Title: The Stupid Mage and the Gorgeous Magical Unicorn
Fandom: Dragon Age
Characters: Cormac Hawke ♂, Anders ♂
Rating: E (L2 N4 S4 V0 D0)
Warnings: The internet is for porn
Notes: Sometimes, you do something stupid, because you’re cold, you’re horny, and you only live once. Every once in a great while that turns out to actually be a good idea. No actual unicorns were involved in this fic.
Strangely, that night, they were sober. Cormac hadn’t had the coin to bring a bottle, after he’d brought back food for his family, but he’d had just enough to bring a bag of rolls to Anders, who, as usual, asked when he was going to get bored of wasting money on some sewer apostate. Somehow, they’d still ended up in bed, because that was where they always ended up, Cormac curled around Anders’s back, one hand rubbing Anders’s belly. They whispered stories back and forth, quiet against the echoes of Darktown, Anders’s voice a little thick, as he pressed his face into the damp spot in the pillow he tried to pretend he wasn’t making.
"So," Anders asked, after a while, "‘m I still your gorgeous magical unicorn?"
"I don’t know about ‘mine’, but you’re definitely a gorgeous magical unicorn. Possibly even the gorgeous magical unicorn." Cormac nuzzled the back of Anders’s shoulder. "Why?"
"You say the most perfectly terrible things, you know that? It’s great." Anders reached down and squeezed Cormac’s hand. "You, ah…" A quiet laugh slipped out of him. "You want to stroke my horn?"
Cormac was suddenly a lot more awake than he’d been. "Are you sure you want me to?"
"Shit," Anders cursed, twisting away from Cormac, trying to press himself against the wall, as he rolled over. "That was too much, wasn’t it. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean— Well, no, I meant it, but please don’t go."
"Anders. You’re crying. You’ve been crying for … an hour?" Cormac pointed out, not moving but his mouth. "That wasn’t too much, for me. It’s just not the kind of proposal that usually happens at a time like this."
"Crying? What are you talking about?" Anders asked, in the very worst impression of someone who hasn’t been crying.
"Your eyes are still wet and red. Don’t even try it. My brother’s been trying to pull that on me for twenty years."
That startled a laugh out of Anders. "I should meet your brother again. When it’s not something… like that."
"He’s really something. Mostly an annoying little prick, but still adorable. Two other brothers, too, but they’re incomprehensible. I don’t even try any more." Cormac laughed. "But, this didn’t start out as a conversation about my brothers. You asked me something."
"I did." Anders nodded. "And instead of an answer, I got a story about your brother."
"What did I tell you, when I brought you that first bottle? If you want me, I’m interested."
"Cormac…" Anders pressed the heel of his palm into his eye and took a deep, ragged breath, before he rolled back over, pulling Cormac’s arm around him again. "I’ve been in Kirkwall for almost a year. No one’s touched me like that, since I left Ferelden. I haven’t wanted anyone to touch me. I haven’t gotten off in almost a year, at all, because it’s been a constant hail of danger, plague, and people dying, which doesn’t really lend itself to that sort of thing." And he’d come here for Karl, and now his body ached for a dead man’s touch. "And I’m sure you think I’m going to say some sappy shit about you right now, but I’m going to disappoint you. I’m not falling in love with you. I’m just getting used to you. The first night you touched me, I didn’t swoon. I just got hard. And I thought it was just because I was drunk and exhausted, but, it’s been a few months, and you keep doing this to me, and I end up going around half the next day just aching for a fuck I don’t really want. So, yeah, Cormac. I want you. I want your hands on me. I want you to wring me out until I can’t feel anything but good and I’m too tired to care."
Cormac knew the feeling. He’d done a lot of that, the first year in Kirkwall. Do a job for Athenril, then do his partner from the job, while they were both still high from the thrill — and then go home and pass out and pretend he didn’t miss the life he’d left behind. On the other hand, Anders actually didn’t miss it, which probably helped.
"Sounds like that’ll take all night, Warden." He grinned against the back of Anders’s shoulder. "You mean to hang the lamp late, in the morning?"
"I haven’t slept in days. I can be lazy. It’s not like I’ll be drunk," Anders muttered.
"Sorry about that. Mum’s still sick and my uncle gambles. The money just goes. My brother’s not playing high enough stakes to get it all back, yet." Cormac’s hand moved back to Anders’s belly, rubbing gentle circles. "I don’t know what the fuck we’re going to do, but we have to get out of there."
"Don’t be sorry. And don’t be shy, either." Anders cast a quick smile over his shoulder and tugged up his robes. He’d taken to wearing them to sleep in, since Cormac had convinced him to drag them out again. "You should steal the house back."
Cormac’s hand lingered on Anders’s bare thigh, for a long few moments, as he enjoyed the idea of having something that might end up passing as sex in an actual bed, which wasn’t something he’d gotten many chances to do, if only because he was polite enough to take precautions with how loud he knew he’d be. But it was Darktown. No one would care.
"Steal… the house? What are you even thinking?"
Anders just revelled in the sensation of wanting and being wanted, even as Justice clattered in the back of his mind, all outrage and armour, about how they could be working on the manifesto, instead of indulging this ridiculous human behaviour.
"The house. You know, the one your family used to have? You should steal it back. It doesn’t sound like it’s inhabited by the rightful owners, and even if they are, they’re assholes beyond measure. If you could find a way in, you could relieve them of the house." Anders’s hips rolled as Cormac’s hand moved up and in, fingers kneading his inner thigh. "They’re squatting. Doesn’t sound like anyone would get in the way of you squatting. And it’s your house anyway." The last few words were a breathy groan.
"That is the absolutely sexiest way anyone has ever suggested I move house. I just want you to know that." Cormac chuckled against Anders’s back. "Still want me to stroke your horn, oh you gorgeous magical unicorn of a mage?"
"If you make me say yes about this one more time, I swear I’m rolling over and pushing you out of bed," Anders threatened, distractedly. "Yes, I want it. I want you, Cormac, and I will very likely never speak to you again, if you make me beg."
"Which implies it’s possible," Cormac teased, closing his hand around Anders’s knob. Although ‘closing’ was a bit of an overstatement. He caressed the flesh in one very long, slow stroke, and shivered at the thought of it inside of him. "Andraste’s grace, that’s huge!"
"And now you’ve met my most notable deformity. Thanks for reminding me," Anders muttered, pulling the blanket up higher and curling up slightly.
"Deformity? That’s beautiful!" Cormac’s hand continued to caress that massive length, fingertips tracing worshipfully over warm skin. "I want it, Anders. I want you inside me. I want you to fuck me until I can’t stand up."
"Which will take half a minute at most. No. It’s not happening." Still, Anders hooked his leg back and stroked the back of Cormac’s heel with his toes. "Do what you’re doing. I like that. It’s good." Cormac’s desire warmed something in him, even if he wasn’t ready to break someone again, like he’d kept breaking Howe. It was, he reflected, not for the first or last time, a good thing he was a healer.
Pausing, Cormac moved his hand away for long enough to cast something. Anders could feel the flicker of magic under the blanket, and then Cormac’s hand wrapped around him, again, dripping with grease. "Stupid mage tricks," Cormac murmured, and Anders laughed.
"You know, I could teach you to be a little less sloppy with that."
"Yeah, well, it wasn’t really the sort of thing I was going to ask my dad, all right?" Pressing his face against Anders’s back, Cormac laughed, embarrassed. "First time with another mage," he reminded Anders.
"And that would be the only upside to the Circle. So very many long years of the very best in dirty magic tricks." Anders tipped his head back, a sharp breath escaping him as Cormac’s fingers touched him just right.
"And here I’ve been stuck with all the dirty non-magic tricks," Cormac joked quietly, repeating the very same gesture a few more times, until Anders’s hips ground back against him, demandingly. Less than a minute of quick-fingered groping and squeezing, and Anders’s long, lean body twitched once and fell loose, the only sound from him a short, sharp breath.
"Mmm? Where’s that Warden stamina, now?" Cormac teased, slowly smearing the thick wetness over Anders’s still steadily-throbbing knob.
"It’s not about how fast, it’s about how many times," Anders breathed, canting his hips back against Cormac’s thigh. "Thought you knew that." And that was a jab. Probably a low one, even.
"There is so much of that night I don’t remember," Cormac laughed. "The important part was how good it was and how long it went on. Woke up stuck to the bed, the next day, so someone other than me had a good time, too." And when he’d finally made it home, trying to dodge Artemis, until he could get a bath, Artie hadn’t been there at all. He found the note on his bed, and there was nothing he could do. He pushed the thought aside, trying to focus on Anders, instead.
Someone other than me. Anders shuddered. He knew what Cormac meant, but he also heard what Cormac didn’t mean. Cormac asked a question, but he didn’t hear it. "What?"
"Got a chill?" Cormac asked again, hand still slowly stroking Anders’s unflagging knob.
"I’m always cold," Anders groaned, reaching behind himself to pull Cormac closer. It was true, but it wasn’t the answer to that question. "Come warm me up."
"Working on it," Cormac said, with a laugh, picking up the pace again, fingers tracing patterns along Anders’s length. "You sure you don’t want to put this in me? Much, much warmer than my hand. I promise."
"I’m very sure. I’m not drunk enough to even think about that, and I don’t think I’m ever getting that drunk again." Anders forced himself to stay still, fighting the urge to curl up. This had been his idea, and it felt good to be touched, again. Cormac very obviously knew exactly what he was doing, which led to a whole bunch of questions he really had no business asking.
The second one took longer, because Cormac took the time to tease, fingertips dancing across Anders’s skin after a few hard strokes, long, lingering caresses and quick, hard squeezes. Anders remained nearly silent, muscles flexing in odd places, unusual patterns, as he thrust and ground himself against Cormac’s hand. "There," he whispered, finally. "Like that…"
The second rolled quickly into he third and fourth, by which point Anders writhed in ecstasy, his breathing slower and deeper than it had been all night. Words left him, and he demanded more with his hands, encouraging squeezes and suggestive tugs and shoves. Cormac slowed down, after the fourth, fingers twitching, as he tried to convince them to keep the patterns he knew Anders liked.
"Hey, gorgeous?" Cormac started, as Anders’s hand wrapped around his own.
It took Anders almost an entire minute to make a sound, and even then it was quiet. "Hm?"
"My hand is killing me, and so is my knob." Cormac laughed breathily against Anders’s back. "Not the part of my body I expected to be doing that with."
Anders flinched, knees drifting up toward his chest, but Cormac kept talking.
"If you roll over, I can suck you, for a while," Cormac suggested, thinking he could get himself off at the same time, without it becoming a problem or looking like an accusation. Anders was damaged goods, just like him, but worse, and he didn’t want this to be the only time. Beyond that, Anders was, he thought, a friend.
Anders took a long time to answer, still holding Cormac’s hand around his knob. Finally, his voice returned to him, and his hand moved, reaching behind him to cup Cormac’s knob, through the fabric of his robe. "You should fuck me," he decided. "And I’ll lick your fingers clean."
"Should I?" Cormac asked, as Anders raised his drippy, aching hand from under the blankets and licked across the palm. He tugged his own robes up, awkwardly, with the other hand, "More of my non-magical dirty tricks?" He cast again and tried to stroke the grease onto himself.
"Shit, I’m sorry," Anders looked over his shoulder. "I forgot to tell you not to worry about that. I… I already took care of it."
"You were expecting this?" Cormac asked, pressing himself against Anders’s bare ass.
"No, I’m just more subtle than I look." The corner of Anders’s mouth tipped up in a prideful smirk.
Cormac didn’t catch on, until he dipped the tip of a finger into Anders. "I am fucking terrible at Creation, but you have to teach me that."
"Oh, I guess I could try." Anders licked the sides of a few more fingers. "That one’s dangerous to screw up, though. I’ll teach you some other fun ones, first. Get good, then I’ll teach you that one."
"That is the second most compelling incentive I’ve ever had to get better at that." Cormac laughed and slowly slid two fingers in.
Anders relaxed against him, still sucking the fingers of Cormac’s other hand. "Only the second? What was the first?"
"I have four siblings," Cormac deadpanned, "and I absolutely do not want to talk about any of them right now."
"Then give me your knob and tell me how incredible I am, instead," Anders teased, tongue flicking between two fingers.
"You’re amazing," Cormac assured him, twisting his wrist and rubbing Anders’s insides, "you gorgeous magical unicorn of a mage."
Anders tipped his hips back. "You don’t have to be so gentle with me, you know."
"You like it rough?" Cormac asked.
"Then let me be gentle with you." Cormac’s fingertips drummed against warm, slick flesh until Anders took another short breath. "Like that?"
"Under other circumstances, I would be in love with that, but right now I need you to fuck me, if you’re going to do it. Start slow another night — a night when it’s actually a start, and I’m not already through the first four and so hard my thighs hurt."
"Well, when you put it like that…" Cormac retrieved his fingers and eased himself into Anders, slowly pushing in until he could go no further, grinding hard and deep.
"Just like that," Anders sighed, sucking contentedly on Cormac’s fingers, as Cormac took him slow and hard, grinding more than thrusting. He fell silent, again, as the sensations rolled through him, his own hand reaching back down to wrap around his knob, stroking himself exactly the way he liked to be touched. Minutes passed and his breathing slowed again, his body relaxing as drew closer. Cormac wasn’t fantastic, but he took direction well, when Anders could actually use words, and he was quick to pick up on the smallest signs of pleasure and chase them. If the idiot mage stuck around long enough, he’d become fantastic, pretty quickly, but it would also be proof of his stupidity that he hadn’t cut and run. Of course, Cormac had already stuck around for months. It was hopeless. The man had no sense of self-preservation and this was doomed to end in tears.
On the other hand, the middle could prove to be incredibly enjoyable, if Cormac kept doing that thing — that one right there — Anders came again, and Cormac just kept going, switching to deep, hard thrusts, and trying not to follow Anders over. Taking a Warden for a lover would be exhausting, he realised, if that Warden refused to top, but Anders was intoxicating — the magic in him, the compulsion to make the world a better place, the quick and terrible jokes, and that breathtaking knob. And he was pretty good looking, too, if worn and a bit thin.
The next one brought Cormac over, as well, much less quietly. His raw howls of delight echoed off the walls, as he spilled.
"Sorry," he breathed, as he found his face again, and remembered how to move his lips.
"No," Anders whispered, after a long moment, wiping his hand on the sheet, before he reached back to squeeze Cormac’s ass affectionately. "Thank you."
"Don’t be ridiculous," Cormac muttered, moving his hand away from Anders’s face, to rub Anders’s belly again, instead. The scars were obvious to his fingers, without the robe in the way, and he wondered, but didn’t ask. "Can I just stay like this?"
"Please." Anders gave Cormac’s ass one more quick squeeze, before his hand returned to his knob, trying to chase off memories of another time and place.
"Still?" Cormac asked, not entirely surprised.
"Once a Warden, always a Warden," Anders joked, drily.