[ Master Post ]
Title: Rhapsody in Ass Major – Chapter 291
Fandom: Dragon Age
Characters: Artemis Hawke ♂, Fenris ♂, Cormac Hawke ♂, Isabela ♀, Zevran Arainai ♂
Rating: E (L2 N4 S4 V0 D1)
Warnings: Bloodplay, dick jokes, the internet is for porn, het
Notes: The end of an evening, complete with terrible humour and a pile of tangled apostates.
"Anders?" he called, falling back to sprawl against the blankets.
Anders rolled to his knees and up, handing the bottle back to Isabela as he picked his way over the pile of bedroll to Cormac. "How bad?" he asked, casually, a smile not quite making it to his eyes, when he saw the look on Cormac’s face.
"Not bad. Just … a little outdoors for this," Cormac said, pushing the concern aside with a shake of his head. He’d done exactly what he meant to do, and now he was through. "Close it up before I get something unfortunate in it?"
Blue healing light washed over Cormac’s skin, closing the knife-wounds so that only dried smears of blood remained. "Look at that," said Anders. "Pierced by a Crow’s knife, and yet you still live." The light faded from Anders’s fingertips, and he sprawled next to Cormac on the bedroll, their shoulders touching.
"Former Crow," Zevran reminded him, holding up one finger. "And technically he was the one doing the piercing."
"You did some piercing of your own, you know," Artie replied, legs falling back to the bedroll as Zevran disentangled them. "And no, that’s not a complaint."
"I’d certainly hope not!" Zevran said, a hand over his chest. "I have a reputation to uphold! You understand. And speaking of reputations…" Zevran looked back at the tree, where there was still the slap of skin on skin. "Ah, Isabela," he sighed, taking in the sight. "I borrow one husband, and she borrows another."
Cormac wrapped his fingers around Anders’s hand, just to touch something familiar. "She’s been trying to make use of both of them, since before they were married! Not that she’ll ever get any closer to my brother. He’s … well, she’s not a handsome elven gentleman, if you get me."
Zevran laughed. "I had a feeling he might be that way. Not many nobles would have married an elf, however fond they might be, though — and doubly married a man — so credit where it’s due. Have your parents recovered from the shock?"
"I don’t think their ashes mind," Cormac said, with a shrug that bunched the blanket under his shoulders. "Our mum while she was alive, though? She was much more disapproving of my choices than his, I think." Frankly, he often thought their mother was grateful Artie wouldn’t reproduce.
"Oh, was running around with pirates and Wardens not quite the life she envisioned for her son?" Zevran asked, crawling slowly toward Fenris and Isabela. He still had some services left to offer, and Isabela, at least, never objected.
"She might have minded less if I weren’t the heir. As it goes, our younger brother inherited, anyway. I didn’t need the trouble." Cormac tried to sound nonchalant, but his voice was still a little tight. He’d pass it off as too much screaming, he thought, unfolding his legs from under him and stretching until he could rub his ankle against Artie’s.
"She didn’t want you running around with dangerous apostates, as I recall," Anders muttered. "No room to talk, there, really. Especially since you’re the dangerous apostate in this relationship. I’m a fine upstanding citizen."
"Mmm," Cormac purred reaching across to run his other hand up Anders’s chest. "And how up is your standing, right now?"
"Straight up," Anders replied with an upward twitch of his lips. "Which is the fault of a certain dangerous apostate. I might even mean you."
Artemis cackled, wriggling until the bedrolls sat flat underneath him and shifting just enough to get a view of his husband. Well, his husband’s feet, Zevran’s backside, and Isabela’s… buoys. Fenris’s grunts of pleasure settled as a pleasant tingle at the base of Artie’s spine.
In the afterglow, Artie wanted to curl up next to a warm body, preferably Cormac’s warm body but that was asking for trouble. It took a while to will his loose limbs into motion, but he rolled up to his knees and crawled to the other side of Anders. That, at least, wouldn’t seem so strange to Izzy and Zevran.
Though truly, Artie needn’t have bothered with how distracted the two of them were with each other and with Fenris. Zevran swallowed Isabela’s pants of pleasure as she bounced on Fenris’s lap.
Anders tucked an arm under Artie, pulling him even closer. "You know, I’d hold on to him, too, but I don’t want to rub blood into my coat. It’s going to be hard enough to get what’s on there out."
One hand leapt up and Cormac flicked Anders on the tip of his nose, before settling back down on Anders’s chest, this time wrapped around Artemis’s hand. "Or you could oil the leather more often and stop worrying about it," he joked, a faint trickle of electricity running down his fingers. This was good, he decided. Anders in one hand and Artie in the other. Still, he tried to remember where he’d left his glaive and how long it was going to take him to grab it if anything went wrong. They were, after all, just a bit back from a common rest spot.
"But, where’s the fun in that?" Anders asked. "I’d be spending far too much time putting oil on my coat instead of in more interesting places."
"Considering your coat is currently what’s preventing you from putting oil and other things in more interesting places, I’d question the conclusion, there." Cormac stayed on his back, listening to the muffled sounds of Isabela’s pleasure. Those were sounds he could appreciate. Had appreciated. Continued to appreciate.
"Or you could just take off the coat," Artie suggested, rubbing his cheek along the feathers at Anders’s shoulder. "Save the oil for those interesting places." A feather tickled his nose, and he whined, trying to blow it out of the way.
Anders chuckled, burying a hand in Artie’s hair and mussing it. "Well, if this isn’t like old times… And whose interesting places are we talking about? Yours? Your brother’s? Fenris’s? Isabela did say she’d love to see him glisten."
The feathers muffled Artie’s bark of laughter.
Isabela’s throaty groans rose in pitch, and Artie lifted his head enough to see Fenris’s feet flat on the ground, toes digging wrinkles into the bedroll underneath them.
"Oh, I’m pretty sure he’s about to be glistening, and not with oil," Cormac remarked, head turned to watch the three of them.
Fenris choked out a few things that might have been words, if he’d managed to finish them, knuckles white where one hand clutched Isabela’s breast.
"Not so tight!" Zevran objected, slapping at Fenris’s hand, before returning his own fingers to where they’d been inciting Isabela to ever closer moans and squeals. Every few thrusts, he could feel wet lyrium drag against his fingertips, and if he hadn’t already been well aware of Fenris’s history — at least what went on the handbills — he might have asked where the man had gotten that done. It almost seemed like the kind of thing he might seek out, although, with a little less angry magister. There were enough people trying to kill him.
And suddenly, one of them was Isabela, as her fingers bit into his shoulder, clutching at his collarbone as she arched back, slamming the back of her head against the top of Fenris’s. That was going to leave a mark, Zevran was sure. On him. They probably had enough hair to cover any bruises, but the bite of nails into his skin… maybe he’d just ask Anders to take care of that for him.
The sounds and sights certainly weren’t helping Anders and his upstanding problem, not when the next shout was Fenris’s and not when it made Justice sit up and listen, remembering what Fenris had felt and tasted like. Anders closed his eyes in case they decided to flash blue.
Panting, Fenris ground up a few more times into Isabela just to wring a few more mewls from her. Tree bark was rough against the back of his head, and he stared up dazedly at the leaves as Zevran and Izzy exchanged another sloppy kiss.
Artie pressed two fingers to his lips and let out a wolf-whistle. Isabela grinned against Zevran’s lips and sat back to look at the other pile of limbs. "Well, boys, he does know how to use a sword," she said, reaching behind her to pat Fenris’s ribs. "Can I keep him, Artie?"
"You may borrow him," Artie replied, resting his elbow on Anders’s chest and propping his chin in his palm. "But no, you may not keep him. No one keeps him. He keeps me."
Fenris huffed a laugh, giving Isabela’s thighs one last squeeze before she pulled off his lap.
"I strongly support making use of this place for its intended purpose," Anders said, after a few moments of squishy thumping-fumbling sounds from closer to the trees. "It being a campsite and all. I’m sure there’s water somewhere near here. And then we should catch a nap, before we hike back down and into the civilised world. I’m tired just from watching the lot of you."
"Oh?" Zevran asked. "Where’s that Warden stamina now?"
"It started two days ago, in my clinic, and is finally getting to where I might consider a couple of hours down, before I leave Cormac in need of another round of healing. And then, back to my lovely home. I call the place ‘A Sewer Runs Through It’, a delightful dwarven-carved hole in the ground, between an actual sewer and the stairs leading down to another actual sewer. If you’re ever in Kirkwall again, perhaps you’ll find me there, and you can tell me how your Crow count is coming along."
"Ah, if I am ever in Kirkwall again, I hope it will be to catch a boat back to Amaranthine," Zevran said, making his way back to the pile of armour he thought was mostly his. "It might be nice to rest, before I move on again, though."
Trousers still unlaced, Fenris made his way to the pile of mages, to curl up behind Artemis. "I leave you alone with an assassin, and find you curled up in a heap of apostate filth," he drawled, eyes sparkling. "Magical bears! And I thought I only had to worry about you with elves!"
"I have shields and the mountain savage is a healer. It is the elves you have to worry about him with," Cormac muttered, retrieving his hand from Artemis’s grip to find a corner of a blanket he could wipe the blood off with, before he wrapped himself around Anders. He was a mage. Clothes were optional.
"Hear that, Fenris?" said Artie, wriggling back against his husband. "The magical bears are safe from me, but you’re not." He twisted in Fenris’s grip to click his teeth in front of his nose.
Fenris smirked. "When have I ever played it safe?" He kissed Artie’s cheek and closed his eyes.