Feb 212016
 

[ Master Post ]
Title: Rhapsody in Ass Major – Chapter 342
Co-Conspirator: TumblrMaverikLoki
Fandom: Dragon Age
Characters: Artemis Hawke , Fenris
Rating: E (L2 N4 S4 V1 D0)
Warnings: Smut, flashbacks, panic
Notes: Fenris just can’t catch a break. A memory — the fear, horror, and confusion returns.


Writhing under this mage, clenching around those wonderful fingers, as he’d done so many times before, Fenris finally began to really relax into the idea. There was nothing to to worry about. He loved this feeling. He loved Artemis. And soon he’d take a whole new pleasure from both of these things. The thought of Artemis arching over him, spurting into him, sent a shiver down Fenris’s spine. How had they gone this long without trying things this way?

Contentment, he realised. They’d found a handful of things that made them happy and mostly stuck to them, and thus far it had worked well. But, it was time to try a few more things, time for him to really embrace his freedom and his husband. His eyes lingered longingly on Artemis’s face, struggling to convey all the things he couldn’t manage the words for — love, desire, the sense that he had a future like any man did, and he wanted to spend it enjoying everything this sweet and lovely mage had to offer him. Not just a man, but a mage. He’d never imagined this, until it happened, and now that it had, he had no regrets. Except maybe that time with the demon. Definitely that time with the demon. He shoved the thought aside and rolled his hips, squeezing the fingers inside him, invitingly.

Artemis took his time, stroking Fenris’s insides, stroking that inviting, velvety warmth and feeling Fenris relax in increments. He was loose now around Artie’s fingers, but Artemis worked him just a little bit longer. Finally, he bent to nibble at Fenris’s ear, tracing the pointed tip with his tongue and whispered, "Are you ready for me?" He leaned back to watch Fenris’s face, to read the look in those green eyes.

Fenris’s breath hitched, and he considered the question. Was he? How was he supposed to know? But, he did know — he knew how to tell if Artemis was ready for him, and his hand slipped down between his own legs, cupping Artemis’s hand, as he prodded the edges of his own hole with his fingertips. After a moment, he nodded. "If I were you, I would be."

Artie chuckled and kissed the tip of Fenris’s nose, just to watch his nose crinkle. "Not quite what I asked," Artemis said. "As devilishly handsome as you would be as me, I rather prefer you as you." But, he supposed, he also had more experience in this particular area.

Carefully, Artemis slid his fingers out and nudged Fenris to lift his other knee. He wiped his wet fingers on the sheets (and tried not to think about them) before wrapping his hand around Fenris’s hip, thumb tracing the sharp jut of bone. Lining himself up against Fenris, Artie watched his face, watched for any sign of discomfort as he pushed in, agonisingly slow. All the while, Artemis tried to convey the love and affection he had for this elf in his look, at least until his eyes rolled back at the pressure.

Fenris writhed, legs crossing behind Artemis’s hips. The sensation was powerful, consuming — the heat and thickness driving him to distraction. But, what struck him was the give. When he clamped down, suddenly, he could feel Artemis’s firm flesh compress, unlike with either of the dildoes. This wouldn’t be the same, although it was similar. He supposed he’d known that, but knowing it and feeling it were rather different.

"How much of me has been inside so much of you," he panted, the words falling out of his mouth, while his mind was busy wrestling with the new sensation, "and now I can take this part of you. You, only you. You are so very beautiful." The words gave way to a few tense groans and whines, and Fenris’s hips rolled of their own volition, trying to settle this new weight between them.

A soft groan escaped Artie’s lips, half in pleasure, half in relief that Fenris didn’t seem to be in pain. The heat was incredible, and Artie could barely believe that this was Fenris wrapped him, Fenris, who he’d never thought would want… this. Artie held Fenris’s hip and ground forward shallowly, experimentally, wringing a lovely sound from the elf underneath him. "You are incredible," he breathed, trying to find words for this, for the face Fenris was making, for the way Fenris moved under and against him. Words were overrated, he decided, but he reached for a few new ones he’d learned. "Pulcher es," he murmured, hoping he was saying that right. You are beautiful. You are handsome. "No, um. Pulcherrimus es." You are the most beautiful. At least, that was what he was trying to say.

Fenris’s eyebrow arched up. "Did Anders teach you that?" he murmured. "You’re saying it wrong. And I’m not. You are." He pulled Artemis down for a long, slow kiss. Perhaps he could understand the appeal of this, to some degree. He felt warm, loved, held, but not trapped. This was, he thought, a profound expression of trust, and one rewarded with a not insignificant amount of pleasure. "Pulcherrimus es," he assured Artemis, pronouncing it correctly. "And you can tell Anders I said so."

"I can tell Anders, ‘you are the most beautiful’?" Artie teased, a bit breathlessly. "My, my. You might make him blush." He circled his hips a little more confidently, letting a few more pleased sounds spill from his throat. "Pulchrior, then. Prettier. Anders pulcher est. Pulchrior es. Pulcherrimus sum." Anders is pretty. You are prettier. I am prettiest.

Two of those three statements were correct, as far as Fenris was concerned, but Anders was not pretty. He, himself, however, was definitely better looking than Anders. And Artemis was the single most beautiful man he’d ever laid eyes on. But, the words got lost between his brain and his mouth, and all that passed his lips were a few tiny gasps and a heated moan. For a moment, he wondered at that sound — not one usually in his vocabulary, even in moments like this, but perhaps new experiences called for new sounds. In the back of his mind, an image seeped into his consciousness, of himself held down and ravished, like he’d taken Artemis so many times. The feeling of fullness, the stinging of every thrust, washed over him, along with the sense that as good as this felt, that was not what he wanted.

Artemis let that gorgeous sound wash over him. That was new, and a sign he was doing something right. As much as he preferred things the other way, there was something beautiful about watching, feeling, and hearing Fenris experience this for the first time, and Artie soaked it in, tried to memorise each moment, the way he wished he could have that first time in the Deep Roads. He reached for more Tevene, since his last attempt had amused Fenris, and spent a ridiculous length of time trying to remember the right forms. "Tam amoenus es," he murmured. "Utinam videres te."

You are so gorgeous. I wish you could see yourself.

He hoped he didn’t fumble that too badly. He had struggled with the ‘utinam’ construction when Anders had tried to explain it.

Horror flashed across Fenris’s features, and his eyes unfocused. He thrashed for a moment, as if surprised he had the use of all his limbs, and then jerked his leg back, settling a foot firmly at the hip above his own. "Desili a me! Apage a me! Noli me tangere!" He shoved hard, launching the body off himself, down the bed, and recoiled against the sudden emptiness. He felt like he’d been gutted, and nothing made sense. This smelled like his bed — like the bed he had in Kirkwall, in that wonderful dream where he was a nobleman with a loving husband — but the mirror occupied his vision. His own face in the mirror. ‘Look at yourself, those lovely eyes. I can see in them that you know you’ll be mine forever.’ His own face, and above it, Danarius smirking down at him.

"You are dead!" he howled, curling into a ball. "You are dead! I watched you die! You can’t touch me! Don’t touch me!"

Artemis scrabbled at the sheets and just barely managed not to topple off the edge of the bed. Wild-eyed and bewildered, he looked around the room and at the shivering ball of elf that was his husband, trying to piece together the last few seconds. There was no one else in the room, and Artie didn’t know whom he was talking to. Or… no. That was a lie. The fear in Fenris’s eyes… Artie had only seen that shade of terror once before.

"Fenris?" he asked, softly, warily. "Did I hurt you?" His stomach cramped at the thought, and he felt sick. That was a look he had never wanted to see on Fenris’s face again.

"The pain is mine," Fenris muttered, still clearly not all there, face buried against his knees. "The pain is mine, and when the pain comes, there is nothing left to fear."

He could still hear Hadriana, like it was happening all over again, the way she’d drizzled things only she knew the nature of into the barely-scabbed paths the lyrium laid in, across his skin. ‘There will be no greater pleasure for you than accepting the pain you know is yours. The waiting is over, the anticipation has run out, and you can finally relax in the knowledge that this is what has haunted your every waking moment, and it has finally come. There is no room for fear, in the moment. There is nothing left to fear,’ she’d told him, and those words, he’d never forgotten. One of those few things that nothing had managed to erase from his memory.

"The pain is where the fear ends," he breathed, and the weight of the words drove everything out of his voice. He wondered how long he’d been given that dream — a lovely dream, filled with things he’d never even considered wanting — and whether it had just been to make him break again, to give him something else to lose.

But, the voice that had asked him that… It hadn’t been Danarius’s. Not his, not Hadriana’s. And that confused him, for a long moment.

"Fen, you’re scaring me," Artemis whispered. Anders. Artemis should get Anders, but he couldn’t leave Fenris, not when he was like this, trapped in some ancient nightmare. Artie wanted to touch him, to fold him in his arms, but the way Fenris shrank away from him told him that was a bad idea. He scooted as close as he dared and tried to catch Fenris’s eye, but Fenris stared out at nothing, eyes glassy. "Fen. Listen to my voice. Do you know who I am?"

"You’re just a dream… aren’t you?" Right, Fenris, ask your visions if they’re real. They’d never lie to you. He squeezed his eyes shut, wanting so much for this to be real, instead of what was there, lurking just below the surface. "I married you. We were so happy…" His voice was small and his eyes burned.

Artemis didn’t know heartbreak could feel like a physical pain. What had brought this on? What had he done wrong? "You did marry me," Artemis agreed. "But here I thought we were still happy." He smiled wanly. "I’m real, Fen. Look at me. Touch my hand. It’s just you and me in here." He held out a hand in invitation.

Fenris squinted warily at the hand, before he lashed out, grabbing it and lighting his own hand, running his fingers down the bones inside — and they felt real. They felt like the hand he was seeing, instead of like the underlayer of an illusion. "Amatus?" his eyes flicked up, pleading and hopeful, to study the face before him.

The lump in Artie’s throat made it difficult to answer. "It’s me, Fen. It’s me." He was careful to hold his hand steady, frightened, for the first time in a long time, of what Fenris could do with his fingers inside his skin. But he still didn’t pull his hand away. If Fenris decided to tear it off, he would let him. "This is our home. Our room. Our bed. Danarius is dead, and you have what’s left of him on that amulet around your neck."

"If you are who I believe you to be—" Fenris swallowed hard. "If you are real, then you know that I love you. But, right now— Right now I need trousers and a drink and to figure out what’s real. And I hope that you are. And I hope that you’ll take me back, when I come back, because if you’re real, I’m coming back. I want this to be real. I want this to be my home. I want you to be my husband. But, right now, I — Something’s not right, and I don’t know what it is, and I hope it’s not this."

His fingers became solid again, and he held tightly to Artemis’s hand for a long moment. "I need my clothes. I have to go out." He pressed a kiss to Artemis’s fingers, taking a deep breath and only being met with the scent of his mage. "Please be real."