[ Master Post ]
Title: Rhapsody in Ass Major – Chapter 195
Fandom: Dragon Age
Characters: Cormac Hawke ♂, Carver Hawke ♂, Fenris ♂, Artemis Hawke ♂,
Rating: M (L3 N4 S4 V1 D0)
Warnings: Facepunching, Anton’s garden furniture, the internet is for porn, Hawke-on-Hawke action
Notes: Carver discovers some interesting features of the garden. Unrelatedly, Artemis is offered a delightful wedding gift.
Cormac was once again at his desk, surrounded by notes and rough line-drawings. A map of the city was tacked to the wall above it, some streets traced out in blue. Obviously not the mine’s finances, this time. "That doesn’t make sense," he muttered, looking at another map in his hands, with red and blue lines that ran down slightly different paths than the streets in the first map. "Why would there be…"
There was a tap on his shoulder, and he turned his head right into Carver’s fist. "Congratulations. That’s my shield. Are you ever going to stop trying?"
"I’ll stop trying when you stop being an ass!" Carver said. "So likely no." He shook out his hand, flexing his fingers.
"That’ll be never. You can punch me when I’m dead, assuming the Fade will let you near my corpse." Cormac turned back around and went back to measuring lines and muttering about alignments, for a moment. "What did our brother do this time, that you imagine I’m to blame for? More elves? Terrible rumours about liaisons on the docks? Terrible rumours about Isabela? I can promise you the last one’s not true at all."
"It’s not about Artie!" Carver snapped, circling to lean over Cormac’s desk. "Or at least it better not be. It’s about your disgusting…!" Carver gestured at the window as he sputtered. "Your disgusting lawn furniture! I’ve sat on those benches, Cormac!" He looked a bit green in the face at the thought.
"Then you want to punch Anton, not me. That’s his lawn furniture. And it’s extremely comfortable, for being made of marble." Cormac looked up, entirely confused. "Why do you want to punch me over Anton’s extremely comfortable lawn furniture?" He thought he might have a suspicion, but the very idea of it was so terrible he elected to spare himself.
Carver punched Cormac’s shield again. "You know why!" he said. "I know you know why! And I know you probably use — ugh!" His face twisted in disgust. "This is why I’m glad I don’t live here anymore."
"Andraste’s ass, Carver, stop that before you break another knuckle." Cormac sighed and made another note with grid coordinates and a glyph. "Do you really think any of us would let that go uncleaned? It’s marble, for the Maker’s sweet sake. It’s no filthier than if pigeons shit on it — which is a concern with any outdoor furniture, and I’ve never seen you complain about that, even when it hasn’t been cleaned." He dipped his quill again and drew another tiny glyph on the map. "Oh no, Anton’s extremely comfortable lawn furniture could be put to other uses. It’s Anton. Did you really expect anything less from the man who’s been keeping company with prostitutes since he was ten? And yes, I know what it’s for. I paid for it. And if the flowers in the rest of the garden weren’t warning enough, I don’t know whose son you are, because you’re not mum’s."
"Well maybe I am adopted then," Carver said, throwing up his arms. "Artie tried to convince me of it often enough. Maybe it’s true! And it’s not just about cleanliness — Andraste’s tits, Cormac! If you and Anton are both using it, then… ugh." He shook his head, stepped back to pace around the carpet, swearing under his breath. He was tempted to say something else, something about Cormac and one of their brothers, but that was likely to get him punched. "I didn’t need to find out about this. I definitely didn’t need to find out about this from my girlfriend!"
"Oh, has she been making use of the furniture as well? I thought I saw her out in the garden with Isabela and Bethy, the other day. Figured they were just showing Izzy some more of those tricks from the wedding. Were you there for that part? That was great. We blamed it all on Anders." Cormac looked up and shook his head. "Cullen — your boss — smiling at magic. Completely incredible. Maybe smiling a little less when his mum wandered into the back garden with the seneschal, though. I’ve heard she also approves of the comfortable lawn furniture. I’m assuming that’s in its usual comfortable state, rather than any of the exciting states." He paused. "And if Anton and I are both using it what, Carver? Anton and I were both availing ourselves of Isabela, too."
"Augh, another thing I don’t need to remember." This was just getting worse the longer he stayed. Before Cormac could say anything else, could make any other excuses or gross him out more, Carver planted another solid punch against his shield, just on principle. "And now, I’m going to pretend like that…" He pointed out the window, towards the gardens. "…doesn’t exist. I’m going to pretend those benches are benches. Benches I will never use, thank you." Carver threw up his hands, shaking his head as though trying to rid himself of the thought, and stormed for the door.
"Those benches are very comfortable lawn furniture from a set that cost me half a year’s take from the mine, and you’re welcome, Carver!" Cormac hollered after him, before returning to his work. Those channels had to lead somewhere…
"Fuck you, Cormac!" Carver hollered back without pausing or turning around.
Cormac was engaged in a further analysis of several tattered notes and maps of Kirkwall. He’d gone back up into the mountains with his sister and Varric, the week before, to copy down the dwarven inscriptions outside that infernal Warden fortress, and he was still waiting for further analysis to come back from the Merchant Guild’s scholars. Hopefully, someone would be able to identify the thaig the inscriptions were connected to, but so much of dwarven history had been lost to the darkspawn.
Principally, though, there was something very wrong with this part of the Marches. Demons and worse on Sundermount. Something unspeakable bound through dwarven blood magic (and that was still a terrifying thought) a little deeper into the Vimmarks. Streets laid out in runic patterns in Kirkwall. Channels that looked like small sewers, at a glance, but didn’t actually connect to the sewers. And that room full of centuries-old Tevinter books that Anders had turned up in Darktown, the month before. And someone else had begun to connect the same dots, at some point, according to the notes he’d found. Something was deeply wrong with Kirkwall and everything around it.
He was trying to determine where the not-a-sewers would have come up, on the surface, assuming they had surface inlets, at some point, when Bodhan knocked to let him know he had a visitor. Fenris wanted to see him.
"Bring him in. I wanted his opinion on this book, anyway," Cormac said, putting up his quill and reaching for one of the books Anders had brought up from below.
"Hello… mage," Fenris greeted him, trailing off distractedly when he saw the mess of books and parchment spread out over Cormac’s desk. His stare caught on a few Tevene words, his eyes narrowing, before he finally looked at Cormac. "Are you busy? This can wait if you are."
"Nothing that hasn’t already waited a few centuries." Cormac shrugged and handed a book to Fenris. "At some point, I’d like your opinions on that book. I don’t read Tevene, but Anders read it and translated some of the important parts for me. I’m not going to tell you what he told me, because I don’t want you going into it with any expectations. I honestly suspect it’s non-fiction, but with a book that old, who can be sure?" He pushed a map of Darktown out of the way and sat on the edge of the desk, kicking the chair out so Fenris could sit. "What do you need me for?"
Fenris sat, setting the book in his lap, fingers drumming along the cover. One ear twitched as he considered his words. "I understand that you are planning Artemis’s bachelor party. I was wondering what you had planned so far." That was a safe enough place to start, he suspected.
"I’ve offered a bounty on anything leading me to more elven strippers. Jethann’s in. I’ve got three twenty-somethings from the alienage who are just looking for a good time and easy money. Mahariel’s offered, of course, and you know what he wants to be paid in." Cormac laughed. "I made sure the Rose is ours for a full day, to account for any drunks who’ll need to sleep it off, after, including Artie. I know he’s going for an afternoon ceremony, just for that reason. And because you’re distracting. His words. Anders is not allowed to drink, and we all agree on that." He counted things off on his fingers. "I made sure there would be more food than Anton managed, just in case. Anton’s working on musicians and other performers. Don’t stand too close to the jugglers. I promise they’re all pickpockets. Why? Did you have something else in mind?"
"I… might have had a thought," Fenris admitted, a smirk curling his lips as he sat back. "A thought that would fit in well with what you already have planned, namely with the… elves and alcohol that will already be there." He cleared his throat, both ears twitching now. "You and I both know he’s attracted to Jethann. Perhaps, to start, we could pay for more than a show…? And maybe not just with Jethann." His eyebrows arced as he let Cormac fill in a few of the blanks.
"Jethann will be thrilled. You know he’s been eyeing Artie since we lived in Lowtown. Anders will be less thrilled, but I’ll sit on Anders. Mahariel’s in, without question. I don’t even have to ask. I suppose we should make some arrangement for entertainment for his wife. Did you have anyone else in mind, or do you think the two will be enough?" Cormac didn’t even think to question the idea that his brother wanted to get naked with more elves than just Fenris, the night before they got married. It seemed like a perfectly Artie thing to desire, right back to the first time they ever laid eyes on Mahariel.
"Actually," Fenris said, ears just shy of vibrating, "I was thinking a higher number. And perhaps a few of Anders’s potions." His brows knit then, and he looked suddenly uncertain. "Or am I wrong in thinking that Artemis would enjoy that? I want to give him anything he could possibly desire. Or anyone, I suppose, in this case."
"Then we’re going to want to involve Anders, at least to have a look at anyone who’s even considering getting involved. That’s not optional. This is my brother," Cormac said, with a shrug. "This is your idea? Not his? I’m … a little surprised. Sounded just like something he’d come up with, but we should probably warn him. At least so he understands it’s part of the plan, and you’re not going to get bent out of shape about someone other than you or Mahariel sitting in his lap. We’ll have to arrange a room, I suspect, but I’m sure we can just co-opt Jethann’s. Unless he’s got an interest in something a little less entirely private, in which case I’m going to have to rethink a corner of the main room. But, you definitely have to tell him. You can’t spring this on him. He’ll have a heart attack."
Fenris nodded, fiddling with the book in his hands. "I… yes, I’d rather not have him die of shock the day before our wedding," he said, looking down at Cormac’s feet. "We could, perhaps, suggest it to him and see his reaction? He is more used to, er, such suggestions coming out of your mouth, I think. And I plan to be an… active participant anyway. There is a reason I suggested a few potions." He frowned up at Cormac. "Now when you say ‘involve Anders’…"
"Hey, if he wants Anders, that’s between the two of them. I just meant as a healer." Cormac noticed something on the Darktown map next to him and glanced at the map of Kirkwall on the wall behind him, before grabbing his quill and marking something on the Darktown map. "That we need a healer is a non-negotiable point. Twice as non-negotiable if Jethann hasn’t already seen Anders that week." He paused and put up the quill again, muttering something about patterns. "You want me to suggest it to him? I’ll do it, but I think we should both be there, and he should be… er, distracted. You know how he gets when he’s got room to consider the extended implications of things. He’ll talk himself out of it, even if he wants it."
Fenris hummed in agreement, smiling softly. "Yes, I am familiar with Artemis," he said.
Cormac knelt on the floor, with Artemis’s back pressed to his chest. His hips kept a slow, steady pace of long thrusts, one hand holding Artie’s hip and the other gently squeezing Artie’s throat. Further in front of them, Fenris sprawled across the floor, busying his mouth with Artie’s inner thighs.
"What do you think, my beloved lord of joy? Do we need more elves to satisfy your perverse cravings? Maybe your darling Mahariel? Perhaps Jethann? Both of them at once?" Cormac decided to build up the fantasy before suggesting that he and Fenris had a way to make it real.
Fenris grinned against Artemis’s skin as he felt his mage shiver. "Maker, Cormac," Artemis breathed, one hand clutching Cormac’s thigh.
"I wouldn’t mind watching that," Fenris rumbled, nuzzling at Artie’s knob. He hadn’t quite perfected Cormac’s kind of dirty talk, but he could nudge Artie in the right direction. "Jethann’s a prick, but he’s easy on the eyes."
He felt Artemis’s stomach tremble in a soft laugh. "He is," Artemis agreed, voice breathy. "Both things."
"And with Mahariel?" Fenris prompted when Artie started to fall into incoherency again.
"Yes," Artemis groaned. "Maker, yes."
Cormac ground in deep and hard. "What if I make that happen for you? A wedding present. What if I find you a fine assortment of elven gentlemen and a few of those liquid Warden potions, hmm? And you can spend the night before the wedding stretched out and enjoying elven culture. Would that please you, little brother?" He made a warm sound right behind Artemis’s ear.
A whimper caught in Artemis’s throat, both at Cormac’s words and at that marvellous thing Fenris was currently doing with his tongue. He floated between the pleasure here and the imagined pleasure Cormac was describing, and he gripped Cormac’s thigh tighter. "Oh yes! Maker, yes!" he panted.
"It’s yours, Artemis. I’ll make it happen for you — make the happiest night of your life even happier. Tell me who you want, and I’ll see who’s interested. I know the Rose has picked up a few more elves, over the years. What do you think, my sweet young god? Two or three at a time, in Jethann’s enormous bed? Or maybe you’d like it better in the middle of the party. Maybe you should wear robes and just… enjoy the company. Can you imagine that? Chatting with Aveline and Cullen, with Theron buried in you like I am now?" Cormac kept up the patter, putting more perverse and dangerous ideas in Artie’s head. If nothing else, talking him into a terrible idea now meant he’d probably be inclined to trust himself with a less terrible idea, once he came back down.
Fenris could tell how much Artemis enjoyed these ideas from the way his thighs trembled, from the needy, choked off sounds that fell from his lips.
"Oh, Maker, please," Artemis groaned, and Fenris purred his approval around Artie’s knob. "Please, please. With you — both of you — watching me." Artie’s sentences disintegrated into single words: ‘please’, ‘Maker’, ‘Cormac’, and ‘Fenris’. Fenris felt the floor tremble beneath him, and he smiled around his fiancé, soothing a hand down his thigh.
"Oh, I won’t take my eyes off you," Cormac promised, feeling the vibrations shiver up through his bones. "And when it’s all done, when you’re fucked raw and there’s not a drop left in you, I’ll lick you clean." That thought was all that had been missing, and between that, the shaking floor, and the way Artemis clenched around him, he was done for. He pressed himself as close against Artie’s back as he could get, panting against the curve of neck into shoulder, and with one raw shout, he spilled into his brother’s warm body.
Artemis was already shuddering, spilling across Fenris’s tongue even as his brother spilled into him. He was still murmuring gibberish, sweat beading at his temples. Fenris and Cormac’s hands were the only things keeping him upright.
"Oh, Maker," Artie breathed as his heartbeat slowed, one hand stroking back Fenris’s hair. "You two will be the death of me."
Fenris grinned and pressed a kiss to Artemis’s hip. His mage didn’t know the half of it yet.