Title: Pranksters of Kinloch Hold: The Wage(r)s of Sin
Fandom: Dragon Age
Characters: Anders ♂, Alim ‘Fen’Din’ Surana ♂
Rating: E (L2 N4 S4 V0 D0)
Warnings: Autofellatio, exhibitionism/voyeurism
Notes: A stupid wager and a gift for a friend.
They bet with favours, as the only things of value they had, but the mages were nothing if not willing to wager on some unlikely event. Surana was usually chosen to hold the tokens, since he rarely had an interest in the outcome, if he wasn’t the object of the bet. But, Anders had opened his mouth again, and very few people were willing to accept his declaration at face value.
"There’s no way. No one is that flexible," one mage said, to the apprentice beside her, as she handed a bit of wax with her name to the elf with the unsettling smile.
"He’s a healer, Leorah," the apprentice, old enough that his Harrowing must’ve been approaching, pointed out. "He’s got to be using that to cheat it somehow, but the point isn’t how, it’s if, and I say he can do it."
"He’s full of shit," another mage said, leaning against the wall of the sectioned room. "It’s Anders."
"Yeah, it’s Anders, and if there’s any shit left after everything else that’s been in him, I’ll be shocked," another mage joked.
"Hey, Fendy—" the leaning mage started.
"Fen’din," Surana corrected, not looking up from the pile of wax and paper.
"Whatever. He’s bet against himself, hasn’t he?"
"I wouldn’t have let him bet either way. He’s the only one fully aware of the outcome." Surana smiled blandly. "None of us have witnessed him trying or succeeding. But, he knows. And now we’ll know."
A small crowd had gathered, each one placing a bet with Surana, as they came in. Anders lounged on the bed, wrapped in only a sheet, paging through a book as he listened to the chatter. One hand idly rubbed at his knob. Finally, Surana closed the door.
"Prove it," Surana challenged, and Anders slid the book onto the nightstand, still open, not to lose his page too badly.
All of two people in the room hadn’t seen Anders nude, and Surana knew exactly who they were, when the sheet came off.
"Maker!" a young enchanter choked out, fumbling the book she’d been reading.
"Can I change my bet?" a mage pleaded, putting on his best sad eyes for Surana. But, even to another elf, Surana was merciless. A wager was placed once and only once.
The crowd shifted, all of them stepping further into the room, trying to let the shortest people into the front, as Anders picked a direction and rolled up onto his shoulders, feet stepping slowly down the wall behind his head. In a very long few seconds, he inched closer and closer to himself, pausing to press a kiss to the tip of his own knob, before he opened his mouth for it. By the time he stopped moving, he’d lowered about a third of his knob into his mouth, and was sloppily sucking himself off.
"That is," Surana pronounced, "without question, a success. Favours lost will be distributed equally among the winners, as always, and I will retain any indivisible amount to serve as the starting stake for the next round."
Tokens were counted and divided, with each winner receiving back their own along with whatever they’d won, on their way back out. Anders remained folded over himself. Finally, only three mages remained — Surana and two losers — and the losing mages seemed frozen in place, just staring, wide-eyed at Anders.
"Your debts are paid," Surana reminded them. "The wager has ended. It is decided. He has met the terms and done so quite admirably, by the look of it."
"That’s… That’s absurd!" Leorah insisted. "There must be some spell he’s used to get that that big!"
"If he were using spells on it, they would not be to increase the size," Surana assured her. He’d heard Anders complain about that, enough times, over the years.
"That’s ridiculous!" Leorah went on. "Every man wants to prove he’s larger than everyone else."
"Unless that man actually is larger than everyone else, in every way, and naturally so." It was a bit of an exaggeration, Surana knew. Anders was lighter than most templars, but he was also taller than most of them, too. His hands were bigger than Surana’s head. "Or unless that man has no interest in such things, whatsoever."
"I’m not talking about you, Fen’Din. You’re hardly a man."
The other elven mage beside Leorah finally stopped shaking his head in amazement and looked up in an obvious fury, but Surana touched his shoulder.
"She’s right, Shani. I might have been a man in another world, but in this world I’m already dead." Surana shrugged it off.
"Dead men don’t eat frozen custard," Shani pointed out.
"Certainly they do. The proof is before you." Surana smiled slyly, and across the room, Anders choked and snorted, finally unfolding himself and picking up the sheet, again.
"Look, if you’re not here to warm my knob, can you please get the fuck out?" Anders asked. "As lovely as this philosophical discussion about the nature of men and custard is, it’s really not helping me with the one thing I’d like to get done before supper, because that’s going to be terrible, if I don’t take care of it."
"I should stand here, just to spite you," Shani muttered. "I can’t believe you just did that, and I watched it happen."
"Not my fault you bet against something so obvious. But, oh! You bet against me without checking the goods. So maybe it wasn’t obvious. Still your own fault." Anders smiled anything but apologetically. "And Leorah? That’s all mine. Ask around."
"That’s absurd," Leorah insisted again. "It’s indecent."
"You’re telling me?" Anders laughed. "Seriously, though, get the fuck out. Both of you."
"What about him?" Shani cocked a thumb at Surana, as he grabbed Leorah’s arm and made for the door.
"He’s seen me do worse." Anders dropped the sheet again, as the door creaked open. "Thank you!" He called after them, as it closed again, relaxing and looking up at the wall, again, considering if it would be worth it.
"Don’t?" Surana asked, reaching under the carved wooden trim on a low shelf of the half-height bookcase that served as Anders’s vanity. His sketchbook dropped into his hand, and he rescued a wrapped charcoal stick from a collection of writing implements at his hip, as he took a seat on top of the bookcase.
"Don’t sit there," Anders shook his head, glancing around the room as he stroked himself. "You can’t see from there. But, they stole my chair again. Go see if Godwin’s got it."
Surana slid off the bookcase and stepped around the wall, to return with a chair that he set beside the bed. He piled a few things from the nightstand on the floor, before he sat down and put his feet in their place, propping the book across his legs. Reaching out, he brushed a bit of hair out of Anders’s face. "That’s better."
"Did you finish the ones from last time?" Anders asked, fingers slicking themselves as he cast without thinking, thrusting up into his hand.
"Yeah, I’ll show you, after. I wrote which ones they are, again, too." Surana smiled serenely, eyes on Anders’s face, as he began to sketch. "Thanks for this."
"I’m going to do it anyway. I already don’t care if you’re looking. If we get a reference guide out of it, all the better." A grin flashed across Anders’s face, only to be lost as his eyes drifted shut and he tipped his head back, swallowing some sound he wouldn’t make. He thought, one day, if they ever made it out of this place, maybe he’d teach Surana what pleasure sounded like, too. Maybe he’d teach himself what it sounded like. But, for now, they had a book of faces, and the notes Anders made beside those sketches gave Surana something to hold on to.