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“Purple!”
“No.” Fenris let out a long, exasperated groan. The heat was starting to get to him, to all of them. The Wounded Coast offered little to no protection from the scorching sun, and Kirkwall had never seemed so far away. “Have you still not tired of this?”
“Of course not. I can go forever.” Considering how enviably unaffected Isabela was by the weather, not to mention the exhaustion of several days of marching and fighting, this might well have been true. Admirable, but not his problem.
“Then may I suggest pestering someone else with? I am certain the mage will indulge you. He has a penchant for inane prattle.”
“Pfft, that'd be no challenge; I know he goes without.”
“With…out?”
“Oh yes, no smalls whatsoever. Most Circle mages do, from what he told me back when he wasn’t such a stick-in-the-mud. For…” she drawled out the words, “easy access, when you have to be quick. And you know what they say, old habits die hard. Trust me, sweet thing, there’s nothing between those worn trousers and his pearly white flesh at all times.” A wink and her usual, shameless grin were flashed his way. “Enjoying the thought?”
Ahead of them, Anders had finally succumbed to the heat and was shrugging off his coat. Fenris couldn’t help but notice that his thin, well-worn trousers, sweat-soaked as they were, clung in an almost obscenely tight way to his ass – for as it turned out, in addition to being one, the mage also had one. Nothing all too spectacular, a fairly small amount of flesh jutting out into the world in a just-about-noticeable arch. Fenris would never have thought there was anything resembling an ass at all under that billowy monstrosity of pomp and feathers, yet there was no mistaking the lovely little curve forming at the base of his spine, just enough to scream “Look! I’m here!” Which it did. Rather…enticingly so. Narrow as his hips, it would fit into Fenris’ hands just perfectly. And it was right there, covered but only a thin layer of cloth that had so clearly seen better days it was a few weeks away from tearing, at best. Tracing the shape of the mage’s rear with his eyes, he couldn’t help imagining how it would feel beneath his palms, pale, firm skin, dusted with hair and turning into gooseflesh as Fenris’ hands cupped his cheeks where they gently sloped into his thighs, as he kneaded and spread, stroked and slapped – carefully, just enough to make him feel it - one hand on the mage’s back, bending him over his desk with gentle pressure and…
Venhedis, there was no desk. They were in bandit-infested lands in the middle of a heatwave; there wasn’t even a rock big enough to comfortably lay the mage on top of it…Not that Fenris wanted to do that, anyway. Of course not. He was merely so exhausted that his mind had been jumping at the nearest distraction. Which had happened to come in the form of a mage ass that was...not entirely unpleasant to look at. That was all.
He let out a noncommittal huff.
“No.”
Judging by her pouted “Spoilsport”, Isabela believed him.
Well, at least he had convinced one of them.
A day passed, a week, and still the image refused to leave him alone, forcing itself into his consciousness no matter what time or place. Soft, pinkish flesh, lightly padded firmness covered in constellations of freckles, just like the mage’s slender hands… As long as he was outside, following Hawke into one reckless fight after another, it wasn’t too bad, yet whenever he returned to the dust and quiet of his mansion, the memory of that day, of the mage sans coat, of Isabela’s voice conjuring up scandalous images, seemed to be waiting for him right behind the front door.
He tried to keep himself occupied, sharpened his sword, practiced his routines, busied himself with the books Hawke had given him, worked on improving his writing, yet no matter what he did, sooner or later the mage’s ass would come barging back into his mind with all its tantalizing slopes and promises, leaving him hot, dizzy with longing… For an ass he had never even actually seen. And up until the cursed pirate’s vulgar remarks, had never felt any desire to see. Venhedis, what kind of spell had the mage put on him?
None, most likely. That was the problem.
Spending more time at the Hanged Man, in the company of rowdy friends and cheap ale, proved to be no solution. The more inebriated he became, the hotter his desire flared, until his whole body was a mess of warm, fuzzy want. Perhaps yet more alcohol would have helped, would have left him drooling onto the grimy bar, snoring, like he had sometimes found the dwarf, but he couldn’t bring himself to get truly drunk. He needed his senses still alert enough to notify him of danger, his reflexes quick enough to neutralize it. And speaking of danger - at least half the time, Anders was there too, talking and gesticulating, prancing around, showing off that tight little wonder in his pants. The insufferable mage, offering to get them drinks, walking down the stairs at a pace so tantalizingly slow even his feathery abomination couldn’t hide the way his ass moved along. Up, down, up, down, touch, down, up, me…As if that weren’t bad enough, tonight the man had had the audacity to tie his boots right in front of him. Not while sitting on a chair, or at least kneeling down, like most of the other people who insisted on putting those stiff, leathery prisons on their feet, no, bending over, that tasty ass jutting out within only an arm’s reach…Fenris had practically fled the place, eager to get away from the mage. And to…get home. Yet the release he could bring himself was a poor substitute for…he wasn’t even sure for what, but he was sure he needed it. Curse that stupid mage ass, all the way to Tevinter and beyond. It had no right to be so inviting, so perfect for his hands – and yet forever out of their reach.
It kept getting worse, and worse still. When he looked at the mage, all he saw was his ass. And then he saw it even when he wasn’t looking at him. Everything reminded him of the pinkish-pale curves he was now constantly aware were only one threadbare layer of cloth away from his eager fingers. Moon one - mage ass, moon two - mage ass, the swirls in the dwindling foam of his shitty ale - mage ass, the slopes of Sundermount rising in the distance – mage ass. It didn’t help that, in the heat of battle, Anders had a tendency to yell at their opponents whether they wanted to “see what's underneath these robes?” Fenris had always wondered just what kind of a threat that was supposed to be but…now he knew. Beneath them lay a mighty, mind-consuming power indeed. Mage ass. And yes, he did want to see it. Please.
When it started to haunt his dreams, Fenris knew it was time to act. He couldn’t allow a lump of flesh to control him like that. Mages had done that for too long already, he wouldn’t let their asses get away with it too. Or rather, this one particular ass. This has to stop, now! he repeated to himself as he stormed into the clinic and right up to the mage.
“Eh…Fenris. You’re…in my clinic. And…basically in my face, so, ehm…hi? Anything I can do to aid your hypocritical mage-hating ass?”
Of course he would choose the worst combination of words possible. Or…had he noticed his stares? His life as a slave had taught Fenris to hide his emotions behind an expression of unfaltering indifference, but perhaps he had angled his head so he could watch the mage bend over to pick up herbs just one time to many?
Either way, it was better not to let himself be lured into a conversation. The less preamble, the less danger of getting tangled up in deceitful words. This had enough potential to be embarrassing as it was.
“You are not wearing underclothes. That is unsanitary.”
Anders let out a snort that appeared undecided whether it was amused or annoyed. “Is it now? If I may ask, Ser-never-heard-of-boundaries, since when do you concern yourself with my personal hygiene?”
“It is distracting.” There was decidedly too much mumbling and blushing in this, and Fenris wished the ground would swallow him like a shade. Even more so when Anders replied, face split in two by a grin of unsurpassable smugness,
“Oooh....I see. And why exactly is that?” Merciless as he was, he added a little eyebrow waggle. “Please, do tell.”
“I…” Fenris swallowed. He had already revealed too much, and trying to wriggle out of it would only prolong the torture. All that was left to do was admit defeat and accept the mockery. “There is no need for pretence. You know. Yes, yes, laugh at me. When you are finished, stop being indecent, and put on more clothes.”
Ander’s grin didn’t falter for even a second. “You’re not really in a position to accuse me of indecency, don’t you think? Or rather…what did you think? What have you been imagining, hmm?” Obviously enjoying himself, he took a step closer and put his mouth against Fenris’ ear. “Tell me...what would you like to do to me and my so shamelessly under-covered body?”
At first, Fenris was entirely at a loss for words. Anders’ breath, his lips, were so warm against his skin, so close, and his body…all it would take was to reach out his arms and he would hold the object of his desires in his hands. He couldn’t, of course. Even if the mage was very deliberately torturing him, Fenris wouldn’t force his touch on him. He wouldn’t force his touch on anyone. He decided it was best to just storm off, leave the mage alone with his laughter and ruthless teasing, but right before he was about to turn around, he decided: Fuck it. Whatever, why the fuck not. The mage was already mocking him and knowing the man, he would not stop regardless of what Fenris did. He might just as well own up and get it out of his system. If the mage wanted to play cruel games, Fenris would give him exactly what he had asked for. There was no way to save himself from thorough humiliation, but perhaps watching Anders squirm uncomfortably at the things he had dreamed of doing with his body would at least allow Fenris to leave this foul-smelling place with a shred of satisfaction.
So he told him every little detail he had imagined, quietly at first, then gaining force and looking straight into the mage’s eyes. “You…have a nice ass. I enjoy looking at it. It makes me think of…things I could do to it. Want to do to it. To you. In fact, I have been able to think of little else for weeks. I want to tear your tatty clothes off and free it. Grab it, hold it in my hands. Bite it, sink my teeth into your flesh, then soothe the sore spots with my tongue. Kiss it. Spank it. Marvel at the imprint of my hand on your skin. Bend you over that desk, spread you open and taste it. Dig my fingers into your hips and…fill it, take you right there. Reduce you to nothing but helpless moans and pleas. And after we have finished, I want to take you again, right…, “he pointed to a nearby cot, “…there, with your face pressed into the pillow and your ass high in the air, utterly at my mercy.”
Wide-eyed and frozen to the spot, Anders croaked, “Maker...I did not think this through...”
He was flushed and trembling, and instead of satisfaction, all Fenris felt was guilt. Yes, the mage had teased, but that didn’t make it any less wrong that Fenris had crossed that line, pushed him this far. In his fantasies, the mage had always enjoyed their coupling, had by some unspoken understanding known that Fenris had no intention of causing him pain that went beyond a pleasurable sting. Yet to the actual mage in front of him, it must have sounded like he truly wanted to hurt him and was about to act on his desires, like he would try to overpower him and… Fenris was gripped by an overwhelming wave of nausea at the thought of having put that fear into another.
He lifted his hands. “I apologize. I went too far. I shall not approach you again.”
A hand grab his elbow as he made to turn around. “Hey, what do you think you’re doing? You can't get me worked up like this and then leave. I demand you give my ass the attention it was promised. Although,” he said with a smirk, “I wouldn't mind if the front got some too…”
It took a few moments for the realization to fully settle in – the mage’s reaction hadn’t been fear, he was…oh. Oh. Mouth hanging open, Fenris stared at him in utter disbelief. Was Anders really about to let him…? Did he actually want him to touch his ass? And…front? That didn’t sound bad either. Mage ass and mage cock. Could it really be that simple? He only had to ask? But…the mage didn’t even like him; why would he agree to…?
“Are you serious?”
Anders rolled his eyes. “Yes, I am; now get on with it.”
He didn’t seem inclined to wait though, pulling him close and bringing their mouths together in a kiss that was...gentle, almost…questioning. At first. As soon as Fenris started to melt into his embrace, eyes slipping close, hands coming up to rest on the mage’s back, Anders’ caresses became hungry, his tongue slipping past his lips, setting off sparks that set Fenris’ whole body on fire as it slithered around his own. So his ass is not the only part of his body you can lose yourself in was Fenris last coherent thought before his mind dissolved into heat and voracity.
When they finally parted, he was left blinking, struggling to gather enough air to quietly ask,
“And are you…certain?”
“Yes.” The mage made a show of moaning the word into his ear, but drew back to look into his eyes, his voice suddenly soft in a way it never was, not when he was talking to Fenris, “Are you?”
All he could do was nod, clumsy fingers beginning to fumble with the clasps on the mage’s coat. When he had managed to open them, Anders shrugged it off his shoulders and gingerly placed it on a cot. He lifted the long, washed-out shirt he wore underneath over his head and tossed it to the floor without even a hint of the care he’d shown his coat and began to tentatively unfasten Fenris’ breastplate, shooting him a questioning look.
“Is that alright? Or did your fantasies specify I had to be the only one naked? We can do it that way, of course; I just thought it might be nice to…feel your skin against mine.”
For a moment, Fenris mind was left stuttering. In his fantasies, he had been so focused on what Anders might look like, how it would feel to touch him, to fuck him, that he had never really given any thought to himself. But no, he did not want the mage to be the only one to shed his clothes.
He smiled.
“You are free to proceed.”
And Anders did, impatiently. He peeled him out of his tunic, orchestrating the movements of his finger with mumbled complaints of “too tight” and “who needs that many fastenings?” When he had at last managed to liberate Fenris’ torso, he wrapped his arms around him, caressing his back as he pulled him close and swallowed his soft sigh with another kiss. So much of the mage’s skin pressed against his, the sensation was enough to make Fenris feel dizzy.
They stood like this for a few minutes, kissing and letting their hands roam freely…although in Fenris’ case, ‘freely’ meant they were pretty much exclusively occupying themselves with the mage’s rear.
“Well, it sure seems someone has a fondness for mage ass,” Anders said as he pulled back with a grin, “who would have thought?”
Fenris raised an eyebrow in reply. “Given my earlier speech, I assumed I had made that clear. Of course, I also assumed you were capable of listening. How foolish of me.”
“Oh, trust me, I did listen. Very carefully, in fact. What was it you said, you wanted to ‘tear off my ratty clothes’?”
“I said ‘tatty’, but by your standards, remarkably accurate.” He was fairly certain his hunger was apparent in his smirk for Anders let out an almost silent gasp when he continued, “Thank you for the reminder. And now…turn around.”
Wordlessly, the mage did as he was told and before he had even finished moving, Fenris grabbed the defenceless wreck Anders referred to as trousers right at the centre of his ass and ripped them apart with ease. To Fenris’ ears, the sound of the tearing fabric rang sweeter than the softest lullaby, and even sweeter was the sight it revealed. He kept pulling until he had reduced the mage’s trousers to little more than shreds, then helped him get the remains of his legs.
Now fully exposed, Anders looked back over his shoulder with a smile in which his eyes took no part. “So…does this pasty mass of sag and hair live up to your expectations?” His pointed cheerfulness bounced off the walls, making the room seem a lot bigger and the mage a lot smaller. The eternally obstinate fool, always so full of himself, suddenly shy and vulnerable. It was…endearing.
Cupping the glorious mound of flesh in both hands, Fenris said, “It by far exceeds them.” Noticing just how much Anders had relaxed after that simple statement, he added, “I could never have dreamed such perfection,” and punctuated his words with a little slap.
Wonderful as it felt to finally touch him, it wasn’t enough to just knead and stroke. Therefore, he lowered himself to his knees and let his mouth worship the mage’s ass the way it deserved, kissing and licking, spreading his cheeks to let his tongue explore further. Anders gasped at the touch, a sound equal parts pleasure and surprise, and as Fenris’ continued to thoroughly express his adoration, he could feel the mage’s legs beginning to shake, at times so hard he feared they would give out.
“Let me touch you,” Anders begged in a breathless whine. “Please, I want to make you feel good too.”
Fenris ignored him for a few more minutes, a part of him delighting in the simple fact that he could, but at last he relented, letting go of the mage’s ass and rising up to flash him a smirk.
“I am at your disposal.”
Still panting a little, Anders grabbed the back of his head and kissed the smugness right off his lips. When he had reduced Fenris to a gasping mess of longing, he released him from his grasp and let his hands slide down his chest with a cheeky grin. Fenris closed his eyes as Anders moved down his body, unlaced and helped remove his leggings, and began to lavish equal amounts of attention on his chest, his thighs, his cock…Venhedis, the mage had a wicked tongue. The way it swirled and licked and teased, Fenris was about to lose his mind right then and there…
With great effort – and even greater regret – he pulled away, grabbed Anders’ arm and hauled him back up, his voice as much plea as command as he rasped,
“I want you. Now.”
The twitch in the mage’s mouth was a more than clear sign he was readying himself for one of his insolent remarks, but Fenris gave him no time. Within an instant, he spun him around, twisted his arms behind his back and roughly shoved him onto his desk.
Anders succumbed without struggle, a short, startled little yelp his only protest. For a moment, Fenris feared his treatment might have been too harsh, and it wasn’t until he heard the mage chuckle, “Well, I was going to say ‘I am at your disposal’…and now it seems I really am,” that he allowed himself to relax.
He let go of his arms so the mage could use them to brace himself, or pillow his head, and took a step back to take in the picture in front of him.
Anders bent over the desk, just as he had imagined – no, better than he had imagined. There were scars and hairs and little blemishes, all of it so real, so beautiful. This wasn’t the sleek shadow of the mage from his fantasies, this was a creature of texture and smell, sound and pleasure, a stranger, a grudging companion, sometimes, a friend, and he was offering himself to Fenris willingly, without shame or conditions. Hands searching for purchase Anders lay there panting, moving restlessly, impatiently, long limbs, a tousled mess of coppery gold…and his ass. Right in front of Fenris, stuck out into the air, so inviting...waiting for him, for his cock to...
“How…do you want it?” he addressed Anders’ back a little self-consciously. He wanted to fuck him, desperately, but not in ways the mage didn't feel comfortable with.
He got a hoarse, needy whisper in reply. “Just have me. Have your way with me...like you described earlier. I trust you…” he gave a breathless chortle, “Strangely enough, I really do. Well…at least with this.”
Fenris realized that he…trusted him too. With this. No, he had realized that before they had even shared their first kiss; he just hadn’t put the feeling into words. It was strange indeed. Strange and…comforting.
Although the mage couldn’t see him, he found himself nodding. “That trust is not misplaced. I will not harm you. Do you,” he added, feeling awkward again, “…have something to...”
“Left drawer,” the mage gestured impatiently.
Fenris’ eyebrows rose despite himself as he felt a strange pang of jealousy he had absolutely no right to feel whatsoever. “You have it right at hand in your desk drawer?”
“Trust me, you do not want to hear the depressing answer to how long has it been since it saw daylight…It’s basically a relic from olden times by now.”
It took some rummaging, but eventually Fenris found the little bottle of oil and began to carefully prepare the mage, ignoring the almost painful pressure in his body, this constant pull of need. Mesmerized by the sight of his fingers disappearing into that tight little opening, he dragged it out, sparing his own cock a few hasty tugs every now and again and ignoring the mage’s grumbled complaints of “Andraste’s aching arse, just fuck me already.” Removing his fingers, he splayed both hands across the mage’s ass one last time and then finally, finally, sunk himself into the heat of his body, his agonizingly slow pace forcing a groan out of both of them.
Fenris head fell back at the rush of sensation – a mistake he corrected almost immediately as he realized what his eyes were missing out on, Anders’ hole no longer breached by his fingers, but by his cock. There it was, disappearing into the depth of the mage’s body, and he couldn’t help staring in awe at their joining, unmoving, for a few seconds.
Slowly, he stroked a hand across Anders’ back to soothe him, or maybe to soothe himself, trailed a finger down his spine and back down to his hips as he began to roll his own. He stuck to gentle movements at first, fucking the mage in careful, shallow thrusts. Soon, he had found a rhythm, which he made sure to either speed up or slow down right when the mage seemed to have gotten used to it, pounding into him with merciless vigour only to revert to drawn out, leisurely strokes the next moment. The sight of their bodies connected like this, of the rippling movements of the mage’s body, the cry for more in the way he arched his back… the slapping sounds of their bodies colliding with the force of his thrusts, mingling with the sounds Anders was making, his panting, the reckless moans and breathless cries Fenris’ was wringing from his body with every new angle, each sudden smack to his exposed rear…the way he felt around his cock, nothing but heat and delicious, endless friction …it was intoxicating, all-consuming pleasure, and Fenris was already mourning the moment it would end. And end it would; there was no way he could hold out much longer.
He stilled, causing Anders to once again hurl curses at him – curses that turned into pitiful whines when Fenris finally managed to work a hand underneath the mage’s body and around his cock. His ministrations weren’t refined, even less so once he resumed the steady movements of his hips, but they seemed to be all Anders needed. Moans were joined by ecstatic, incoherent praise until he spilled over Fenris’ hand in a stunningly uncharacteristic moment of silence. He didn’t remain quiet for long, though. As Fenris proceeded to pound into his body, he spurred him on with a combination of filthy encouragements and tender compliments all the way to, and through, the searing bliss of his release.
Panting heavily, Fenris collapsed onto Anders’ back and simply lay there for a few minutes, catching his breath, until he realised he had to be crushing the mage and slowly began to untangle himself. He stepped back on wobbly legs and gently nudged Anders to turn around. His face, when Fenris finally got to see it, was a sight to behold. Flushed and hazy-eyed, hair clinging to his forehead, yet with a smile so content it filled Fenris’ chest with an unfamiliar warmth. Their eyes met, and Anders’ lips lazily stretched into a grin. “Well...no complaints there...that was all-around satisfying.” His eye did something that Fenris supposed would have been a wink had the mage been willing to invest more than the barest necessity of movement. “I need a few minutes to rest…or, well, maybe an hour, that was quite a ride, but…I wouldn't say no to that other round on the cot you mentioned. And I must admit, I think I am developing a slight obsession with elf ass. Or elf legs, wrapped around my waist…resting on my shoulders… Would you perhaps be able to…help with that?”
Fenris smiled as he let his hand slide down the heated skin of Anders’ chest. He felt sated, warm and fuzzy, and he was more than enjoying the images the mage had just conjured up.
“I am certain we can come to an…agreement.”