[ Master Post ]
Title: Rhapsody In Ass Major – Chapter 106
Fandom: Dragon Age
Characters: Cormac Hawke ♂, Artemis Hawke ♂, Anton Hawke ♂, Anders ♂, Cullen ♂, Fenris ♂
Rating: E (L3 N4 S4 V1 D1)
Warnings: Smut, consensual violence, you can say WHAT in Tevene, breathplay, Fenris is not ok
Notes: Artie’s in a bit of a state. Fenris solves this problem. ANTON NO.
Fenris offered a shallow bow to Shale. "If you will excuse us, I believe it is time for me to solve a problem. I look forward to continuing our conversation, later this evening." He wondered if he would ever cease to be surprised by how inspiring he found the sight of Artemis kneeling at his feet. In so many ways, it still troubled him, but he was content with it, as long as Artemis enjoyed it.
Fenris gave Artemis’s collar a light tug, and the mage looked up at him curiously before getting to his feet. His hands still fiddled with his skirts, trying to camouflage his knob’s interest, an interest not helped by the light pressure of the collar on his neck. He went where Fenris led him.
"Problem?" he asked. "What problem are we solving?" Artie hoped it was the problem already on his mind.
Fenris didn’t answer. He merely threw Artemis a smirk and pulled him into the coat closet.
In the foyer, Bodhan watched the door close and sighed. Every party.
"This problem." Fenris reached down and cupped a hand around Artemis’s knob, through the skirt, still moving forward, backing him into the opposite wall of the closet. "Do you want me to solve this problem? Do you want me to solve it like you begged your brother to solve it for you?" he rumbled, quietly, wrapping another loop of the chain around his hand.
A sound Artemis would deny was a whimper left his throat. He let his head thunk back against the wall. "Oh yes," he breathed. "Maker yes." His hands scrabbled at Fenris’s arms, his shoulders, and hips pressed forward into Fenris’s hand. There were plenty of reasons why this was a bad idea — earthquakes? At a party? — but there was no way Artemis was going to say no to that.
Fenris’s grip tightened, and he swallowed hard, before pulling the chain. "Genibus adnitere et ei precare," he growled. "Get down on your knees and beg for it." One hand moved from Artie’s knob to loosen the buckle holding his own leather loincloth in place. There were easier ways, he supposed, to get himself out of it, but he didn’t want anything that might end in the cloth blocking Artie’s face.
Artemis’s brain shorted out for a moment. "Did you just… Tevene at me?" he asked, sounding awed. Fenris usually only swore at him in Tevene, but that had not sounded like a swear. "You just Tevened at me." And then it occurred to Artie that he was missing the point of that Tevene, and he dropped to his knees with an eagerness he’d probably be embarrassed by later.
Artemis ran his hands up Fenris’s thighs, tracing the tattoos there just to watch the muscles jump under his touch. "Please," he begged, looking up through his lashes at Fenris. He licked his lips, gathered the courage to say the rest. "Please fuck me, Fenris. Use me. Fuck my throat until I can’t speak."
For a moment, Fenris sympathised with the discomfort Anders seemed to take in hearing Cormac say certain things to Artemis. And that, itself, was a dreadfully uncomfortable thought. But, in that moment, he got it. He flexed his thigh, to steady himself. "Irrumabo," he promised, rubbing his half-interested knob against Artemis’s cheek. "I will make you swallow my knob. Te eo suffocabo dum cluniculas scalpas, velle clementiam. I will choke you with it until you claw my thighs for mercy. Is that what you want?"
And that was the thing — he always asked. He couldn’t do this, otherwise. Disconcerting, in its own way, that he still needed a mage to frame his actions, but it was his mage, and actions taken — liberties taken — with his mage’s flesh.
A breath shuddered out of Artemis at those words. He turned his head to mouth at Fenris’s knob, tongue caressing the head. "Yes," he said, tilting his head to that the collar tugged at his neck. "I want that. I want you." Artie’s fingers kneaded at Fenris’s thighs to keep from touching his own. He looked up at Fenris with pure adoration in his eyes. Maker, he loved this elf.
Fenris ran his fingers along Artemis’s neck, before grabbing his jaw and squeezing his mouth open. That adoration troubled him, even as he craved it. What had he done to deserve this trust, this devotion? None of the answers were particularly pleasant, and he pushed them away, as he slid his knob into Artemis’s mouth. Tilting his head to the side, he tried to judge how deep Artie’s mouth actually was, and the only answer he could find was that it wasn’t deep enough. He released his grip, and let those lips close around him, before he swallowed his own objections one more time, and yanked the chain. "Mage," he breathed, leaning forward to hold on to the wall, "if I hurt you, do what you need to. It is far more important that you are well, than any other thing."
Artemis patted Fenris’s thigh to let him know he was heard, all but purring around Fenris as the chain pulled taut. Breath was hard to find as he was, choked from two angles, and Artemis revelled in it, in the ugly thrill in the pit of his stomach, in the way his head felt floaty after a few breaths. There was no room for overthinking here, no room for anything but Fenris and how hot and huge he felt on his tongue.
Fenris tried so hard to focus on the feeling of Artie’s tongue against the lyrium, but even that had magic in it. He had a mage kneeling before him, on a chain, pleasuring him exactly as he commanded. And the scene flickered, as memories he didn’t know he had crowded against the edges of his vision. Things he’d seen — never done, not as far as he knew. Things he’d watched Danarius do. His legs tensed, and he thrust slowly in and out of Artemis’s waiting mouth, feeling the mage’s throat relax, after a few quick clenches around him. His eyes weren’t right, as he looked down, much more afraid than commanding. This… was this just a mage thing? To take control or submit to it? And, really, with all the mages he’d known, only Artemis gave so easily. Perhaps that was it. Perhaps he was broken. And that didn’t make this any better, somehow, but Fenris really didn’t know what to think of any of it.
Still, he’d made a promise, and one that was eagerly accepted. Steeling himself, he pulled harder on the chain and let his hips decide how he would make use of this mage’s throat.
Artemis groaned around the knob in his mouth, focused on breathing, on the feeling of being used. He looked up at Fenris, wanting to see the look on his face, the want in those green eyes. But he didn’t find what he was expecting. That wasn’t desire or adoration… that was panic.
Artie squeezed Fenris’s hip, then tapped his thigh three times to get his attention, motioning for him to stop. He didn’t want to have to force push him unless he absolutely had to.
Fenris pulled back, quickly, hips first, and nearly dropped himself on the floor. Unwrapping the chain from his hand, he fumbled to his knees, one hand holding Artemis’s cheek. "Have I hurt you? Have I done this wrong?" The words spilled out a little too quickly, too close together, and Fenris’s eyes never rose above Artemis’s shoulder.
Artemis wanted to comfort him, but his lungs insisted on getting air first. He coughed and sucked in a few breaths as Fenris watched him, barely breathing himself. "I’m fine," he said when he could finally speak. "I’m fine." He squeezed the hand on his cheek and kissed its palm. "You were doing exactly what I… You were doing fine. I stopped because I was worried about you. You looked terrified."
Turning his face away, Fenris looked even further down, eyes settling on the floor. "I was present for many things," he said, finally. "Many things in which I did not participate, because I was not commanded to do so." He paused, struggling to make the connection make sense — the kind of sense it was supposed to make, not the kind he thought it might. "You ask me to do things to you, things you clearly take pleasure in, but I—" Irritation flashed across Fenris’s face, as he shrugged helplessly. "I have watched these things. What do I become, by doing them?" He huffed. "I know it’s not the same. You want this, and that is all the difference in the world. But, I—" A frustrated sigh escaped him. "I need time? No, it isn’t time. I need … I need you not to stop asking, just because I’m afraid of myself. I’m not afraid of you, mage. It’s just me."
"Okay." Artemis fought to breathe, for a different reason this time, as he filtered through that. "Okay. First thing? You need to tell me these things. If I ask you to do something that makes you uncomfortable, you need to tell me. Please." Artie pressed a kiss to Fenris’s forehead, cupping his elf’s cheeks in his hands. He tilted Fenris’s face up, trying to get Fenris to look at him. "We don’t have to do this, you know. I enjoy it because I… like the idea of enjoying your enjoyment, if that makes sense. Does that make sense? Anyway, I… I want it because I trust you not to hurt me and because I want to give you everything I have." He carded his fingers through Fenris’s hair.
"First thing, I can’t tell you, if I don’t know. And I don’t." Fenris tipped his head against Artemis’s hand. "I don’t know, until I try. And if I can start and finish, and everything is… nothing has been damaged, then I know it doesn’t matter. If you ask me, and I can do it, and it’s what you wanted, then it’s right for me to do it, when you ask for it, however you ask. I — there’s nothing left to fear, if I can do it." He stroked Artemis’s face, gently, fingers lingering where the texture of the skin changed. "I have been no one for so very long, I barely know myself. I know you. I know what you like, because you tell me. You show me. I don’t know what I like, until I try it. And sometimes, I don’t know what I like until … A magister destroyed me, once. Ruined everything I thought I had and things I didn’t know I’d ever have, years before I got to them. I will not let him ruin this." Fenris huffed, again, and kissed the silly bit of fluff on Artemis’s chin. He’d never admit it, but that still made him strangely happy. "I keep putting words together, but I have no idea if I’ve said what I meant."
Artemis retaliated with a kiss to Fenris’s lyrium-lined chin. "No, I think I understand," Artemis murmured. "You want to try." To push through his fear. And Artie could understand that. He remembered how terrified he’d been, once, of being with Fenris sober, of being with anyone sober even, not because he was afraid of Fenris but because he was afraid of himself. "Anything you want, you know. You just need to let me know if you need to stop." Artemis tilted Fenris’s face up again to make sure his elf understood that, and then he kissed Fenris’s lips sweetly. "I love you, you know. Have I said that today? That’s something else you’ll have to teach me how to say in Tevene."
"Te amo," Fenris mumbled against Artemis’s lips. "You say, ‘te amo’." He kissed Artemis much more intently, passionately, as if to pass the words and their meaning directly into his mage’s mouth. "Do you want to try something else, for now? Maybe save the rest of that for when we get home?" A wicked smile flickered across his lips. "Perhaps I should pull down one of those nice, fur coats, and lay you down on it, hmm? Make you beg for me. And then we can just hang it back up and go have another drink. Maybe check on your brothers, to be sure they haven’t been crushed by a golem."
Artemis wrapped his arms around Fenris’s shoulders and hummed into another kiss. "That’s not a bad suggestion," he purred. "But let me get the coat." He tugged on a particularly garish one over Fenris’s shoulder, using a bit of force magic when it got caught in the hanger. It ended up flopping onto Artie’s face, earning a snort from Fenris. "That went much more gracefully in my mind," Artie said, voice muffled in a sea of fur.
Fenris untangled the coat from Artemis and spread it on the floor, fur side up. Orlesian make, he thought, by the look of it, and he would take a particular pleasure in defacing it. He unclipped the chain from Artemis’s collar and set it aside, hooking two fingers into the front ring, instead, and yanking Artemis onto the coat, until the mage sprawled, already debauched, beneath him. His hands wandered over exposed skin, slid down the shining smooth side of the corset and dipped into the slits of the skirt, to knead Artemis’s thighs. "I think I want you on your belly," he decided, finally. "Pull the skirt aside, so you don’t ruin it."
"And so I ruin the coat instead?" Artemis hummed. "It is a travesty, isn’t it?" Damn Orlesians. At least fur would feel better against his knob than tree bark. Artie bit his lip around a grin and obeyed, rolling over onto his stomach and lifting his hips to move the skirt out of the way. "Like this, messere?" he teased, looking back at Fenris over his shoulder.
"Just like that," Fenris growled, tucking the back of the skirt up out of the way, before leaning down to bite both sides of his mage’s enticing ass. It really was a work of art, he thought, and proof of some divine sentiment. He hadn’t much use for divinity of any kind, until he discovered that ass. Perhaps the Maker hadn’t made the world, but someone had crafted this mage. He darted his tongue between the cheeks, licking insistently at Artemis’s hole, as his hands kneaded that divine ass.
A breath shivered past Artemis’s lips. He rested his chin on his forearms and canted his hips at an inviting angle. The furs tickled him as he moved, and he fought not to squirm. "Te amo," he said, just to taste the words on his lips. He purred at the attention, eyes fluttering shut. "So how do you say ‘fuck me’ in Tevene?"
Fenris had to stop licking, to answer that, and he took the opportunity to spit into his hand, before he answered, better adjusting the loincloth for this position, before slicking himself and lining up. "You say, ‘pedica me’. Will you say it? Will you beg me to do it?" He rubbed the tip of his knob against Artie’s hole, never quite pushing in.
A needy sound caught in the back of Artie’s throat as he tilted his hips back. "Fenris," he breathed. "Pedica me. Please. Fuck me. Pedica me." He would say those words as often as Fenris liked.
As many times as Fenris had heard those words, they’d never been for him. He nudged Artemis’s legs closer together, with his knees, wrapped his hand around one hip, and pushed slowly in.
At that moment, the door pulled open, and amid a great lot of masculine giggling, Anton and Cullen manhandled each other into the closet, pulling the door shut, behind them, before either of them looked down.
"Er, Anton?" Cullen was suddenly mortified, a blush flashing across his cheeks, as he tore his eyes away from the scene at their feet and stared off into a corner, as he fumbled for the doorknob.
"Wha— Oh. Shit. Sorry, wrong closet." Anton cackled, inanely, and swept Cullen back out the door, closing it again, behind them. Nope. He hadn’t seen a thing. Certainly not his older brother sprawled across Orlesian furs, speaking a foreign language, with an elf in his ass. Nope. Hadn’t happened. "You know, Cullen, you could just lift up your skirt a little and sit in my lap…"
Artemis groaned, more in mortification than in pleasure. He dropped his face onto his arms.
"Popular closet," Fenris said, which startled a weak chuckle out of Artemis. "At least for Hawkes."
"Oh, Maker, there’s a thought," Artemis replied, his smile shrinking. "Praise Andraste it was you with me." No. Nope. Artie wasn’t going to think about that. Artie was going to think about the gorgeous elf behind him with his knob up his ass. He shifted his hips to get Fenris’s attention. "Now, where were we?"
"Were we here?" Fenris asked, squeezing his knees tighter against Artemis, as he pushed down and in, grinding hard. "Or maybe here?" His fingers snagged the back ring of the collar, tugging ever so subtly. "Perhaps both…" He settled a hand on the back of Artemis’s shoulder, to support himself and ground in hard and slow, curling his fingers at the same point in each motion of his hips. "Is this something you want?"
"Those are all… good places," Artemis panted. "Yes, I want… Maker." He leaned into the collar to feel its sweet pressure against his throat. The press of Fenris’s hips ground Artie’s knob against the fur, and… well, that was new. Pleasant new. He made a note to never leave his coats inside this closet. "Pull… harder. Just a little." Always a bit greedy, wasn’t he?
Fenris pulled a little tighter, remembering that Artie was leaning into it, so there wouldn’t be a problem. As long as there was still room for Artie to tip his head back, he’d be fine. The thought was comforting. "What if I just take you like this? If I hold you down and please myself inside you? Maybe you’ll finish, or maybe I’ll just be done, and you’ll have to wait until we get home," he teased, picking up the pace. He supposed Cormac would solve that problem, really, and he just hoped that if he actually treated his mage so poorly, he’d still be invited to watch. He suspected not.
Artemis groaned at those words, fighting not to squirm. He’d never grow tired of Fenris’s voice, especially not when it was pouring such lovely filth into his ear. With the collar tight against his throat, Artie’s breaths came out ragged. "Please," he choked out. "Yes. That."
"You want me to take you, to use you, with no regard to your pleasure? Be careful, mage, I may do just that." Fenris sounded amused, even as his breathing quickened. He moved faster, slamming into Artemis, roughly, and grinding at the end of the thrusts. He couldn’t bring himself to be quite that cruel, though. Or at least he hoped he couldn’t. He’d run out of hands, though, with one on the collar and the other supporting him. There was nowhere to safely pass his hand into Artemis’s flesh — and watching how suddenly, irrepressibly turned on Artie had gotten from just that, and in the middle of a crowded room… A low groan slid out between Fenris’s teeth, at the thought. He wondered if this would actually be enough, for Artie.
"Fuck. Fenris!" Bits of fur came free where Artemis gripped too hard, but the coat was ruined anyway. The collar didn’t quite choke off the desperate sounds starting in the back of his throat, or the desperate words that tumbled out after them. "Yes. Please. Use me. I want it. I—" Words were a bit too much effort after that, though one particularly hard thrust strangled a shout out of him.
Maker. Party. Right. He couldn’t be making noise like that. Artemis bit his lip against any other sounds.
Perhaps he didn’t need another hand, Fenris realised. Those sounds, the way Artemis squirmed beneath him… "Like this?" Fenris growled, between gasps. "Oh, Artemis, the way you squeeze me, the way your insides tremble around me…" And that was it, for words. He couldn’t remember how they went together, and his lips felt strangely electric. And then that tingle became a crackle that shot through his bones, dancing across the tips of his fingers and toes, and he felt himself curl forward, muscles clamping down, as he throbbed and spurted into his mage.
Back in the main hall, next to the table of hors d’oeuvres, Sigrun stopped mid-story to look at Shale. "Are you… humming?" she asked.
The look of bliss was disconcerting on a stone face. "Mmm, I believe the other squishy one called it ‘purring’," Shale answered.
Anders squinted at her, mouth full of olives, and nearly choked. The golem. Was vibrating. The stone golem. Anders looked at Cormac, cheeks still bulging with olives.
Cormac’s eyes shot wide, and he cackled, resting his head on Anders’s shoulder. "I guess I know whose problem got solved," he laughed.
"I should take it with me, I think. The squishy rumbling thing," Shale decided.
"I think the glowy elf might object. I think I might object," Cormac said, looking only slightly more serious.
"I think the large, squishy, furry thing talks too much." Shale shot a disapproving look at Cormac.
Anders choked on an olive.