[ Master Post ]
Title: Rhapsody in Ass Major – Chapter 236
Fandom: Dragon Age
Characters: Cormac Hawke ♂, Artemis Hawke ♂, Fenris ♂
Rating: E (L3 N2 S4 V0 D0)
Warnings: Hot Hawke-on-Hawke action, bondage, light D/s
Notes: As Artie remains a decorative fixture on the lawn furniture, Fenris demonstrates to Cormac the correct way to handle that situation.
Fenris smirked down at Artemis, stroking his throat with one hand, gently squeezing. "Well, now that you’ve tempted me into moving, what will you give me for my trouble, Amatus?" He stood just out of reach. "I was enjoying the feel of your thighs. Surely I should be compensated for giving that up…"
"Oh, he does have nice thighs, doesn’t he?" Cormac’s hands kneaded them, electricity crackling across his palms.
Artemis smirked down at Cormac before tilting his head back to bat his eyelashes at Fenris. "Oh, I know for a fact there are other parts of me you find equally pleasing," he purred. He licked and bit his lower lip.
"Mm, like your neck, perhaps?" Fenris said, trailing glowing fingers up Artie’s long column of throat. Artemis moaned, tilting his head back and surrendering to Fenris’s touch. "It is a lovely neck. And I can feel your pulse under my fingers, hot and fast." The artery under his hand was thin, fragile, and Fenris kept his touch delicate. "But maybe it’s not my hand you want inside your throat?"
"Please," Artemis breathed. "Please."
"You know," Cormac said, with a smile, "if we both wear ourselves out, it’s going to be a while before he gets what he really wants. I suppose we’ll just have to find more creative solutions."
"I already have several in mind," Fenris replied, in a tone that left no doubt of what he thought of Cormac apparently just thinking of this now. Of course, Cormac was also accustomed to the Warden using and misusing him, which didn’t seem to be a situation that lent itself to those sorts of concerns.
"I suspect I may let him take his vengeance upon me." Cormac shivered, indigo hands caressing Artemis’s hips as he leaned down to lick along the edges of the belt.
Fenris hummed as he considered that, the glow leaving his fingertips so he could caress Artemis’s cheek as his mage bucked under Cormac’s tongue. "What do you think of that, Amatus?" Fenris asked.
Artie groaned out something that sounded like "Hrrngh" in answer.
"Or shall I ask you that when you can remember how to use words?"
Artemis closed his eyes and breathed a moment before saying, "You should ask me that after you’ve fucked my throat raw." His wrists twisted in their cuffs, desperate to pull Fenris closer, and Artemis opened his mouth in invitation.
As Fenris slowly unlaced his trousers, stretching and looking contemplative, a hundred things raced through Cormac’s head — that listening to his brother beg to be taken was outrageously erotic, that he should be ashamed of himself that Artemis could still speak so clearly, that he should be ashamed of himself for thinking that, that he was about to be shown up by Fenris, and that really he was terrible at this high priest thing. Still, Cormac’s hands sparked and clutched at Artemis’s flesh, kneading and stroking, and his tongue played along the insides of Artie’s thighs.
Fenris teased, first, tracing Artemis’s cheek with the tip of his knob, tapping it against Artemis’s lips, until finally, he shoved himself between those parted lips, slow but unceasing. He watched Artemis swallow around him, felt the wringing and the trace of cold breath against his skin.
Artemis’s tongue flicked against lyrium lines, comparing texture and taste as he adjusted to the weight of Fenris in his mouth, his throat, and adjusted his breathing. All these years, he still couldn’t think of an adequate metaphor for the combined taste, and he wondered, in the back of his mind, if that had anything to do with his non-existent cooking skills, but… that was off-topic. And the topic on hand was much more enticing.
Fenris held Artie’s head steady, long fingers supporting the base of his skill for what had to be an awkward angle for his neck, and began with slow, shallow thrusts, eyes fluttering shut at the wet heat and the way Artemis’s throat muscles squeezed him.
Artemis trembled, jerking under Cormac’s touch and letting out shivering breaths through his nose.
Cormac’s hands slid up Artemis’s thighs, thumbs settling firmly just outside the edge of the belt. He kneaded and sparked, holding Artemis’s hips still as the muscles twitched and his brother writhed. "I bet we can get you to go without taking it off…" Another arc of electricity danced between his thumbs. "And wouldn’t that be something to remember? Him, there, riding your face. Me, here, between your thighs. And you spilling a mess into this contraption, just like I did."
Fenris shot Cormac a somewhat pained look. If there was something he didn’t need to be reminded of right now, it was that bloody disaster by the pond. Regardless of what the mages thought, that had been utterly disgusting — except for the part where Artemis had made that lovely face, but he could get his mage to do that without an endless amount of blood. It really wasn’t the blood that bothered him. It was the blood and the mages. It was the blood as the means to that end. And if he was entirely honest with himself, it wasn’t the blood at all, it was just Cormac. But, he wasn’t thinking about Cormac, right now. He was thinking about his mage, about the way Artemis’s throat clenched tight around him.
Artemis, however, couldn’t see Fenris’s face or read his thoughts or even have much of a thought in his head at all, the way he was at the mercy of the two men he loved most. Cormac’s words made him shake, made him aware of his body as one throbbing pulse, made him aware of just how tight that damn leather and metal contraption was.
"Amatus," Fenris breathed, losing himself to the sensation, and with his eyes closed, he could almost pretend it was just him and Artemis. The choked sounds his mage made around him were growing increasingly desperate, and Fenris considered pulling out just long enough to hear Artemis beg some more, to hear every needy little sound he made when he was too close to the edge to stop himself from making them. Instead his hips pushed him deeper, seeking more of that welcoming warmth that made the pleasure pool at the base of his spine. "Oh, Amatus. Artemis."
"Come for us, beloved," Cormac pleaded, fingers digging in a bit harder, the charge running through them just a little stronger. "Give me some sign that we have pleased you. Let me lick you clean, after you give us this gift — let me unlock this painful prison and finish my worship of your perfection." He wondered if maybe he should stop reading Bethany’s work before doing things like this, but he really had no idea how to relate to a god, even if that god was his brother, and the Nevarran spirit-summoning traditions had a lovely cadence to them that had infected the way he spoke to Artemis, in moments like these.
The image of his mage spread for his tongue was the last nudge Fenris needed, and his legs tensed, ramming him deep into Artemis’s throat as he came, shivering and panting. For all that it was Cormac’s idea, Cormac’s promise, Fenris found himself willing to fight Cormac for the privilege… as soon as he could feel his legs again.
Metal vibrated and hummed as the furniture shook from more than Artie’s writhing. It wasn’t one thing that drove Artie over so much as everything at once: the way Fenris shoved into him, claiming and consuming; the way Fenris pulsed against his tongue and deep in his throat; the way Cormac’s fingers twisted and sparked along his nerve endings; the image Cormac put into his head.
Artemis’s whole body shuddered and tried to fold in on itself as he came, vision sparked with white and splotched with black in intervals, and Fenris pulled out, still dripping, so he could breathe. And breathe he did, great gasping gulps of it.
Cormac’s hands became gentle, again, light touches along his brother’s thighs and sides. "Shall we free you, then?" he asked, tugging the strand of keys out of his robe. "Shall I spread my robe in the grass and lay you on it, while I lick you clean?" He knelt, untying the ropes from the rings that he now noticed were clutched in the beaks of carven griffons.
Still trying to collect his thoughts, Fenris sank to his knees, nuzzling Artemis’s ear, affectionately. "In a moment, Amatus," he promised. "When I can feel my fingers."