[ Master Post ]
Title: Rhapsody in Ass Major – Chapter 305
Fandom: Dragon Age
Characters: Cormac Hawke ♂, Anton Hawke ♂, Fenris ♂, Natia Brosca ♀, Anders ♂, Nathaniel Howe ♂
Rating: E (L3 N4 S4 V0 D1)
Warnings: antagonism in bed, voyeurism, "in bed" with no bed, Anders inflicts his issues on Fenris
Notes: Anders is not yet finished, but Nate is. The party moves a bit to the left.
Rising to his knees, Anders lit a wisp in his hand as he spread his knees and tipped his head back, gesturing down his body with the light. He thought of how Fenris tasted, until Justice rose to the provocation, darts of blue flickering across his skin. Smiling slyly, he held out his hand to the two bodies by the bedroll again. When a movement caught his eye — not far enough over to be Anton — he parted his knees further and turned an expectant eye in that direction.
Cormac chuffed a quiet laugh. "Come to me. Let Messere Howe sleep in peace. I’m sure you’ve worn him raw, although I might not mind another look at him in the light."
Fenris made a disgruntled sound deep in his throat as Anders shuffled over almost too eagerly. "I am unsure how much ‘peace’ he will get if you continue your Wardeny debauchery with Cormac. I am unsure how much peace any of us will get."
Anders looked more amused than deterred. "Are you offering, Fenris? I remember you being a bit quieter, if you are concerned for our companions." He couldn’t see Fenris’s ears moving in the dark, but Anders knew they had to be vibrating. He almost regretted the offer when Justice stirred again at the promise of lyrium.
"That is not at all what I meant," Fenris growled, eyes a touch too wide. Earplugs. That was what he needed when he travelled. Sure, something might catch him unaware, but that might be worth the risk.
Natia stifled a snicker in her blanket. Anders looked up in the direction of the sound, squinting at the dwarf-shaped shadow. Ah. So Natia had gotten a bit of a show too.
"Don’t look at me," Natia said, holding her hands up palm-out. "I know I offered once, but that was before I knew about your, ah, staff. And I have to tell you, that is just excessive."
"Very," Fenris agreed.
"I said I wielded polearms well. You didn’t think I just meant that, did you?" Cormac gestured at the glaive, behind him.
"I was expecting a little less actual pole!" Natia protested.
"Flagpole," Nathaniel corrected, burrowing deeper into his bedroll and possibly the floor, if he could figure out how. "If thankfully without the flag, this time."
"He’s not kidding," Anders noted, sliding a hand down the pole in question. "Looked pretty good with that flag, too."
"You cannot be serious." Fenris raised his eyes to meet Anders’s, looking for some sign he was kidding.
"Half the Vigil witnessed that. All the wardens, an awful number of the soldiers, the poor treasurer. It was a bit of an event." Anders’s hand didn’t stop moving, sliding down to tug at his balls. "But, are we just going to sit here and talk about my pole, or are one or more of you going to help me do something about it, hmm?"
"If we’re supposed to be quiet, do you want me behind you?" Cormac asked. "Though, tonight, you sounded like you could use a little help keeping it down." The tiniest flinch darted across Anders’s face, and Cormac went on. "I liked it. I’ve told you that, haven’t I? Maybe you don’t remember. Rough night."
"Then maybe you should find me something to keep in my mouth, if you want quiet. If you don’t want quiet…" Anders raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. That wasn’t an offer he was quite ready to make to Cormac. That wasn’t something he was quite ready to bring home. Even with Nathaniel, it had never been in either of their beds — always some random place in the Keep. "But, you’re not the one who wants me quiet, are you?" His eyes shifted back to Fenris. "Are you going to shut me up, Fenris? Justice wants you to try. He always wants you to try."
Fenris remembered how Anders’s mouth felt around him, the wet heat and teasing tongue, and he swallowed. The memory was tempting, but this wasn’t, not this Anders with the serrated smile and with Maker-knew-what dripping down his thighs. The way Anders asked put him in mind of other memories, memories he often forgot he had, that were more grainy impressions than full scenes. Even though he couldn’t make them out, they made his stomach twist.
"No," Fenris said simply.
Anders’s smile slipped, if only for a moment. There was something off in the way Fenris held himself, in the way Fenris looked at him, but Anders would wonder at that later. Right now, he had Cormac and a great appetite for his spicy Fereldan horseradish. "Your loss, Broody." Anders settled down on all fours, his ass in the air in an obscene invitation, facing Fenris anyway just in case he changed his mind.
"I hear he’s going by ‘Death Elf’ now," Natia said.
"With good reason," Fenris reminded them all. He rolled onto his side, facing away from Anders and closing his eyes, as though trying to sleep.
Cormac smoothed a hand down Anders’s back, as he sat up, taking the blanket with him, still draped over his shoulders. Settling himself between Anders’s knees, he leaned forward, dotting kisses along that still-clothed back. Something wasn’t right, but this wasn’t the time to talk about it. Anders wasn’t going to be capable of carrying on a proper conversation in this state, as Cormac knew from years of trying. One hand still smoothing soothing circles between Anders’s hips, Cormac slicked himself with the other hand. "Want me?" he asked, more as a warning than anything, knowing already what the answer would be.
And he was right, of course. As he lined himself up, Anders shoved back onto him, with a sharp catch of breath, hips already rolling.
"More," Anders demanded. "Cormac, don’t you dare go slow with me."
"Shh." Cormac ran his hand down Anders’s back one more time, before both hands found Anders’s hips and took a firm grip. "Take what you need, if I’m not enough." Cormac’s hips rocked, slow and hard, burying him deep inside Anders. He struggled with himself — having watched what came before, he was not so far from the edge, himself, but this wasn’t for him. This was for Anders, first, and then it could be for him. One hand slid down, fingers curling around the flagpole, stroking and tugging in just the way he knew Anders liked.
An anguished sound slipped through Anders’s teeth as he rocked back into Cormac’s every thrust, pushing back just a bit harder, just a bit faster, and hoping Cormac would follow his lead. "Come on, Cormac," he said. "Give me everything you’ve got. I want it. I need it. Please."
Fenris stared at the opposite wall, trying not to listen, trying not to match sounds with images in his head. The way Anders said ‘please’… That struck a chord in his body that left him humming.
As though he knew it, Anders kept saying that word: please, please, please. It was maddening. Fenris tried to think of less tempting things, like Cormac, but that didn’t help.
Somehow, through it all, Anton kept snoring.
"More," Anders panted. "I need… more. Fenris." Fenris’s ears twitched, flattening against his skull. "Fenris, please. Let me taste you. Please."
"Let him sleep, sweet thing," Cormac breathed, hand still stroking and teasing the flesh it was wrapped around, a hint of electricity dancing between his fingertips.
That charge was what Anders hadn’t known he’d needed and he throbbed in Cormac’s hand, all trace of fluid long since wrung out of him. His chest pressed flat to the floor, fingers scrabbling at the stone, as he moaned again. This. This was what he loved. The freedom to give, the freedom to be taken, the freedom to just let go — it was something he hadn’t had since he’d come to Kirkwall, and something he’d never had in the tower. But, here, in the dark, it was like being drunk in the Vigil again. That tiny sliver of time where he’d almost believed he could be happy — not just for a moment, but forever.
"Oh, Cormac, please don’t stop," he begged, twisting his hips up to offer himself even more obviously. "Fenris— Fenris, please let me taste you. You’re always so sweet on my tongue, please!"
Fenris grunted and glared over his shoulder, trying to pretend he wasn’t palming himself through his leathers, listening to this fool mage plead to be fucked in the face. But, that wasn’t really it, was it? He’d never taken Anders like that, never wasted the talents of his tongue, never been so rude as to take more than what Anders so freely offered. And, once again, Anders was offering — pleading for him. Anders, as far as he could tell, not Justice. Really, Anders wasn’t all that attractive, and he didn’t tend to the sort of raw enthusiasm Artemis had, but the man was amazingly talented with his tongue.
The pleading was driving him to distraction. He knew he shouldn’t do it, but he was probably going to. Not because the temptation was irresistible, but because some perverse part of him actually wanted to, which was a very different thing. He wanted to look down into the eyes of this man he should have hated, should have been at war with, and let himself be pleasured, instead. To accept that gift Anders seemed so eager to give.
"Please," Anders said again on the edge of another ragged breath, and that was it. That was the last of Fenris’s will breaking down. With a growl, Fenris turned over, rolling up onto his knees. Anders met his glare with a lust-drunk look of his own.
"You want me that badly, mage?" Fenris asked, as though Anders hadn’t already said so, as though Anders hadn’t been begging for exactly that. But Fenris needed to be sure.
"Yes, yes, please!" Eagerness lit Anders’s eyes before the flash of blue did. He pushed himself up to his hands and knees as Fenris rose up, picking at the laces to his trousers, and Fade-blue lines flickered over Anders’s skin at the first sight of Fenris’s knob. He opened his mouth wide in invitation.
"Greedy mage," Fenris huffed, but his hand was gentle on Anders’s chin. He guided his knob into Anders’s waiting mouth and blew out a shaky breath when those lips wrapped around him, that tongue caressing his shaft. In the back of his mind, Fenris wondered if Natia was still awake, still watching, before dismissing the thought. She was quiet, either way.
Anders’s eyes slid closed in satisfaction, at the first touch of lyrium against his tongue, Justice clamouring for more of it. But, the pleasure, the raw joy, was greater than even Justice, and Anders slid down into it, tongue just as talented as if he were paying attention. There wasn’t really enough in him to slosh, but the wet slide made itself clear, all the same, as Cormac took him, touched him, just the way he usually liked. The little bit of warmth in Cormac’s fingers spread through Anders’s belly, before that hand moved down again, slick and crackling, to caress the flagpole again.
Swallowing, Anders shifted so he could afford to lift a hand to Fenris’s hip, rubbing a faint charge against the sharp point of it, with his thumb. This was so simple to do, but so difficult to want. And here, he’d been given all of it. He hadn’t really expected Fenris to get up. He’d expected this to end in more angry glares, in the morning, and maybe a couple of weeks of not speaking to each other. But, things had never been simple between them — or they had been, once, but that was so many years gone it hardly mattered. What mattered was the way Fenris’s hand slid into his hair, gentle and curious, the way Fenris’s lyrium-lined knob slid into his mouth, sweet and commanding.
His hand slid back, cupping the cheek of Fenris’s ass, fingers digging in as he throbbed in Cormac’s hand again. He’d lost control, completely, and his body seemed to exist only to accept the pleasure being offered it. And there, he finally relaxed into it, the last sound a satisfied hum around Fenris, as the crackling tip of his finger teased at the edge of Fenris’s hole.
Fenris’s toes curled, scraping against stone. Electricity pulsed through him like a second heartbeat, and he let out a long, ragged sound he’d probably be embarrassed by later. As Anders lost himself to the sweet taste of lyrium against his tongue, Fenris lost himself to Anders, his world narrowing down to nothing but sensation: the wet slide into Anders’s mouth, the hard stone under his knees, the crackle of electricity shivering up his spine.
"Venhedis," Fenris breathed, the word thick in his throat, and Anders would have smiled if his mouth weren’t otherwise occupied. Anders did not let up, and he wrung out a few more curses moments later. Fenris, at least, tried to keep his voice down for Anton’s sake. No need to traumatise the Champion any more than he already had been.
But, Anders was relentless, tongue darting along the lines of lyrium, a faint electricity hanging in his mouth, like a crackling cloud. He pressed the tip of his finger hard against Fenris’s hole, bending it back, not to penetrate, but just to provide that pressure, that cool, rippling sensation as the muscles responded to the sparks.
Fenris’s head fell back as his thighs tensed, the only sound from him ragged gasps of breath, as Anders swallowed him down, nuzzling his belly. Or maybe less nuzzling than being shoved against it, as Cormac kept himself well-occupied on Anders’s far side.
A soft whimper slipped out of Anders as he pulled back far enough to breathe, flexing the back of his throat to get the last of Fenris’s spend to run down. His eyes rolled back and his hands clenched, one firmly gripping Fenris’s ass and the other scrabbling at the floor again, as he came again. This time, the exhaustion weighted him down, and with a whispered apology, his face slid down the inside of Fenris’s leg, hand following along the back.
"Cormac," he breathed, his whole body loose and satisfied, and Cormac knew this would be the end of it.
"One more?" Cormac asked, hands just as gentle as they’d been. "One more and then I’ll lick you clean?"
Anders just purred wordlessly against the floor, and Cormac picked up the pace, intent on pleasing himself, this time, which didn’t take long at all, even with Fenris still gazing confusedly down at where Anders’s face had landed between his feet. Cormac finished with a sharp shout, and clutched at his own thighs, not to collapse onto Anders, who was still full of… however much whatever Howe had gotten into him, and now Cormac’s own spend as well.
Easing himself out, Cormac lowered himself down to tongue at the raw edges of Anders’s hole, his own terrible healing magic racing through that flesh. He licked until he could no longer taste the raw abrasions, until Anders panted against Fenris’s feet, without the strength to chase his own pleasure. Anders came one more time, fists clenched, eyes squeezed until they teared up, with Cormac’s tongue inside him.
"I have to get up," he groaned. "I don’t want to get up."
"Then don’t get up," Fenris told him with a shrug, slowly coming back down to reality. "You’re supposed to be lying down, sleeping, anyway. Might as well lie down all the way and get to the sleeping part." Fenris assumed the sleeping part came next. Anders looked like he was finished, after all, though he knew some nights Anders’s Wardenly stamina lasted for hours. But tonight was raw, fast, and intense, exhausting even for a Warden, it seemed.
"Stone," Anders reminded Fenris, and then, after a moment, "wet stone." He groaned, moving as though his limbs were made of lead, and crawled just far enough to flop onto Cormac’s bedroll. He reached a hand out to Cormac in invitation, eyes already closed.
Fenris huffed and shook his head as though trying to clear it. He tried to decide if that all had really happened or if it had just been an odd and strangely real dream. He stretched out on his bedroll, again facing away from the mages, and wriggled until he was comfortable.
Anton was still snoring.