[ Master Post ]
Title: Rhapsody In Ass Major – Chapter 155
Fandom: Dragon Age
Characters: Anders ♂, Cormac Hawke ♂
Rating: E (L3 N4 S4 V0 D0)
Warnings: Klismaphilia, the internet is for porn, Anders is not okay, Cormac really isn’t either
Notes: And everything falls apart… (And Cormac learns not to drink an entire pot of tea, before one of those potions.)
It was gravity, Anders told himself, gravity and the water’s weight that made his insides shift. His lips pressed back against Cormac’s, chasing Cormac’s breath, and for a moment, the world was still. Anders’s legs pressed tight to Cormac’s sides, one hand cradling the back of his head, caressing his neck. Anders’s lips moved based on muscle-memory, stilted, hesitant at first, before gaining confidence as he remembered. Except he remembered more than just the press of lips on lips. He remembered the rub of a beard against his chin and cheek. He remembered the smell of old books, of the lamp oil the Tranquil used, remembered the library floor under his back.
Between kisses, Anders opened his eyes and didn’t see Karl. "Cormac," he said again, a reminder. He didn’t notice his own tears until he heard the tightness in his throat.
"Anders," Cormac replied, quietly, drawing back just enough to get a look. He supposed it wasn’t the first time there had been tears in the middle of something, between them, it was just that they were usually his, and… he’d thought something about how that lost look wasn’t usually there, but realised he had no idea how he looked, when that was going on. But, there was something to fall back on, here. "Fawning or fucking?" he asked, bringing up one hand to cup Anders’s cheek, wiping away the tear-trail with his thumb. "Or both? We’re creative. We could do both."
Anders conjured up a smile for him, but it was a pale, uncertain smile. He stretched up for another kiss, ignoring the way his stomach rolled. "Fuck me," he purred, his fake smile almost believable now. "Make me scream again." Make me forget.
For a moment, as the cold shiver ran down his spine, Cormac understood the look Anders had gotten, the first few times things had gotten bloody. This really was deeply wrong — went against everything he’d come to know about Anders. "Ask, and you shall receive," he said, hips rocking and grinding as he worked himself up to the idea. "Just…" A pained look flickered across his face, gone as quickly as it appeared. "Never mind. Nothing. Just tell me what you want. You know how I like it when you talk to me." ‘Just tell me you aren’t drunk,’ he’d almost said, but there was very little chance of that, and if he said it — if he doubted out loud — this would be over. Maybe really, permanently over, and that wasn’t a chance he was going to take.
Cormac’s hand slid down Anders’s neck, across the scars on his chest, over the pocked and stretched scar at his hip — his fingers lingered there, which they tended to, in silent thanks to whatever gods had let this mage live. He curled his hand around the flagpole for a few long, slow strokes, before letting his hips set a punishing pace. Yet again, Cormac found himself grateful for whatever was in those ridiculous but terribly useful potions…
Anders let his head fall back, focused on the feeling of fullness, of warmth, on the sound of sloshing water inside him. He clutched Cormac to him, kept his hips tilted up, knowing his back would be sore later. He focused on that, on the physical, on the now, and shoved aside all higher thinking, shoved down the sick feeling crawling up his throat. For a while, he fell back into old habits, fell eerily silent, only to remember that he was supposed to be making noise. And that Cormac had asked him to talk.
"Yes," Anders hissed when Cormac pushed in just right. "Like that. Harder." A tortured groan slipped past his teeth. "Touch me. So full, Cormac. Make me come."
The blinding sparkles started behind Cormac’s eyes, with those words — words he’d … maybe imagined Anders saying, but not in a very long time. He’d gotten so used to the tiny shifts in Anders’s body, in his breathing, that said the same thing. "So beautiful," he panted against Anders’s lips. "So very good to me." Cormac cut himself off with a desperate kiss, teeth cracking together as he slammed into Anders harder and harder. For a moment, he forgot, thrown off when the earthquake didn’t come, but the thick weight in his hand, the heavy smell of herb-scented sweat, brought him back. What a strange illusion, he thought, but the thought was gone as fast as it had come.
He turned his head to the side, cheek sliding against Anders’s, until his lips met Anders’s ear. A nibble, a lick, then, "If I come inside you, will it fit? How full are you? How much more do you want?" It was a tease, really. Cormac knew he wasn’t fucking water, any more, so there was more than enough space, but Anders seemed so taken with the idea.
Anders shivered at the words, bucking under Cormac and into his hand. "More," he panted. "I want more. Fill me until I burst." It occurred to him that, with the potion, Cormac could fill him again and again, and that was another thought that made his toes curl. Anders lost track of his words after that, let them flow out in a way he usually didn’t dare, let himself shout Cormac’s name again and again. Let himself pull Cormac up into another kiss as he throbbed in his hand, vision flashing white, filled with glittering stars. He gasped against Cormac’s lips, let him breathe in his last shivery moans.
Cormac held himself back, tried to wait for Anders, so he could enjoy every little gasp and twitch, but the way Anders screamed his name just pushed him over, hard and fast. He tensed and gasped, the quiet one, this time, just to hear this, just to let that voice pour into him as he spilled out into Anders’s still warmer-than-usual body.
The tension ran out of him, after that, and he sagged against Anders, hips still rolling, slowly. "You amaze me," he groaned. "And yes, I can, and I will, but … even with the potion, I have to breathe, first. And no bursting. I’d be even more upset than Artie, and he’d be pissed. Give you anything that’s not going to kill one of us, though."
The words washed over Anders as he panted for breath, staring up at the ceiling. He knew that ceiling, knew every knot and whorl in its beams from staring up at it in moments like this. He knew that groove there, that notch there, and he checked for each defining characteristic as reality sank in around him. He knew where he was, whom he was with, knew that had been good, better than good, and yet knowing all that didn’t quell the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. Suddenly, Anders felt like the water had crept up and into his lungs, and he couldn’t quite remember how to breathe properly.
Anders pushed at Cormac’s chest, keeping his touch gentle, and offered him a smile that didn’t match his wide eyes. "I think we need a break," Anders said, fighting to keep his tone light. "And I need to take care of…" He gestured at his stomach. What he needed was to be out from under Cormac, to be out of here.
"Yeah, I— Yeah, definitely." Cormac nodded and eased himself out, just as carefully as the last time, slowly sitting up. "Sorry, I didn’t think. I just fell on you. You all right?" He ducked under Anders’s leg, leaving him room to stretch out, and then busied himself with his own needs, working the feeling back into his thigh, as he reached for his robes. "If you’re going to … deal with that, I’m just going to step out a bit. Nothing to do with you, just there’s not enough chamber pot in here for the both of us, and I’m coming to the conclusion that it’s possible to drink an awful lot of tea in half an hour." Tugging the robes on, he stopped, for a moment, before he got up, hand cupping Anders’s cheek. "Really, though, I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?"
"I’m fine," Anders assured him. Maybe saying it aloud often enough would make it true. "Go. Evacuate your tea." He clamped down on his panic long enough to wave Cormac out. It wasn’t until Cormac left that he realised he felt cold again, wasn’t until he’d taken care of his ‘business’ that he felt empty. In the silence, memories tried to fill that emptiness but only left him colder.
Anders knew this ceiling, this bed, these walls, but down here, away from windows or air, it felt like the Tower. Anders clutched at his arms and struggled to breathe, until Justice stepped in and breathed for him.
Cormac spent a good quarter hour staring balefully into his chamberpot. That potion had seemed like such a good idea, when he didn’t have to pee, but when it came down to it, it did make this a lot more difficult. He breathed calmly and deeply. He thought about unsexy things. But, the potion was magic, and being magic, it meant he was stuck like this for a couple more hours, whether he meant to be, or not. Which… Anders had said something about bursting, but Cormac was feeling it. Finally, some combination of breathing, stretching, and flexing things worked, after which he spent another five minutes laying on the floor waiting for the blood to return to his head. At least he’d kind of expected that part. Still, this was usually easier, when there weren’t potions involved. He’d mention it to Anders, who was sure to get a laugh out of it — assuming anything could get a laugh out of Anders, right now. That look hadn’t been contentment.
Wondering how long this was supposed to take, he headed back downstairs and knocked, spotting the cats still curled up under the desk. They had that wary look to them, though — the way they looked at Justice. "Anders? You good?"
Footsteps approached from the other side of the door, and blue light leaked out from the space between the door and the floor. "LEAVE US," boomed Justice’s voice, making the cats jump. "HE DOES NOT WISH TO SEE YOU OR ANYONE ELSE. NO ONE MAY ENTER, EXCEPT THE CATS."
Cormac rested his forehead on the door, suddenly so much more tired. "Justice? Take care of him. Whatever’s going on, just take care of him. I’ll come back around mid-day, just to bring food and take out the chamberpot. I’ll keep doing it, as long as the two of you are here. Just put whatever needs to go out next to the door, and I’ll take care of it." His mother had been like this, for a while, after Lothering. He could remember bringing her food, only to have her throw it in his face, with more accusations about how if he’d done what his father wanted, they’d still have a real home to go back to. It wasn’t true, of course, but she was so bad at inevitability. At least, this time, Justice would handle the worst of it, and he’d just have to fetch and carry. Not that he wouldn’t, if it came to that, but… it would be much easier for Justice.
"I’m going to see my brother. If he decides he wants to see me, tell him to come upstairs." Cormac sighed and headed for the Darktown door. He didn’t want to deal with Bodhan, on his way out. Not right now.