Chapter Text
Dorian watched as Asher Hawke approached the throne.
Approached may have been the wrong word for it though. The man positively sauntered, his hips swaying rather distractingly, the red sash hanging from his waist rocking with each stride of his long legs. A smirk played about his lips despite the hushed whispers of the crowds of people that had gathered to witness the Champion and his lover's arrival.
The Inquisitor, by contrast, sat on her throne, the Andrastian flame-backed chair taking up centre stage at the end of the hall, flanked either side by two statues of Andraste herself. Bailey Trevelyan watched Hawke approach, her striking ochre eyes seeing everything, taking in every little detail as only a rogue truly could. Her dark hair was tied high on her head in an elaborate and sophisticated knot. She sat, back straight, with her hands clasped in her lap, a more sombre expression on her face there could not have been. Her eyes flicked to the Champion's lover, narrowing even further.
The mage, Anders, walked at Hawke's side without any of the Champion's swagger. He looked meek. He looked guilty. His eyes were trained on the ground, his throat bobbing every time he swallowed thickly. And he winced each and every time someone in the crowds spat or hissed harsh words at him.
The hall finally quieted, however, as the two men reached the dais – the only sound left being that of Cassandra's teeth grinding at the sight of the terrorist mage and the 'missing' Champion of Kirkwall. She was giving Varric some rather lethal looking glares in between the ones she was giving the two apostates, glares that, Dorian had an excellent view of thanks to him successfully nabbing a spot near the front.
Hawke's face broke into a broad grin – all white teeth through thick scruffy beard, his dark cobalt blue eyes shining as they roamed up the Inquisitor's lean frame. "So, you're the glowy handed lass?" he asked. His tongue darted out briefly, wetting his lips, his grin turning decidedly wicked. "I bet that's fun in the bedroom."
Varric let out a rough sounding sigh as he rubbed at his temples, clearly exasperated. Next to him, Bull snorted, a grin of his own stretching over scarred lips. It was Cassandra's grunt of disgust that was the most audible reaction to the Champion's coarse comments, though.
Knowing Bailey to have a rather crude sense of humour, Dorian wasn't surprised to see a slight quirk of a smirk at her lips. "I haven't tried, yet," she replied evenly, her narrowed gaze not leaving Hawke's.
The Champion burst out laughing, his eyes crinkling with mirth. "Well, assuming you don't try to have Anders and I killed in a moment or two, we'd happily help you figure out its uses. You know, other than the whole closing rifts thing."
Anders closed his eyes, shoulders slumping and Bailey looked about ready to retort, most likely with something crass if the look in her eyes was anything to go by, but Josephine cleared her throat, her eyes wide as she gently shook her head.
The Inquisitor's cheeks flushed a rosy pink and she shifted in her seat. "Right. To business then."
There was a flash of something across Hawke's face but it was gone too quickly for even Dorian to catch. Instead, the mage smirked up at the Inquisitor again. "I like a woman who gets straight to business," he said casually. His eyes lit up a tad with mischief. "Although, I prefer my business a bit bent." He winked.
"Maker's Breath, Hawke," Varric muttered next to Dorian.
"I can see you haven't changed at all, Champion," Cullen grumbled from Dorian's other side. Both dwarf and Commander sounded equally exasperated.
Hawke grinned at Cullen, a rather delighted thing, eyes darkening with wickedness. "Noodles! How's my baby brother?"
Cullen straightened, his golden eyes narrowing. "He's your brother."
"And he's your-"
"Love," Anders interjected, speaking for the first time. His voice a little hoarse, most likely with nerves. "Can we just get this over with, please?"
Hearing the word love fall so freely from the apostate's lips had Dorian's eyes widening briefly. Back home such a thing would never have been said so publicly, especially not in court in front of countless people. He expected the Champion to rebuke him, to snarl or brush it off – he'd actually seen that happen in Tevinter – but Hawke did none of those things. Instead he gave his lover a sweet reassuring smile. His fingers reached for Anders', barely ghosting over them, but the simple touch seemed to bolster the blond apostate as he lifted his head to look up at the Inquisitor.
"Right, yeah, sure," The Champion said with a smirk as, he too, looked back up at Bailey. "So, it's simple really. Anders and I come as a package. You want me, you get him, too." Hawke winked again, making Bailey's eyes narrow.
"You can't expect us to just let this terrorist go unpunished," she replied flatly. "Or are we to punish you as a package as well?" she snarked, watching both men keenly.
Hawke's lips quirked ever upward. "That depends on the punishment, does it not?" he asked, licking already wet and smirking lips. His eyes roamed down the Inquisitor's body appreciatively. "And who's giving it."
Bailey snorted. She had to admit, she could see why Hawke had become such a legend. Varric's stories probably helped, but the apostate just had this… presence. She was struggling to take her eyes off of him, which was rare for her. But she forced them to focus on the other apostate instead. The one that was the reason this entire thing was problematic at all. There was a difference between setting up an organisation without the Chantry's permission and taking in a terrorist who blew up a Chantry. One got them a handful of upset clerics, the other could well lose them half the allies they'd worked so hard to gather.
She regarded the terrorist coolly, taking in his scruffy appearance, the unshaven fuzz along his jaw, the worn, scuffed black boots, and the guilt in his sunken and sad eyes. He did feel remorse then, that was something. She ran her eyes over the Champion again. The man exuded confidence and cockiness, those deep blue eyes of his playful and always smiling. Bailey had been warned by the Commander and Varric about Asher Hawke's… personality, but even they had hoped the events of Kirkwall might have mellowed him somewhat. Apparently that was not the case.
She needed to make a decision, but she always hated having to. And this was, arguably, the most important one she would make to date. She knew how most of her Inner Circle felt, Cassandra especially. Bailey had barely stopped the Seeker from strangling Varric once she found out he knew exactly where Hawke and Anders had been this entire time. And it was clear she was struggling to stop herself from outright murdering both apostates now. Bailey knew, too, that Varric was still good friends with Hawke, and that punishing his friend probably wouldn't end too well. But seeing as she hated making decisions, she already knew what she was going to do. It was what all leaders did.
She would postpone her decision for as long as possible.
Besides, she had good reasons to do that. Hawke had fought and killed Corypheus before, he knew about Red Lyrium, and he was one of the most powerful battle mages alive in Thedas. He was still seen as a hero and could potentially win them more allies, too. Even Anders, with his past actions, was still a talented mage, a gifted healer and a Warden. And the Inquisition was not a wasteful organisation.
Dorian watched as the Herald stood from her chair. She towered over everyone in the hall, the two apostates below her included. The room fell utterly silent and even Dorian found himself holding his breath, waiting for the woman's next words. Bailey could be terrifying when she needed to be. She adapted to situations faster than any normal person ought to be able to, but then again, she wasn't an ordinary person, was she? She was the Herald of Andraste, the Chosen One, marked by the Maker, Sealer of the Breach, Inquisitor to the Inquisition. And although she had never executed a single person thus far, this was by far the most damned person she had yet to judge.
"For now, Corypheus is more important than punishing either of you for past transgressions-" An uproar of outraged attendees cut her off. Bailey lifted her hand for silence and the shouts quieted. "That does not mean you will go unpunished… but we have to consider Corypheus a priority. He threatens us all, thus we need all the help we can get. Know that you will be watched, closely, but so long as you are here to help, then I welcome you both to Skyhold."
"So, no chains then? Such a pity," Hawke drawled with a wicked little smirk that stirred all kinds of images in Dorian's mind.
"I'm sure we could arrange for a gag," Cassandra bit out.
Hawke laughed, hard. "Only if you're the one to put it on me, sweetheart."
Cassandra grunted her disgust and Hawke grinned. "We'll be in our room for the rest of the afternoon, and the night, and probably most of the morning tomorrow, too… Do we even have a room?" he asked with a quirked brow.
"Yes, of course, Champion. Right this way," Josephine said with a dip of her head.
Dorian watched Hawke and Anders leave with a strange feeling in his chest – an odd tightness. Watching the two of them being together so openly… he didn't quite like the emotions it was stirring within him. So many – too many – times he had allowed himself to imagine, to hope, for what they had.
"You okay?" Bailey suddenly asked from his side.
"Of course. Why wouldn't I be?" he replied a little defensively. He didn't like how perceptive she was some days.
"I don't know, you just look…" She shook her head. "It doesn't matter." Well, at least she was perceptive enough to know he didn't want to discuss it.
"I assure you, I am fine, Inquisitor," he replied primly. His eyes caught sight of something truly terrifying then and he swallowed. "I'd be more worried about what Cassandra is going to do to you, if I were you."
Bailey sighed. "She's walking toward me, isn't she?"
"I wouldn't call that walking. It's more akin to a charging bull."
"Good thing I've got lots of experiences with Bull's then, right?" Bailey said with a wink. Dorian sighed at her terrible humour.
"Yes well, good luck escaping that one."
Dorian slipped away before he got caught in Cassandra's crosshairs too. He decided he needed a drink. He doubted it would distract him from the images of Asher Hawke in a gag, all chained up… but it might stop the ache in his chest at least.
…
"I could get used to a view like this," Asher commented. Even without looking at the man, Anders knew Ash wasn't talking about the view out of their room's massive window. He groaned in response and wiggled his rump where he was on elbows and knees on the bed, hoping desperately that Asher would finally pay it some attention.
All of his worries and guilt had been temporarily pushed to the side – Asher always had that effect on him, making it so nothing else mattered but them. It was a welcome distraction after the long journey through the mountains. Anders had been a nervous wreck most of the trip and even Asher's sense of humour had started to flag at the end of it.
"Please just get on with it, love!" he cried, desperate for Asher's touch on him. "The view is nothing new. Or have you forgotten all of the times you-"
Asher let out a breathy chuckle against his rear, hot air washing over him and making him shiver. "I haven't forgotten," Asher murmured. "And it never fails to impress me," he husked, voice rough.
Asher let his tongue roll over the sensitive spot behind Anders' heavy balls, the one that always managed to just, ever so slightly, stimulate his prostate, and sucked on it. He drew it between his lips, his tongue flicking across the rough skin until Anders was moaning in response.
With the flat of his tongue, he then licked his way up front that spot, right up the crack of Anders' ass. His lover squirmed, impatient and knowing that Asher was nearing his neglected hole. The rocking of Anders' hips had Asher's tongue sliding right over that eager pucker and Anders letting out a beautifully ragged groan. Anders' whole body trembled from the contact of Asher's hot tongue slipping over such a sensitive place.
He tutted at his lover for misbehaving and moved his tongue away from that hole to instead bite down on a pliant ass cheek. His teeth dug in deep enough to leave a mark and make Anders cry out into the pillow. He rubbed it better, soothing the marked skin and calming his lover back down.
Anders shuddered as those calloused hands splayed out and rubbed his ass. For hours now Asher had been pleasuring him. It had started as it always did, with them both shedding clothes before the door had even closed behind them. With them kissing, pressed close, holding tight onto one another. Anders had cum from sinfully skilled hands stroking him while his hands were pinned to the door above his head.
After that, Ash had sunk to his knees and his hot wet mouth had closed around the head of Anders' cock, tongue swirling and flicking over that and only that. He had been flooded with such intense sensation that he had cum screaming, near collapsing onto Asher.
Anders had protested then, wanting nothing more than to taste and please Asher. But his lover had smirked and hit him with a blast of force magic instead, a blast that had thrown him to the bed. There he had been since. And there he had cum again, for the third time, from Asher's magic rolling over him in powerful vibrating waves.
But all of that foreplay had avoided one very specific place, one extremely sensitive place, a place that Anders was especially fond of. He was pretty sure Ash was doing it on purpose just to wind him up. So to have his tongue on him there, even if it was only brief, had almost been too much and he had nearly cum for the fourth time from sheer relief that Asher was no longer completely ignoring his backside.
"Please, love," Anders all but sobbed out as Asher's breath once more ghosted over his ass, the moist air making his whole body tremble all over again.
"I've got you. I've always got you," Asher whispered as he laid a kiss at the small of his back. Anders let out a small moan at his words. He'd heard them a hundred times. He believed them. But that didn't mean they didn't take his breath away every single time either.
Asher went back to kiss the bruise now forming on his ass. His hot hands massaged the sore flesh and Anders relaxed into it a bit, sighing softly. Asher Hawke could be a lot of things - most people knew him as a clown, a jokester, always messing around and never taking anything seriously. He did do that, a lot. But he could also be tender and sweet. He was also the most selfless person Anders knew.
Hawke didn't have to help the people of Kirkwall, and even though he made light of most situations, he still helped. He always helped. What Anders had done… He shuddered, thinking about all of the deaths that he had caused, not just with the Chantry but with the war in Kirkwall after, with Sebastian's army occupying the city, with the mage rebellion... Some nights he had nightmares so bad that he woke up screaming, feeling like the blood on his hands was a physical thing that needed to be scrubbed off, but Asher was always there. He never left his side, never would.
That tongue finally returned to licking along his slit. Long flat strokes slicked him up, tongue wiggling back and forth as it moved all the way up the cleft. Anders was already trembling and Asher was only just beginning what would be a long night of torment and pleasure for him. He bucked his hips again, naughty as that was, and groaned as Asher's tongue properly rolled over his puck again. Waves of euphoric pleasure rippled through him as his eyes rolled back into his head and he let out a long broken groan.
Asher smirked. That long journey really had made Anders desperate for it. He didn't usually misbehave this much. He changed his strokes again, using fast sideways flicks as he let his tongue travel down his cleft. He couldn't get enough of the way Anders groaned for him, or the way his hips bucked and legs shook. He was causing that, causing his lover, a mage – a possessed one who hadn't let Vengeance take charge since the Chantry – to lose control so completely. It was nearly his undoing. To have someone that trusted him that much, who loved him of all people so completely… It's why he didn't want this night to end, it's why he had been avoiding this spot all night, wanting to save it for last.
But waiting that long, and now seeing just how desperate Anders was for it, how responsive, had Asher's prick aching and dripping with need as it hung heavily between his legs. He wanted nothing more than to bury himself in that exquisite tight heat, but he held off. This was about Anders tonight. Anders needed him, needed this more than he did. For days' they'd both been so… subdued. And for all of Asher's bluster, Skyhold was dangerous. They both knew it, but had both decided to come anyway because they wanted to help, bleeding hearted fools that they were.
Asher's burning hot tongue circled the edge of Anders' hole –so close but not close enough – and Anders' entire body shook as he let out a frustrated whine. He pressed his ass back, hoping, praying to the Maker –which was never going to be a successful venture considering how poorly Anders had treated the Maker's house, but it was worth a shot anyway – that Asher would have mercy on him and end this agonising torment. But the Champion's hands grabbed his ass cheeks, squeezing them roughly and holding his ass in place, quite effectively stopping Anders from rutting into Asher's tongue. He let out a hoarse groan, one that turned into a strangled sort of sob as that tongue continued to dillydally around his hole without ever actually flicking over it
Asher chuckled against his rear, his hot moist breath affording him at least some relief as it rushed over his hole. Then that wicked tongue was once more sliding languidly and lazily down his cleft, back toward his throbbing balls in one long broad stroke that saw Anders' legs tremble and his hands fist the sheets. Ever dextrous, Asher's tongue flicked over his swollen sack. Warm lips sucked softly on the heavy globes and Anders held his breath, knowing what came next as Asher drew one into his mouth and sucked. He groaned even as his legs spread out to give Asher better access to them. Fingers came up next, as Asher let his sack fall from his lips, they fondled every part of him they could reach, teasing him.
The Fade crackled briefly and Asher's magic washed over his balls in waves of gentle heat. He convulsed on the bed, crying out Asher's name and burying his head further into the pillow in frustration. A cry flew from his lips a moment later when Ashe smacked his ass, the sting cutting right through him, radiating out in painful waves and acting as a total counterpoint to the soft magic still tingling over his balls.
"Plea–fuuuuck!" he cried as Asher smacked him again in the same spot as before, the stinging bite of it making him grip the sheets with white-knuckled fists.
"Shhh," Asher whispered.
That tongue returned, licking his cleft some more. Anders had to suck in a shuddering breath in order to calm his tensed body. He both loved and hated never knowing quite what Asher had planned next.
Finally, Asher allowed Anders the thing he most craved. His tongue passed over that pucker with a sure, hard flick. The resultant groan out of Anders' mouth was beautiful, so ragged and broken, slightly muffled by the pillow. The blond's ass lifted higher into the air, pushing up toward his wetted lips. Asher responded with another flick of his tongue, relishing the way that perfect little star quivered from his touch and the almost pained moan it pulled from Anders' throat. He helped part those cheeks, prying them open with both his hands so he could better lick that hole.
Andes' limbs were trembling, shaking the whole bed as he continued to let his tongue swirl over his lovers' hole, slicking it up with saliva, slowly loosening the tight muscle. He sucked on that pucker, drawing it into his mouth so that his tongue could flick rapidly over it, overwhelming Anders with sensation. The result was exactly what he wanted: Anders cried out, back arching, hair falling wildly over his sweat coated shoulders as his head lolled back, his voice no longer muffled by pillows. And it was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard; fuelling his ego and setting it on fire.
Anders couldn't think, could barely even breathe, as Asher drew his pucker into his mouth and played with it. Wet soft lips held it in that scorching hot mouth of his as that ever moving tongue went to work, circling, probing and flicking across the little ring of muscle. Anders arms could barely hold him up; most of his weight was now resting on his the side of his face as he buried his head in the pillows, not having anywhere else to go as he continued to squirm and tremble, begging for release.
Asher smirked as he let go of that abused pucker to instead lick along Anders' slit. When his tongue returned to flick over that now loosened ring of muscle, he lapped up the juices seeping out of it. The musky dark taste that he had come to equate entirely with Anders always drove him wild, making his tongue extra eager to lap at his hole.
The muscles there were truly lax now, open and well slicked up, and finally Asher got to the real meal of the night as he let the very tip of his tongue probe into that loosened little star, wiggling it as he pushed in deeper. Anders' response was nearly enough to make him cum then and there as the man let out a broken ragged moan, his whole body tensing and arching, his ass pushing back so that Asher's tongue dipped further into that ring.
He ran his hands over Anders' buttocks, squeezing it softly, lifting and parting those rosy cheeks so that his tongue could explore further. Anders' body trembled against his digging tongue, mostly because of the shake in his legs, legs that were barely holding him up by the feel of it. Asher chanced a look up Anders' sweat coated spine, down to the face Anders had half buried in the pillow. He had to stifle his groan at the fucked-out expression on Anders' face. His cheeks were red with colour, his hair stuck to his sweaty forehead, his breath panting out through parted kiss-swollen lips.
Asher smirked. He was still getting warmed up.
Anders was tighter than a drawn bow, his whole body trembling as he tried to stay completely still, not wanting Asher to pull back because Anders got too eager as Asher's tongue continued to flick around the inner muscles of his hole. What he did, or tried to do, didn't seem to matter, however, as Asher soon pulled back and returned to simply flicking his tongue over his hole, making Anders buck and squirm again, desperate for that tongue to be buried deep inside him. Asher sensed his tensed state, however, and let more of that damned –wonderful- force magic roll back over him until he was relaxing again.
And then Asher's tongue returned, answering his pleas as it pushed back into his hole, ripping an agonised groan from Anders' mouth. Hawke's tongue was so hot and wet. The nerves in his oversensitive rear felt like they were igniting as that hot tongue probed into him, wiggling in a way that saw Anders' legs shaking with the strain of holding his ass up in the air. But Asher's hands rubbed at it, trying to soothe him while also helping to hold it up. They rubbed and kneaded his cheeks, massaging them before he suddenly pinched them. There was so much sensation, but that was the point. His nerves were singing as that tongue plunged deeper into his hole, preparing him slicking him up for those long fingers.
Anders was quivering in anticipation. He wanted to be filled, needed to be. Too long he had only the force magic swelling over his cock and balls, or teasing flicks of the tongue, all of it leaving him so very empty when all he really wanted was to be stuffed full of Asher's heavy hot cock. He moaned again as Asher kept to a steady, but still tormenting, pace, his tongue swirling around the inside of his hole, pushing in deeper and deeper with each rotation, literally screwing him with his tongue.
"That's it," the Champion murmured breathily, voice sounding hoarse. Asher's own need must have been painful by now; it was dark outside which meant they had been here for hours already. Although Anders had completely lost track of time after his third orgasm, he knew Asher had yet to cum, had yet to even touch himself. He did this often, always holding out for Anders, waiting for him to be completely ready, completely relaxed and desperate to be filled and fucked.
"Ash," Anders whimpered.
"Something you want there, love?" Asher whispered back as he planted kisses up Anders' back, a smirk at his lips.
Anders let out a frustrated groan. He pressed his ass backwards, into Asher's outstretched palms. "Pleease," he moaned out.
"As you asked so nicely," he husked, hot breath burning Ander's loosened back door. His whole body tensed.
That tongue plunged into his hole in one deep thrust it was buried in him, scorching and soaking wet. It wiggled in a way that had Anders crying out as his nerve endings ignited all at once, exploding outwards so fast he forgot how to breathe. He gasped, nearly choking as that tongue swirled around his inner walls and pushed even further into him.
Asher drew his tongue back out before he rammed it back in, making Anders cry out yet again. Asher's pride flared and he picked up his pace, thrusting in and out, loving every second of this as Anders lost it around him. He let his tongue swirl and wriggle once it was buried deep inside that impossibly hot passage, then dragged it back out to lick across Anders' pucker, all before repeating the cycle. He knew it wouldn't be enough to see Anders cum again, but it would be enough to turn him into a pleading, sobbing mess. And that was just as good.
Anders wasn't sure if it was even the Common tongue leaving his lips now, or if it was total nonsense as he whimpered and thrashed on the bed, begging with Asher to fuck him properly. Fingers, tongue, his steamy hot cock, he didn't care; he just needed to be filled.
Asher smirked, finally satisfied with the mess he had turned his lover into. "I'm gonna make you scream, love, so this whole castle knows you're mine," he husked as his hands massaged Anders' ass and thighs. His lover's returned groan was so broken and hoarse that Asher knew he wouldn't be able to resist sheathing himself inside that hot passage much longer.
…
The drink may have been a mistake – just this one time. It hadn't helped with that odd tightness in Dorian's chest at all and had only succeeded in stirring the pot of his already bubbling libido; images of the Champion and his lover rolling around his head. Annoyed, he had retired to his room early, hoping that a descent night's sleep would help somewhat. It had been as his head hit the soft feather down pillows that he had realised just how very unlikely that would be.
It appeared that the Champion and Anders had in fact been given the room just next door to Dorian's. That wouldn't have been a problem, not truly, if it weren't for the fact that the walls were rather on the thin side.
He could hear the Champions amused voice filter into his chambers, that playful tone making him shiver. 'I could get used to a view like this.' But it was Anders' return protest that turned that shiver into a toe curling shudder as the man cried out a desperate sounding 'Please just get on with it, love. The view is nothing new, or have you forgotten about all the times you-' Dorian groaned, rolling onto his side.
His bed just had to be against the shared wall with Anders and Hawke, didn't it? He could try to push his bed over to the other side of his room but he doubted it would help all that much, and if he was being brutally honest with himself… he didn't actually want to do that. Naturally, he would say it was because he was already warm under the covers and the outside temperature was close to freezing… In actual fact, he knew it was because of a deep seated curiosity bubbling inside of him, a curiosity he had always had – one where he wondered what it was like for two men to be together, to truly be together.
Asher's chuckle made Dorian's cock twitch. It was such a light and care-free sound, but also so full of dark promise; he could picture perfectly the man's hot breath on his skin as that little throaty chuckle left the Champion's ever smiling lips. Dorian swallowed thickly. The next words out of Hawke's mouth were quieter, and Dorian found himself leaning closer to the wall to hear the strained tone to the man's voice, the rough and ragged lilt that had taken over the amused tenor from moment's ago. 'I haven't forgotten and it never fails to impress me'. Dorian actually moaned from the breathy barely held together sound of the Champion's voice. Hearing him in such a raw and honest state was something that Dorian was entirely unprepared to hear. He found himself wishing those words were being husked into his ear, never more so than when Anders let out a loud ragged groan a moment later.
Dorian turned over again, endlessly frustrated. It was stupid to want to be on the receiving end of that, it was never going to happen! How many times had he allowed hope to crawl up into his head? To show him images where he was happy and didn't have to hide his relationship, images where it wasn't just casual sex but something more, something deeper. And how many times had he squashed those images down, burying them because they would never happen?
He knew things were different in the south, that people were free to do as they pleased with whoever they pleased – but to actually see it, to see them so open and brazen with their affections was just bizarre. Naturally, that meant Dorian couldn't stop himself from listening in even if he wanted to. He couldn't help but wonder what it would feel like to be in Anders' position at this very moment with the great Champion of Kirkwall as his lover – proud to be his lover, despite Dorian's background and heritage. Hawke certainly didn't seem to mind that Anders had been labelled a terrorist if the way he said 'I've got you. I've always got you,' was anything to go by. Dorian's chest tightened uncomfortably at that and he groaned again, rolling over and crushing the pillow to the side of his head, hoping to muffle the sounds of the men next door.
It was no use, however, he could still hear the moans and groans through the walls, Anders practically whining as he cried out Hawke's name. He wasn't quite sure what Hawke was doing to the blond but his imagination was providing him with ample images from which to choose from. He clenched his jaw, his blood practically boiling from arousal and from frustration. For a castle in the sky, the craftsmanship of these walls was beyond shoddy. Who built this ridiculous place? Why did they use the world's thinnest stone in between rooms? There might as well have been floor to ceiling windows built into the wall instead, at least then he'd have a pretty view to go along with all of these tortuous sounds!
'Plea-fuuuuck!' came the strangled cry from the room next door, making Dorian's cock strain against his silk pyjama bottoms. His breath was getting ragged just thinking about the men next door, imagining Hawke sucking on Anders' throbbing cock, or perhaps the Champion's wicked tongue was elsewhere? Dorian shivered as he imagined that hot wet tongue slipping down below his balls to flick across the crack of his ass. It would be so easy to reach down and touch himself, to find release as he listened to Hawke and Anders. Instead he clenched his fists into the sheets; his pride was too great to stoop so low. It was pathetic. They couldn't possibly last much longer. He just needed to hold out until then and try to shift his thoughts to something other than the moaning, groaning men a wall away from him – all sweaty and breathless, skin flushed and cocks all swollen and dripping with their – No!
He started reciting magic theory, old teachings he had learnt as a child, whispering the words softly, chanting them as Anders' muffled begging seeped through the walls to make his whole body shiver with want.
'That's it', the Champion seemed to murmur to Dorian as his hand began to slide down his stomach, desperate to wrap around his aching member. He curled his fingers at the last second, annoyed that he was falling to temptation. Anders whimpered out Hawke's name and Dorian felt like joining him with such a plea. The Champion returned to being amused, his voice practically laughing as he asked his lover if there was something he wanted. Anders' return please was moaned out so beautifully that Dorian had to roll onto his front to stop his hand from carrying on its descent down into his smalls. He felt like shouting at them, shouting for them to please end this teasing game – to please fuck him already.
'As you asked so nicely' was Hawke's husked retort, and Dorian found himself holding his breath in anticipation, waiting for what the man would say or do next as if it was Dorian that all of this was happening to. And then Anders was crying out, and Dorian's hips were bucking into the sheets, rubbing his length against the soft silk of his pyjamas, trying to find any kind of friction for the burning and aching state of his cock. It was Hawke's next words though that were the end of him.
'I'm gonna make you scream, love, so this whole castle knows you're mine.'
And scream Anders did, and gone was Dorian's self-control.
Dorian's hand slipped down over his bared chest, brushing past his throbbing cock before he tugged on the silk cord, freeing his pyjamas a little from his hips. He took a shaky breath as Anders screams turned into choked sobs, and then his hand was slipping down over smooth skin and neatly trimmed hair to finally wrap around his length, one finger at a time curling around the hot and throbbing velvety skin. He groaned loudly into the pillow, biting on the soft material as his hips rocked forward into the tight circle of his long smooth fingers.
He shoved down his pyjamas, freeing his dripping cock, his knee automatically moving up toward his chest to give his arm room to manoeuvre as his hand returned to pumping his shaft with long languid movements. He was damned well not going to cum within a few precious minutes; if he was going to do this to the sounds of them, he would do it properly!
'Sweet mercy, love, so good, Ash!' he heard Anders moan through the wall, making Dorian draw his lip between his teeth, biting down on a groan of his own. It was bad enough that he was doing this to the sounds of them, but if they were to actually hear him at it…
Dorian envisioned the blond mage – would they make love face to face? He rather thought they would – lying beneath his partner, legs spread wide for him, displaying his cock, lying hard against his belly, surrounded by a nest of peach-fuzz curls, sweating from all of the teasing Hawke had lavished on him thus far.
His hand tightened further around himself, gripping his burning hot shaft as his hips thrust forward again, matching the pace he could hear through the wall, mapping his movements to duplicate the languid, un-hurried speed indicated by those long sobbing moans. Dorian closed his eyes, imagining his hand was Anders' hot tight passage, imagining it was him driving those noises out of the tall blond; that those almost weeping praises were meant for his ears, and not the Champion's, that the breathless cries of 'love!' were meant for him.
Their pace was growing faster, more urgent. He could hear it in the soft grunts now coming from Hawke, and the way Anders was punctuating the barely audible slap of flesh on flesh with sharp keening cries of want.
Then Hawke started talking and Dorian's attention was ruthlessly pulled in the other direction. The Champion was magnetic, his charisma overwhelming all others, even through an intervening wall.
"That's it, baby! You're so fucking beautiful. Come for me again, love. Show it to me again. You got two more in you, don't you, Warden?" Hawke cajoled, and Dorian could practically hear the superior smirk on his lips even as he grunted with effort.
And suddenly Dorian wanted nothing more than to be the man beneath him. His mouth began to water as the image of Hawke leaning down over him flooded his mind. He pictured how the Hawke's oak-brown hair would brush over his skin as he took him from behind, hammering hard into him, shoving him down into the sheets. He maintained that the words falling from Hawke's lips were meant for him as his thrusts increased, sliding in and out of his hand, imagining it was the Fereldan's hand wrapped tight around him instead. But he was still missing something in order to keep his illusion going.
He licked his lips almost nervously as he brought his left hand up to them. His fingers traced around the soft full edges, the touch light and teasing, as they tugged down his bottom lip. Hawke was clearly a tease based on everything he had overheard so far and he was certain he would never be straight forward about anything.
Revelling in the fantasy, his cock weeping copiously into his hand, his lips parted at that taunting touch that he imagined not to be his own, his tongue snuck out to taste the tip of his middle finger. Just then, the Champion did something on the other side of the wall that sent Anders off on a streak of blasphemous profanity, cursing and begging his lover and the Maker in the same breath, praying and pleading for more.
Hawke's response to that played so perfectly into Dorian's little fantasy that it was almost unnerving.
'Such a naughty, filthy mouth, love.' Dorian could almost feel the man's hot breath washing over the nape of his neck, wisps of hair tickling his upper back, the rough stubble of his chin dragging over the sensitive skin right in the middle of his shoulders. 'Remind me why I love it so much.'
Dorian obeyed Hawke's voice, taking his fingers deep into his mouth, imagining it was Hawke pushing them in further, so deep he nearly gagged, before he swallowed and took in a huge lungful of air through flared nostrils. His tongue slid over those playful digits, slicking them up, coating them with his saliva.
'That's it!' Hawke moaned out, spurring on Dorian's efforts. 'Put it to good use, love,' Hawke encouraged, and Dorian did.
His fingers left his mouth with a pop and he moved his entire arm behind him, leaving his body pressed hard into the mattress, only furthering his fantasy that Hawke was looming over him, his weight pushing him into the bed. His slicked up fingers slid down the curve of his spine, again imagining that Hawke would take his time with him, teasing him mercilessly.
He groped his ass, picturing rougher, calloused hands grazing across the perfectly sculpted globes of flesh to give a buttock a rough squeeze. He lifted the smooth soft flesh as he did so, parting his cheeks just enough to make him shudder in anticipation, his cock jumping forward in the tight ring of his hand. His hips continued to buck forward as his hand lazily explored his backside, thumb grazing along the edge of his cleft.
Dorian moaned, thankful that his vocals were muffled by the pillow his head was pressed into as Hawke let out a breathy croon, silky words spilling from his lips. 'You like that, don't you?' Hawke said breathily and Dorian squeezed his ass again, almost to the point of pain before he rubbed it soothingly, imagining the soft whispered words Hawke would speak into his ear, a tongue briefly darting out to lick the shell. He shivered, close to begging – hearing Anders in the same state in the other room. His fingers slipped up the crack of his ass, momentarily sliding over his tight pucker, only to pull back; keeping up the pretence of Hawke's teasing and wandering hands.
His fingers slid along his cleft, slicking up the dark valley, and then he pulled his hand back to his mouth, his tongue lapping eagerly at the digits once more, coating them thoroughly, tasting the dark and musky taste of himself. It was dirty, even by his standards and his cock kicked in his hand, making more precum dribble from the tip to saturate the sheets beneath him.
Dorian's chest filled with pride as Hawke cheered out a loud, 'That's perfect, baby.' And then his hand was travelling back down to his ass, slipping down through the crack until he reached the pucker again, this time letting his fingers circle around it, spreading his saliva across the tight little hole.
'You feel so good,' Hawke murmured, his voice rumbling through the walls as a moan accompanied his voice and Dorian let out his own little moan as his finger trailed around the ring of muscle, wetting and loosening it. Hawke's hissed out 'Yes!' had Dorian doubling his movements, his hips working harder, pumping into his hand as the two digits at his arse slowly pushed through the tight muscle, making him bite down hard on his lip to stop the cry threatening to fly from his lips. Hawke was groaning and grunting next door as Dorian's fingers slowly pushed deeper into his hole, the hot heat of his digits stretching and filling him enough for him to picture Hawke's long cock doing such a thing achingly slowly.
Dorian drew his fingers out and then pushed them back in shallowly, stretching his entrance some more, before he let them really sink in, moaning properly that time as he bit down on the pillow. It was a stretch, but his fingers flicked over that sweet spot inside his tight hot passage and his whole body shook with a ragged groan falling from his lips. He fell into a satisfying rhythm of his fingers plunging deep into his channel, followed by his hips kicking forward, his cock thrusting into his fist, his fingers then flicked over his prostate just as his thumb flicked over the head of his cock, before his hips rocked back, followed by the slow drawing out of his fingers.
'Awh, fuck yes!' Hawke called out, voice rough and sounding like sex and Dorian let out his own whimpered cry. His whole body trembled with need as his movements picked up their pace, growing more erratic as he pictured Hawke beginning to come undone, slowly losing it after all this build up.
The slapping sound of flesh on flesh increased next door, and Dorian pumped faster into his own hand, the sounds of his slick hand rubbing against his skin almost loud enough to drown them out. His fingers continued plunging into his ass, hitting his prostate with each thrust, pressing into it like the head of Hawke's cock would do if he was really driving into him. His body began to tighten, his balls tingling, ready for release, but he held off, needing to hear Hawke cum first.
'Aruughhh – fuck! I'm gonna-' Hawke's ragged grunted cry turned into a roar as he found his release, Dorian's entire body went taut as a bow, his fingers flexed over his prostate one final time as his thumb flicked over the head of his weeping cock, and then he too was screaming into the pillow, past caring if they could hear him.
He collapsed down on the bed, lying in his own bodily fluids, covered in sweat and panting hard. The momentary feeling of satisfaction didn't last, however, as he pulled his fingers out, feeling more empty than ever before. Hawke would be kissing his lover now, whispering soft endearments to him, maybe even cleaning him, taking care of him, and then they would fall asleep curled up together. But when Dorian shifted on his bed, wanting to move away from the damp patch he had created on the sheets, all he had was the cold chill of un-warmed bed and the almost deafening silence of an empty room. He curled in on himself, shivering and wiped a single tear from his eye before he closed his eyes and tried to find sleep.