred. "Oh, you greedy thing."

He nipped the curve of Artemis’s ass and added even more grease to the increasingly noisy slide of fingers and ass. The last of his fingers teased around the stretched rim. "You feel like damp Orlesian silk, of the finest grade. Steamed to relieve the tension in the cloth, like they do in Orlais. Warm and silky-soft, and I can feel your pulse, underneath. Every beat of your heart around my fingers, pressing gently against me, as I open you up wider and wider."

His fingers shifted, so they were no longer crossed over one another, and he slowly twisted his wrist. This should be enough. He knew it, but another memory tugged at him. He pushed it away, even as his last finger prodded at the hole. "Tell me what you want, Artemis."

Artemis shivered, sweat beading at his hairline. He couldn’t think of his own power, but his answer was primal, instinctive. "You," he pleaded. "Fuck me. Please. I need…" He was past the point of ‘want’. He felt stretched full already but knew Anders held the promise of ‘more’.

It took every ounce of self-control Anders had to slowly and gently ease his fingers out, pausing for one last kiss, before he stretched out, flat on his back, next to Artemis. The only sign of tension in him was the way his thigh vibrated, twitching, clenching, unclenching, but he wanted. Wanted to throw Artemis down and ravish him, to satisfy every aching instant of his lust inside that body. But, that wasn’t what he was here for. He’d take it out of Cormac, later, he reassured himself.

With his best approximation of a lazy smile, under the circumstances, Anders called up a bit more grease and stroked it over himself. "Take what you want," he offered.

Artemis looked at the long body next to his, at the impressive knob that was his for the taking, and decided that this was certainly better than being drunk. And Anders… he could see the want in Anders’s eyes, in the stare that trailed over his body, lingering on his ass.

Artemis’s heart pounded in his ears, in his throat, as he crawled over Anders, settling on hands and knees over him. Faces inches apart, Artemis offered him an awkward smile before looking behind him. Balanced on one hand, he fumbled behind him for Anders’s knob and closed his fingers around it for the first time. He gave it a few experimental strokes — awkward at this angle — and lined it up.

"I feel like there should be a drum roll or something," Artemis quipped, just to undercut his own nervous tension.

Anders squeezed his eyes shut and completely failed to choke back a laugh that rode the line between nervous and hysterical. This was not going to end well. This almost never ended well. And even if Artemis didn’t blame him, he’d blame himself. He’d hear Justice go on about it every time he even thought about his knob, for weeks. But, he’d done as right as he could do, without just outright saying no. Which he probably should have. On the other hand, Cormac, and the Hawke ass was genetic.

Failing to quite get his act together, he approximated a drumroll with his hands on Artemis’s thigh.

This was a horrible mistake. He’d been on his way to work. What if there was another accident at the mine? There were things he was supposed to be doing, that didn’t include causing pain to himself or Cormac’s brother. But, he’d done what he could do. Artemis seemed smart enough not to do anything too stupid, for certain values of stupid that didn’t include bitchy elves, and if that wasn’t the cattiest thought that had gone through his head all year…

And then his breathing dropped, slow and easy, and he became perfectly aware of everything he was touching, everything that touched him — the texture of the sheets, Artemis’s hand on him, where the tip of his knob sat against that slick hole he’d just taken his fingers out of, Artemis’s breath against his cheek…This would be what it was, nothing more and nothing less. His cleaner hand rose up to cradle Artemis’s scruffy cheek.

Artemis nuzzled into the hand on his cheek, eyelashes brushing Anders’s palm as he let his eyes drift shut. He let the touch relax him alongside the nervous humour, and unwittingly matched his breathing to Anders. And then Artemis sat up on his knees, steadying himself with a hand on Anders’s chest as he sank down, slowly, slowly. Anders’s knob felt even larger than it looked, spearing him open and stretching him deliciously wide.

Nails scraped faint trails down the shirt Anders was still wearing (and that was something Artemis wasn’t going to ask about, not right now, no matter how much he’d like to map out the territory of skin underneath) as Artemis choked out another groan, one that sounded loud to his ears and had him flushing, but one that was nothing like Cormac’s.

"Maker," Artemis panted, sinking down one inch and then another. He was going to be feeling Anders’s knob in his throat by the time he was done. With a cheeky, possibly dangerous smile, Artemis said, "And to think you wanted to talk me out of this."

Anders saw stars — some of them the pleasurable sparks any man would expect at a time like this, and some of them the glittering aftershocks of the pulling, squeezing pain of trying to get a very large object into a very small space. His breath hitched a few times and his fingers dug in to Artemis’s thighs. The tension along his frenulum was dizzying, but that would let up in a minute or two, as they adjusted to one another. He shuddered, shuddered again, and pressed a hand to Artemis’s belly, stroking healing magic into him.

Words existed, and after a bit, he managed to string a few of them together. "You — you’re all right? I haven’t displaced your spleen or anything, yet?"

The stretch was turning just this side of painful, but the wash of healing magic took off the edge. Artemis kept going determinedly, bowing his head to try to hide the pinched look on his face.

He soothed a hand down Anders’s chest and looked up again, conjuring a smile for him. "I’m all right," he said gently, honestly. He rather liked things with an edge of pain, and he was far from his breaking point just yet. "How about you?"

"You’re tight." Anders managed something between a grin and a grimace. "I don’t know if that’s a complaint, yet. Probably my fault for not taking more time, though."

His hands wandered over Artemis’s body, absently healing and soothing. He wanted to remember this, just for the utter strangeness of the whole thing. It wasn’t the first time he’d been the rebound fuck. That was actually pretty normal. But, this was the first time in a very long time he’d been with two siblings in as many days. And definitely the only time he could be pretty sure neither of them minded that fact. And one of the very few times the first comment from someone sitting on his knob hadn’t been a complaint.

"You’re still so soft and warm, inside, but it feels like you’re going to squeeze the life out of me through my knob. A minute or two more, and I think we’re going to have synchronised heartbeats, because there’s no way I can compete with that pressure." His hand slid up Artemis’s arm, and his eyes shone in the dim light of the room. "It’s good. I want this. I want you."

"It’s a good thing, that," Artemis said with a smile that was just this side of giddy. "Because you’re not going anywhere, right now." That was Artemis-speak for: I want this too. There was a moment where he wondered how far Cormac could take him before it occurred to him that he probably shouldn’t be thinking of his brother right now.

A little bit more, and Artemis was shaking, grip tight on Anders’s arm. He could practically feel the man in his lungs, and that was a new one for him. New in a way that was as dangerous as it was addicting. He was determined to take as much of Anders as he could, even if it was far past the point of comfort. He wasn’t sure if it was pride or self-destruction or a desire to please the man in front of him that drove him, but he kept going, more, more, until Anders was seated as deep as he was going to go. Artemis was feeling a little light-headed by that point, his headspace a bit floaty, but he gave Anders another crooked, triumphant smile.

"You feel…" he began only to stop and laugh breathlessly. He had no words. It was like he had to get rid of most of his vocabulary to make room for Anders’s knob.

"Oh, Maker, save me from these, your most dangerous divine creations, the Hawkes," Anders choked out, a delirious smile tugging at his face. He choked on a laugh, and his knob twitched inside Artemis, leaving him breathless and dizzy.

He rolled his hips slowly, leaving time for Artemis to move with him, hands still in constant motion over Artemis’s skin, clutching and kneading. This was very different, he reflected. Cormac disliked slow and gentle, didn’t have the patience to wait for what he wanted, and had the fortitude to demand that Anders cram it all into him and heal him as they went. That, Anders figured, was an enormous part of why Cormac was so loud. He’d felt terrible about the first time, even after Cormac had kissed him everywhere there was room for lips and begged him to do it again. But, after the sixth or eighth night of it, Anders was willing to believe Cormac meant every word.

But, here, with Artemis, this was quiet and slow. He had time to be wonderstruck, to watch Artemis writhe and tremble on him, so intent to have him — all of him. And even with the way his skin pulled tighter than he liked, his nerves stretched just as taut, the sight of this man on him, enjoying him, made it all worthwhile.

Thigh muscles flexed as Artemis started to move, hips swivelling in a slow grind as he adjusted to the weight and length inside of him. His hands fisted in Anders’s shirt when he found an angle he liked, resting his weight on Anders’s chest as his breaths shivered out of him. "Trust a mage to know how to wield a staff," Artemis quipped, because the line was obvious, because he never quite knew when to shut up, and he because he liked the way it felt when Anders chuckled while inside him.

And that was something else he’d never experienced: mage sex. He’d had tree sex and tent sex and organ-fondling sex, but not this. At least he was better equipped to remember this later.

Artemis’s movements grew bolder as he learned to anticipate the sparks of pain and pleasure, hips rising and falling in a more confident rhythm. He watched Anders’s face as he moved, looking out for any sign of discomfort, drinking in any sign of pleasure.

Times like this, Anders was almost glad he’d become a Warden, because he didn’t have to hold back until he pleased the one he was with. He could just… keep going. And he was going to go, if Artemis kept doing that, at that angle, right there. His hands gripped tighter, and what was left of his brain reminded him to check for bruises, later. His breaths grew longer and deeper; his head tipped back against the pillow. A faint tremor ran through his body, as his pulse raced, lighting every nerve in his body, and then he was throbbing hard against Artemis’s vise-tight insides.

Panting, he licked his lips and stroked his fingers against the divets he’d left in Artemis’s skin. He continued to meet Artemis at the bottom of every stroke, and after a minute, he found enough of his sense to stop staring at the headboard. "I thought you could use a little more slick," he joked.

"That’s a good look on you," Artemis purred, giving Anders the smirk of the self-satisfied and eyeing the miles of pale throat in front of him. It was a look he wanted to see again, one he was glad he was sober enough to remember. There was something far more intoxicating about wringing that kind of reaction from someone.

Artemis bent to nip at that long throat as he moved. It was an awkward angle, one he didn’t think he could maintain, but he couldn’t resist, dipping his tongue in and mouthing at the hollow of Anders’s throat. His own knob was aching for attention, but he was determined to hold off as long as he could, to wring out as much pleasure from Anders as he could first. But when Anders pressed just so, it was hard to remember that.

"Fuck," he cursed against Anders’s skin. "If you keep doing that, I…"

"Fuck, yes, that’s the idea," Anders panted, following it with a breathy laugh. He not only kept doing it, but added a bit of a twitch near the end, just to keep things interesting. One hand crept in from Artemis’s thigh, fingers brushing lightly along the length of Artemis’s knob, never quite firmly enough to be more than a distraction.

"Do you want me to hold you as tight as you’ve got me? To squeeze you in time with our pulse?" Because at that point, it was their pulse.

He kept missing every third or fourth stroke, screwing up the timing just enough to hold Artemis right on the edge, at least for a little while.

"Nngh," Artemis answered eloquently, gripping Anders’s arms hard enough to bruise. His thighs started to shake, hips stuttering in their rhythm. "Anders. Anders." There was Anders, screwing away even more of Artemis’s vocabulary, until all he had were nonsensical sounds and those two syllables.

And then Artemis realized it wasn’t just him shaking but the whole bed, and his eyes snapped open. He stopped suddenly, flustered and disoriented, and his — their — heartbeat filling the silence. He forced himself to calm down, just for a moment, and the bed stopped moving.

"Oh fuck," he muttered in a groan that wasn’t the happy kind.

"Did I hurt you?" It was the first thought in Anders’s head. He’d pushed too much, too hard, too far. Healing leapt to his fingertips, and he ran his hands over Artemis, trying to soothe away any damage he might have done. "I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I just got carried away."

The idea that the room shaking could have anything to do with Artemis’s distress didn’t even occur to him. As far as he was concerned, it was a sign he was doing something right. So the fact that it had stopped, and that Artemis was now distraught seemed to indicate that he had done something wrong.

"No, no, no, you’re fine," Artemis rushed to stammer. "You were doing fine. More… more than fine. Incredibly. I…" Artemis rubbed soothing circles across Anders’s chest, still shaky and lightheaded from wrenching himself back from the edge so suddenly. He didn’t know how to explain, but Anders was a mage, a mage with similar hang-ups, apparently. "My magic was…" Where had all his words gone? He rubbed his forehead, hid his eyes behind his hand. "I… I never really know what it’s going to do, in… situations like this. I didn’t — don’t — want to hurt you."

Now this part was so much easier to do drunk. He was a fool to think he could have this, that he could…

His breathing was turning a bit ragged.

"Wait, wait. I fucked you so hard the earth moved, and you expect me to think that’s a bad thing?" Anders laughed and wrapped his arms around Artemis. "Don’t worry about it. I was expecting that. And more than that, you’ve been drunk in my living room for a week. I already moved anything you might knock over and break, so unless you manage to collapse the cellar, no loss."

He laughed even harder, hands caressing Artemis’s back. "And if you kill me with your gorgeous ass? What a way to go. The bards would sing of it for generations to come. We’d be legendary."

Reaching between them, Anders pulled one of Artemis’s hands down, spreading it over the large and very unpleasant scar that sat in the curve of his hip. "I’m a healer. It takes an awful lot to put me down. As long as you’re good, I’m good."

"And as long as I don’t bring the house down," Artemis said with a strained smile that said he was only half joking. Still, his fingers traced the ragged curve of Anders’s scar. He’d ask Anders for the story to that one later, and maybe, just maybe, Anders would consider telling him.

Anders had a way of saying the right thing to him, the right words to calm him down before his brain got caught in that loop of nervous tension he knew so well.

"Alright," Artemis said, still with that smile that hid nothing at all. "No harm in trying again, hmm?" He started shifting his hips again as he spoke, eager to put this moment behind them, to bury it in sensation.

"I consider myself a harm mitigation expert," Anders joked, trying to recreate that motion Artemis had so enjoyed. This time, he tapped the tip of Artemis’s knob, passing along a tiny spark, before he closed his fingers around it, hoping to stroke it back to that ecstatic thickness from before this little interruption. He switched back and forth between healing and electricity, two very different kinds of tingling sensation, as he squeezed and stroked.

"Like this?" There was no fear in his eyes, when he smiled. Nothing but warm desire. And thank the Maker for that, or Artemis wouldn’t have been able to continue.

This was one thing, Artemis decided, that Fenris would not have been so accepting of.

He shivered and arched at another touch of magic from Anders, at the spark that tingled over his skin and down his spine, at the healing warmth that followed. His hips were moving of their own accord by then, picking up their earlier tempo. "More," Artemis gasped, because he was a greedy bastard and because he wanted — needed — to feel until it hurt, until there was nothing else in his world.

And Anders was happy to provide, to keep giving as long and as much as Artemis wanted. His hips rolled, grinding in a little deeper, and his hand clutched tighter, wringing Artemis’s flesh. The other hand tucked between them as well, cupping Artemis’s balls, one finger stroking from where they joined forward, stopping in the middle of one stroke to press firmly upward, with another jolt of electricity.

The best place for magic, Anders had thought, for a long time, was in bed. Of course, he had to stop accidentally setting things on fire, before he came to that conclusion, but once he got there, it stuck with him, and he meant to pass that wisdom on to Artemis.

Artemis doubted this was what Andraste meant when she said that magic was meant to serve mankind, but he was far from complaining. All his life he’d been surrounded by magic but never knew it could make him feel like this. That made him feel cheated, but Anders was helping him make up for lost time.

Then Anders was moving just right, the electricity sparking just so, and the bed started to shake again, the headboard clattering against the wall. Artemis looked at Anders, watching desperately for any sign of discomfort or worry, but forced himself to keep going.

Anders caught that look. The uncertainty in Artemis’s eyes. Only one thing for it. "Artemis." He waited until he had what attention could be spared from the matter at hand, at knob, at arse. "Fuck me."

He punctuated the sentence with another jolt between Artemis’s legs, right up through the core of him. Just enough spark that he could feel it run the length of his own knob, and Maker, but that was good — hot and cold and tingling.

There was a quip for that somewhere, but it wasn’t in Artemis’s head, not with Anders and magic and that giant knob filling all the hollows of his brain and body. What came out instead was a short shout, the kind he usually bit his lip bloody to avoid making. He kept his eyes on Anders as he writhed and shook, kept watching his face until one more spark had his eyes rolling back, his body tensing around and over Anders as he spilled. Another shout echoed around the room, one he didn’t even realize he was making.

The floor shook hard enough to dislodge some dust, but the house didn’t collapse on them.

Artemis kept moving over Anders, hips stuttering and slowing. "I’m…" Words came back, one at a time. "Are you…?"

"Just a little more," Anders pleaded, hand stretching down further, cracking his knuckles between them, as he reached for himself, pressing an intense jolt just behind his own balls. His body clenched with the shock, and the air rushed out of him, but his other hand kept gently stroking Artemis. That hand kept track of itself as his jaw clacked shut and his eyes squeezed closed.

A sharp little ‘Ah!’ escaped him, almost a pained sound, and then he was spurting into Artemis, again.

He came back more slowly, this time, the electricity having scrambled him a little more than he’d intended, but it wasn’t the kind of thing he tended to do while the room was shaking. "Mmmmf. Having fun, yet?"

"Mhmm," Artemis purred, nuzzling under Anders’s chin. "You know how to show a man a good time." Something like relief bloomed in his chest, and he wanted to laugh, at absolutely nothing and everything. He settled for a lazy smile and a puff of air against Anders’s skin.

He knew from long nights listening to Cormac and glaring at the wall that Anders would be far from finished. Pressing his legs tight around Anders, he rolled them as gracefully as he could with a knob up his ass — which wasn’t very — until he was lying comfortably back against the pillows and smirking up at his bedmate. "Now, what was it you said about Warden stamina?" he teased, wriggling his hips experimentally. It would be a few minutes before he’d be ready for his second round, but there were pleasant ways to pass the time.

"You’re… still all right?" Anders asked, hands stroking Artemis’s skin, a self-deprecating smile on his face. "No ruptured organs? No internal bleeding?"

Artemis considered, taking stock of everything now that some of the blood had rushed back to his head. He was a bit sore, but, "No, I think I’m still intact."

"Well, if you change your mind, let me know. I don’t want to do any more damage than I’ve already done." Anders reached under the pillow and cursed, thoroughly, in another language. With a bit of awkward twisting, he fit his hand between the headboard and the mattress, eventually coming up with what appeared to be a knob carved out of polished stone.

"So, you seem to have a talent with shaking stone…" A wicked grin crept across his face. "I have, here, some exquisitely wrought stone, that I intend to put somewhere extremely pleasing. I wanted you inside me, but you had better ideas, so now I’ll settle for this inside me, and you on me, which might even be better than my original plan. But, the question is, are you willing to try? I’d really like to feel you shake me up, inside."

Artemis blinked at the stone phallus for a moment before a laugh stuttered out of him. "It’s like you prepared for this eventuality," he said, taking the stone in hand and looking it over curiously. "This looks like dwarven craftmanship," he said, biting his lip against another laugh. "Do I want to know where you got it? And if you say ‘enchantment’ I will be shoving this somewhere other than your shapely ass."

Artemis never thought his magical ‘problem’ would be considered a bonus. Then again, he never thought that Anders might have a stone dildo. He supposed he really shouldn’t be surprised.

"I knew a very nice girl in the Dead Legion. She got it for me for my name day. And it’s stone so I don’t… have any unfortunate accidents with it. Strictly incidental, but terribly convenient!" Anders stretched. "You want to play with it for a bit? Get the feel of it, before you try to wind me up with it?"

Artemis waggled the stone knob in Anders’s face. "Try? Please." The smirk he gave Anders was the devilish kind. "I think I know exactly what to do with this."