[His hands spread against the sheets on either side of Fenris's stomach, just to give him leverage to meet the lift of Fenris's hips with a dip of his head, cock sliding smooth and practiced to the back of his throat. He's pleased to discover that it's a skill you never unlearn, apparently, even after years of reasons and resistance and suffering.
He lets it happen, and for once that unravels something in him rather than tangling it tighter.
A chuckle vibrates through his chest and throat, and he lifts his eyes just enough to meet Fenris's gaze as he draws slowly off with a damp, obscene sound. His lips are red, wet, and curved with amusement, even if the smile is more in his eyes than anywhere else. He cups the base with one hand, lets the tip bump his cheek.]
[ The sound Fenris makes, it's almost like he's the one with the dick stretching his throat. He shudders, dares to lift his head, and his shining predator's pupils blow a little bigger at the sight—a visceral pleasure tightening in his belly at Anders poised there, liking it, wanting it.
Only a fool would answer yes to that question. ]
I want you to come here.
[ While not technically a fool, Fenris nonetheless immediately regrets the distance put between his cock and the mage's too-clever mouth as soon as he's started tugging him up, up, stopping only for a greedy squeeze of his arse and a hot, slick kiss before he's manhandling Anders onto his back. His palms hiss over the hollow stomach, the emaciated ribs, carrying with them the bird-boned wrists until he's got them pinned not unkindly overhead and Anders is a gloriously hot undulating line beneath his body and between his legs. It's somewhere between licking into Anders's mouth and the slick-tipped slide of his prick over the strange fine hairs of his belly that a tiny ember of self-consciousness reignites in him; he makes an awkward little whuff sound, momentarily at sea. ]
[The illusion of restraint sends a lance of pleasure straight through him, from a tingling in his scalp to a curl of his toes. Coming from anyone else, he may have thrown them off, after everything that's happened, but from Fenris it ignites something low in his belly, sets his heart hammering erratically in his chest. Anders trusts him, a concept that's bizarre and natural at the same time. Trusts him to take care of him, trusts him to listen, to let go when everything is said and done. Anders lets his hips rock up, gives them both the benefit of friction.
Each new moan is becoming more and more difficult to smother; this time he has to bite his lip hard enough to hurt to keep the sound in. He breathes raggedly instead, back arching up off the bed, because that's as much freedom of movement as he wants himself to have, at the moment. Even when his wrists twist in Fenris's grip, it's not enough to break it, or to even come close to trying.]
Keep going, keep— [He makes a soft, frustrated noise as he cranes his neck to kiss, hard and desperate and edged with teeth.] It's fine. I want it.
[The last is a whispered admission, quick and breathless. He wants it, this, him. Because finally, after all this time, he has the opportunity to want at all.]
[ What does a man in his position—any man—even say to that? Not for the first time, Fenris finds himself hoping they don't come back around to hating each other again. Hawke had also been a mage; Hawke, whom he could've loved had her gaze not been turned elsewhere, and all the while Fenris had known this while also telling himself that Hawke was different. And it gives him the smallest sliver of hope: couldn't it be that Anders, after all this time, is different as well?
Or is it as he fears the most, and different is nothing more than shorthand, a superstitious phrase to justify loving a mage—
He cannot now. Not that thought.
Anders writhes wonderfully, a still-living feast. It's enough to make him show his hand at last, the abrupt withdrawal and clambering off the bed to rummage through his discarded pants no doubt disorienting and disappointing... until, that is, he's retrieved the prize he stole just after his bath and crawls back up the length of Anders's body with the long-necked bottle in hand—and the return pass includes a rather sudden and pointed nuzzle over Anders's balls, which is the only warning he gets before Fenris gives in to caprice and decides to swallow down his cock. He cannot pin his wrists from here, so he settles for his hips. Takes him down to the root and up and back again, treasuring the thickness in his throat, muscles challenged to hug the curve. A bit of oil leaks out from around the cork in the bottle's mouth and he lets it rest in the sheets against Anders's side for a second, slickened fingers going for a nipple somewhere above. Mouth full, throat full, chest full, Fenris groans joyously into Anders's warm lap. ]
[He's dazed, suddenly cold when Fenris pulls back, but he manages to push himself up to his elbows to track Fenris's movements. Anders's hair is messy and tangled in the back, pupils blown wide, expression slack with confusion; by the time his hazy mind manages to catch up enough for anxiety to start to prickle in his chest, Fenris is back on him again, and it all rushes out with an eager, gasping sigh.
His back hits the bed again, but he doesn't stand a chance this time— his surprised, ragged moan tears out of his throat before he has the chance to muffle it. It's not even loud, still quiet by most standards, but to him any sound is too much. He throws his arm over his face to help keep the rest of it in, bites at the crook of his elbow when vibration bubbles up in his throat.
The fingers of his free hand twist into sheets, and he can feel the little bottle shift with the movement, feels the way oil smears against his side, feels the way Fenris's slick fingers work his nipple into hardness, feels the way Fenris's throat wraps hot and tight and pulsing around his cock. He feels every drop and wants more, sternum arching up towards Fenris's fingers and hips twitching beneath his grip. He wants to thrust, wants to take, and he can't, and his chest feels like it's going to burst.
[ And to think that Anders would ever like that. To think that Fenris would like that he likes that. A smile twists his lips against his will, defeated by his occupied mouth, when he register's Anders's frustration. A few good sucks and some seconds more and he's pulling off with a sharp gulp of air, round green eyes just slightly reddened and damp with the effort but nothing if not pleased with himself. He bites at the hollow of one hip just to feel Anders twitch. ]
Tell me something. Anything.
[ There's a nagging itch in the back of his mind that reminds him that he's asked Anders that before, desperate to think about anything but what he'd been through previously. Never did he expect to do it again, particularly while nudging a slippery few fingers into the skin just north of Anders's arse.
I like hearing you speak, comes the dim realization, and Fenris chokes unexpectedly hard on a genuine laugh. ]
[He does. Twitch, that is, in addition to shivering and jerking and gasping, silent, into the pillow. He feels overloaded with sensation, like every second he spent denying himself has caught up to him in this one confusing, thrilling, disastrous moment.
His fingers are in his hair when Fenris makes the request, and he's in the process of piecing words carefully together in a way that isn't embarrassing gibberish when the laughter shakes him out of it. His mouth slants crooked, one eye cracking open, and an answering laugh of his own shakes its way out of his chest.
He swallows, whispers:]
Glad to see you're entertained. [He can't stop his voice from taking on the breathy, wavering timber it does, breath coming and going in slow shudders, but he doesn't let that stop him from sounding smug.] And here I haven't even gotten the chance to tell my joke yet.
[ Anders wins a bit of exasperated Tevene profanity that nonetheless manages to be excessively soft around the edges. That frustrating thread of humor—what Varric would no doubt call sass—he'd almost forgotten Anders was capable of it, mostly because whenever it came out in the cell it usually meant things were...
They'd gotten bad.
The sharp jut of his hip is wonderfully hot under Fenris's face. He's eager to pretend he's taking a rest from his erstwhile probing, breathing in Anders's skin, stroking him slowly, lovingly, as a mere means of punishing him for his cheek. ]
Is that how you would prefer to pass the time?
[ Skyhold, they called it. Varric had called it their best (only) hope for safety across all of Thedas, and Fenris believes it. Still, there's a part of him that wants to never leave this bed again.
He nuzzles at the root of Anders's cock and the foreign tickle of hair there. Maker, he smells good, perhaps still a bit damp from the bath and before he knows it he's back to prying his thighs apart. He cannot speak because if he speaks he's going to admit to how much he wants to devour Anders in this moment. He cannot allow him the satisfaction, surely. ]
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branchandroot
welcomes you back with blowjobs
Date: 2015-04-24 02:54 am (UTC)He lets it happen, and for once that unravels something in him rather than tangling it tighter.
A chuckle vibrates through his chest and throat, and he lifts his eyes just enough to meet Fenris's gaze as he draws slowly off with a damp, obscene sound. His lips are red, wet, and curved with amusement, even if the smile is more in his eyes than anywhere else. He cups the base with one hand, lets the tip bump his cheek.]
Do you want me to stop?
no subject
Date: 2015-06-01 03:04 am (UTC)Only a fool would answer yes to that question. ]
I want you to come here.
[ While not technically a fool, Fenris nonetheless immediately regrets the distance put between his cock and the mage's too-clever mouth as soon as he's started tugging him up, up, stopping only for a greedy squeeze of his arse and a hot, slick kiss before he's manhandling Anders onto his back. His palms hiss over the hollow stomach, the emaciated ribs, carrying with them the bird-boned wrists until he's got them pinned not unkindly overhead and Anders is a gloriously hot undulating line beneath his body and between his legs. It's somewhere between licking into Anders's mouth and the slick-tipped slide of his prick over the strange fine hairs of his belly that a tiny ember of self-consciousness reignites in him; he makes an awkward little whuff sound, momentarily at sea. ]
I am not in control of myself. I...
[ Apologize? But no, not by half. ]
no subject
Date: 2015-06-24 04:08 am (UTC)Each new moan is becoming more and more difficult to smother; this time he has to bite his lip hard enough to hurt to keep the sound in. He breathes raggedly instead, back arching up off the bed, because that's as much freedom of movement as he wants himself to have, at the moment. Even when his wrists twist in Fenris's grip, it's not enough to break it, or to even come close to trying.]
Keep going, keep— [He makes a soft, frustrated noise as he cranes his neck to kiss, hard and desperate and edged with teeth.] It's fine. I want it.
[The last is a whispered admission, quick and breathless. He wants it, this, him. Because finally, after all this time, he has the opportunity to want at all.]
oops i tripped and this happened
Date: 2015-12-21 03:31 am (UTC)Or is it as he fears the most, and different is nothing more than shorthand, a superstitious phrase to justify loving a mage—
He cannot now. Not that thought.
Anders writhes wonderfully, a still-living feast. It's enough to make him show his hand at last, the abrupt withdrawal and clambering off the bed to rummage through his discarded pants no doubt disorienting and disappointing... until, that is, he's retrieved the prize he stole just after his bath and crawls back up the length of Anders's body with the long-necked bottle in hand—and the return pass includes a rather sudden and pointed nuzzle over Anders's balls, which is the only warning he gets before Fenris gives in to caprice and decides to swallow down his cock. He cannot pin his wrists from here, so he settles for his hips. Takes him down to the root and up and back again, treasuring the thickness in his throat, muscles challenged to hug the curve. A bit of oil leaks out from around the cork in the bottle's mouth and he lets it rest in the sheets against Anders's side for a second, slickened fingers going for a nipple somewhere above. Mouth full, throat full, chest full, Fenris groans joyously into Anders's warm lap. ]
picks u up into my arms
Date: 2015-12-23 03:56 am (UTC)His back hits the bed again, but he doesn't stand a chance this time— his surprised, ragged moan tears out of his throat before he has the chance to muffle it. It's not even loud, still quiet by most standards, but to him any sound is too much. He throws his arm over his face to help keep the rest of it in, bites at the crook of his elbow when vibration bubbles up in his throat.
The fingers of his free hand twist into sheets, and he can feel the little bottle shift with the movement, feels the way oil smears against his side, feels the way Fenris's slick fingers work his nipple into hardness, feels the way Fenris's throat wraps hot and tight and pulsing around his cock. He feels every drop and wants more, sternum arching up towards Fenris's fingers and hips twitching beneath his grip. He wants to thrust, wants to take, and he can't, and his chest feels like it's going to burst.
Fenris always was stronger than him.]
rolls around in ur arms
Date: 2015-12-28 02:13 am (UTC)Tell me something. Anything.
[ There's a nagging itch in the back of his mind that reminds him that he's asked Anders that before, desperate to think about anything but what he'd been through previously. Never did he expect to do it again, particularly while nudging a slippery few fingers into the skin just north of Anders's arse.
I like hearing you speak, comes the dim realization, and Fenris chokes unexpectedly hard on a genuine laugh. ]
no subject
Date: 2016-01-07 01:52 am (UTC)His fingers are in his hair when Fenris makes the request, and he's in the process of piecing words carefully together in a way that isn't embarrassing gibberish when the laughter shakes him out of it. His mouth slants crooked, one eye cracking open, and an answering laugh of his own shakes its way out of his chest.
He swallows, whispers:]
Glad to see you're entertained. [He can't stop his voice from taking on the breathy, wavering timber it does, breath coming and going in slow shudders, but he doesn't let that stop him from sounding smug.] And here I haven't even gotten the chance to tell my joke yet.
no subject
Date: 2016-11-07 02:55 am (UTC)They'd gotten bad.
The sharp jut of his hip is wonderfully hot under Fenris's face. He's eager to pretend he's taking a rest from his erstwhile probing, breathing in Anders's skin, stroking him slowly, lovingly, as a mere means of punishing him for his cheek. ]
Is that how you would prefer to pass the time?
[ Skyhold, they called it. Varric had called it their best (only) hope for safety across all of Thedas, and Fenris believes it. Still, there's a part of him that wants to never leave this bed again.
He nuzzles at the root of Anders's cock and the foreign tickle of hair there. Maker, he smells good, perhaps still a bit damp from the bath and before he knows it he's back to prying his thighs apart. He cannot speak because if he speaks he's going to admit to how much he wants to devour Anders in this moment. He cannot allow him the satisfaction, surely. ]