[ Master Post ]
Title: Rhapsody In Ass Major – Chapter 136
Fandom: Dragon Age
Characters: Anders ♂, Fenris ♂
Rating: E (L2 N2 S4 V0 D0)
Warnings: The internet is for porn
Notes: This wasn’t what they’d meant to do at all, but it seemed foolish to stop, when they were already halfway through.
There was a certain warm contentment in the way Fenris pressed against him, Anders decided. It was obviously a sex thing, but it wasn’t a sexy sex thing, at least not for him. "It doesn’t matter if you don’t know what you want, but I need to know what you don’t want. You have to tell me if I do something wrong. I’d like it if you’d tell me if I do something right, too, but that’s a little less critical."
"Mage," the word was strangled, choked out between ragged breaths, "you talk too much."
"Cormac likes it," Anders huffed.
"I am not a magical bear," Fenris growled, grinding against Anders, as a teasing flutter of stronger current danced along his nerves.
"You going to kill me if I tell you how it was, with Artemis? Do you want to hear it, or would you rather not know?" Anders whispered, against one twitching ear. "Some people like to hear things like that, at times like these." Like Artemis and Cormac both. He could get either one of them wound up by talking about fucking the other one.
The next sound that rumbled in Fenris’s chest was less a purr and more a growl, but not the most threatening one Anders had heard from the elf. Artie was Fenris’s, and they both knew it. But that didn’t stop Fenris from wondering… from wanting…
"Do you mean to taunt me?" Fenris asked, tone still just this side of dangerous.
"Not taunt," Anders murmured, the hand on Fenris’s back pulling him closer. "Tempt, perhaps." Fingers traced sparking patterns across Fenris’s skin. "You say I talk too much. Might as well talk about our… shared interests."
Another growl, but Fenris’s hips didn’t stop moving. "Tell me," he said, though he’d probably regret it.
Anders licked his lips, tongue brushing Fenris’s ear, and Fenris’s hips jerked forward. "You know how big I am. I don’t know if you know what that means, but it means I don’t fuck, I get fucked. Cormac aside. So, when he said he wanted me, that’s what I thought he wanted. I tried so hard to talk him out of my knob, but you know how he is. You know, but I didn’t. I hadn’t been inside anyone but Cormac, in years. But, I let him take me like that."
"Let him?" Fenris panted. "Sounds more like took him."
"Oh, I worshipped him, first. Put my tongue into him. You know all the sweet little noises he makes when he’s getting his ass eaten, don’t you? All those little whimpers and whines. But, oh, Fenris, the way he pushed back against me, when I put my fingers in him, when I stroked and kneaded his insides. That raw lust that just started to seep out of him, while I slicked him up and stretched out his tight little hole. And he just kept begging for more. Fucking him with four fingers, and he begged for it." Anders finally started to thicken, at the memory, and he rolled his hips under Fenris.
Fenris felt the mage move under him and ground back more insistently, and Anders settled into the rhythm he set. "And then?" Fenris asked against Anders’s throat, just under his ear. He could picture it, his mage on all fours and making those sweet sounds, biting his lip as he tried to keep quiet.
"And then I laid back," Anders continued, voice little more than a breath in Fenris’s ear, "and he straddled my hips. And then he sank down onto me, so achingly slowly. And, Maker, you should have felt him, Fenris, how tightly he squeezed me. We could feel each other’s heartbeats, but he just kept taking and taking."
Fenris closed his eyes. He knew how Artemis felt inside, how he felt when Artemis was riding him, how desperate, how greedy he always was. Fenris’s hands clutched at Anders’s arms, at his shoulders, at his hips, never quite landing but needing to pull the mage closer.
"And the face he made, Fenris," Anders went on. "The way his eyes rolled back, lips parted around more of those sounds. Then that blissful little smile he gave me."
A raw, frustrated noise tore out of Fenris. This was good. Different, but good. It just wasn’t enough. Even with visions of Artemis writhing, this wasn’t nearly enough. Anders was strangely gentle, for as loud and obnoxious as he was — slow and soft and easy. But, Fenris had become so accustomed to Artemis’s fast, hard desperation, that this was enough to turn him on, but not nearly enough to get him off.
"This isn’t—" Fenris panted. "I can’t—"
"Tell me," Anders breathed. "Tell me what you need."
"More," Fenris gritted out, hands finally clenching just under Anders’s feathered shoulders. "Harder. More."
A strong jolt shot down Fenris’s spine, repeating until it was a ripple between Anders’s hands. "Like this?"
"Put— Just— Fuck!"
The last word caught Anders’s ear. That was an Avvar word. Fenris only swore in Tevene, which made that a verb. "Yeah?" he purred. "You want me to spread my legs so you can fuck me? I’ll tell you a secret. It’s not just my fingers that sparkle…"
A groan tumbled out of Fenris’s throat, low and rich. Not just his fingers? He could have that lightning not just under his skin but surrounding him…? Venhedis, these mages would be the death of him.
"Yes," Fenris said, word hissed through his teeth. "I need — now."
"Whatever serah wishes," Anders teased, another sharp jolt making Fenris shudder before he nudged the elf back off his lap. Fenris knelt beside him on the couch, still leaning into Anders’s touch. And that was a dilemma, Anders realised. "I believe there is some clothing in the way," he panted, "clothing that requires two hands to work around. My hands are already busy, though I… imagine you could just phase through the clothing if you needed to." Anders tried not to picture that and failed. "Please don’t do that."
Fenris huffed, a puff of air at the hollow of Anders’s throat. "I have two hands," he replied, putting them to work undoing the laces of Anders’s trousers. And that was something he forced himself not to think about, that this was Anders, the abomination, whose clothing he was sticking his hands into. It was impossible to avoid, though, with those feathers ticking his cheek.
Hadn’t he once told himself that freedom meant being able to fuck gorgeous mages in the ass? It was about those words, too, if he thought about it. Well, he wasn’t so sure about ‘gorgeous’ but Anders was definitely a mage. A mage he wasn’t entirely fond of, really. A mage who wasn’t all that fond of him, either, but was willing to bend over for him, all the same.
"Up," Fenris commanded, hands yanking Anders’s trousers down, as the mage rose. All the way down to his … boots. Oh. "Fasta vass," he snarled.
"I’ll pick up my foot. There’s a buckle at the side, and then just pull." Anders had gotten these boots because they looked a lot more complicated than they actually were, and he could put them on in a hurry, without having to worry about them sliding down in a fight. That and they matched his coat. Even living in the sewer, he was vain. It never really went away. He didn’t really want it to.
Fenris wrestled the boots off Anders, and then finished yanking his trousers down. He found himself about eye-level with the flagpole, and quickly looked away. It looked even more… intimidating up close, and Fenris wondered what magic made it possible for Artemis to fit that. From either end.
"It doesn’t bite, I promise," Anders said, just to earn another glare from Fenris. He sat back down before Fenris could either pull him down or leave in a huff, one hand keeping contact with Fenris’s skin as he moved.
"You said the same about me not too long ago," Fenris said, pushing Anders back against the couch. He settled between the mage’s legs as he plucked at the laces to his own trousers. Fasta vass. He needed to stop tying such complicated knots.
"And here I am, still bitemark-free," Anders taunted him. His hands slid to Fenris’s arms instead for the moment. The current was less strong, but he didn’t need to bend at such an awkward angle.
Fenris lunged across Anders and caught just under the mage’s chin in his teeth. "You also said you don’t like it rough," Fenris reminded him, before backing off and squirming out of his own tight pants. He didn’t take them all the way off, but pushed them far enough down not to get in his way. For a moment, he wondered what Artemis would think of all this.
"Grease?" he asked, and Anders just laughed.
"Don’t worry about it." Anders said, after a moment. "It’s magic."
"But—" Fenris looked at both of Anders’s hands which were on him, and neither one was greasy.
"My ass is a different kind of magic. It’s not the Hawke ass, but I’ve still got a few good tricks." Anders grinned and raised one of his legs hooking his knee over the back of the couch.
Fenris wasn’t sure how to feel about that, especially with how … complicated the issue of lubricant could get, with Artemis. Artie who didn’t like mess. Didn’t like the slick on his fingers and everything he touched. And very definitely didn’t have a spell that did that. He wondered why Anders hadn’t taught Artie to do this thing, but then, Fenris didn’t much understand how magic worked, once it got away from the really obvious things like fire and earthquakes.
He pressed a finger into Anders, and was rewarded with warm slickness and a tingle that seized on the lyrium along his finger and ran up into his hand. A warm, round moan followed the surprised gasp at this unexpected combination of sensations.
"And that’s just a finger," Anders reminded him, looking altogether far too smug, even as he canted his hips to take that finger deeper.
"Mages," Fenris breathed, as much in awe as exasperation. He took a moment to savour that sensation, adjusting to that prickling tingle while Anders’s insides adjusted to him. He dipped a second finger in, and electricity lit up that finger as well. The currents running under his skin and lighting his tattoos made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.
Anders smirked at the look on Fenris’s face, his round eyes. Lyrium lines sent a tingle of their own up Anders’s spine, and he suddenly couldn’t fault Artemis for finding the elf so addicting. It took Anders a moment to notice the silence, not just in the room but in his head, the constant chatter he associated with Justice fading to a background hum, almost a purr that he could feel in his bones.
Oh. Now that was interesting.
A hint of blue danced along Anders’s thighs, and though Anders didn’t notice, Fenris did. "You are glowing."
"It’s the lyrium," Anders breathed, the foot not over the back of the couch sliding to the floor.
"Artemis does not glow," Fenris protested, wanting to hear the rest of this explanation, even as he knew he really didn’t want to know.
"Artemis isn’t inhabited by a Fade spirit who wants to go home." Anders tipped his hips up, again, tunic sliding up to reveal the ugly end of the scar that started on his ankle.
Fenris laid a hand across the ridge of damaged muscle and the bowl of stretched skin between that and Anders’s hip. "Is that why you’re still alive?"
"Not that time," Anders replied, and Fenris realised that meant there were other times, other brushes with death bad enough to leave scars on the healer. He’d seen hints of some of the scars, but hadn’t thought any of them would have been quite that bad.
"What—?" Fenris asked, gesturing down Anders’s leg with one hand as his other hand eased in another finger, stealing the breath from them both.
"Later. Fuck now, talk later." The flagpole twitched in agreement.
More striations of blue crossed Anders’s skin, and Fenris paused, reminded again that Anders wasn’t the only one inhabiting this body. That was a thought that should have repulsed him, that should have been enough to make him change his mind, but he couldn’t pull away even if he wanted to, not with the way the tingle of Anders’s skin beckoned to his.
"Talk later," Fenris echoed, sounding dazed. He pulled his fingers free slowly, reluctantly, but hurried to replace them with the tip of his knob.
And Fenris saw stars, burning blue and white and yellow at the edge of his vision, mouth open in a sound that wanted to be a curse but turned into a groan. He clutched at Anders’s hips, forced his fingers to uncurl from a bruising grip, to stay gentle, as his head fell forward onto Anders’s chest.
"Told you," said Anders, just as breathless, eyes just as wide. "Magic ass."
"Nngh," Fenris agreed, pushing the rest of the way in, as slowly as he dared.
Anders wrapped his arms around Fenris, pulling him a little closer to reach, just enough to get a finger on his tailbone and another at the base of his skull. Current leapt between Anders’s hands, meeting with the buzzing warmth that ran up Fenris’s knob, to settle between the elf’s hips. And that was it. That. Finally.
Fenris lost control of his body, every unpleasant word he’d said about mages vindicated in that moment, but he couldn’t manage to care, as his hips slammed forward again and again, desperate sounds of surprise spilling out of his mouth one after another. It was everything he feared and everything he desired, at once.
Anders fell silent, breathing deep and slow, his focus on the magic, as Fenris ravished him. He knew he wouldn’t lose control — the number of times he’d fried his own balls in the tower meant he reflexively stopped casting when he started to waver. He didn’t have accidents like that, any more. It was something he didn’t worry about so much, with Artie and Cormac, if only because a twitch the wrong way wouldn’t be fatal, there. He wasn’t usually running slightly stupid amounts of electricity down either of their spines. But, he was a healer. He knew what the body would take, elf or human.
His hips rocked in time with Fenris’s thrusts, twisting down just before Fenris started to pull out. The lyrium felt like nothing else, and if this was what Fenris felt, all the time, it was no wonder he wanted to quiet it. Which wasn’t to say it wasn’t rather nice, limitedly, but… Anders could definitely make out the shape of the problem, there. Justice, on the other hand, wanted more — to taste, to touch, to clutch Fenris’s naked body against them. Admittedly, the two of them together had only been with Cormac and Artie, but Anders had never heard anything like this out of Justice, and he wondered if he should have taken that ring off of Kristoff, before he’d set fire to the clearing and run, which was a terribly odd thought to be having with the lyrium-engraved knob of a former Tevinter slave firmly embedded in his ass.
"You’re glowing," Fenris pointed out between gasps.
"So are you." And it occurred to Anders only then that maybe they should have closed and locked the door, in case Bethany returned for more books. He doubted ‘it’s not what it looks like’ would be half as convincing this time around.
In the end, however, he couldn’t bring himself to care, not with Fenris’s hips slamming into his, not with the desperate sounds panted against his neck. He doubted Fenris would last long anyway at the pace he was going, with all that magic crackling under his skin. At least Cormac was down the hall and could help relieve the ache this was sure to leave, even if Justice grumbled in his mind at the thought of not getting to keep all this lyrium to himself. Maybe Anders could ask Cormac to do the glowy thing. Better yet, maybe he could convince Fenris and Artie to join them.
Fenris swore over him in Tevene, whimpers catching in his throat as his hips started to shiver, thrusts growing more erratic, more desperate as he tried to bury himself in that lightning and heat.