[His breath stutters out of his chest. He doesn't pull away, doesn't resist, only curls his fingers slightly into the touch.
His head is pounding. Everything aches. The idea of another spell feels like scraping the bottom of a barrel with nothing but his nails, splintered and painful. But he owes this. He'll protect Fenris from the templars and their madness, because otherwise he doesn't have anything else.
He reaches again for a thread of the Fade.]
All right. All right.
[The space of a breath, and then frost clings to his fingers, thin tendrils of ice spreading across his skin. His thumb rests against Fenris's jaw, gently, encouraging his mouth to open wider so that Anders can press two fingers inside.
He has to concentrate, needs to keep the temperature lower, not the unnatural, freezing temperatures that normally come alongside offensive ice magic. He wants it to melt, not freeze Fenris's skull from the inside. It's hard to concentrate, what with the way Fenris's tongue drags against his skin, but he manages it.
no subject
His head is pounding. Everything aches. The idea of another spell feels like scraping the bottom of a barrel with nothing but his nails, splintered and painful. But he owes this. He'll protect Fenris from the templars and their madness, because otherwise he doesn't have anything else.
He reaches again for a thread of the Fade.]
All right. All right.
[The space of a breath, and then frost clings to his fingers, thin tendrils of ice spreading across his skin. His thumb rests against Fenris's jaw, gently, encouraging his mouth to open wider so that Anders can press two fingers inside.
He has to concentrate, needs to keep the temperature lower, not the unnatural, freezing temperatures that normally come alongside offensive ice magic. He wants it to melt, not freeze Fenris's skull from the inside. It's hard to concentrate, what with the way Fenris's tongue drags against his skin, but he manages it.
Softly:]
Suck.