Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Returning home from the clinic, Fenris spent most of the morning pacing. The abomina... Anders had agreed. He had agreed and yet his capitulation had been nothing like what the elf had expected. He'd thought the mage, the very same one who had been mocking him mercilessly for the past week, would jump at the opportunity to rub in his face that he was so pathetic he was forced to resort to asking an enemy - an ally of his ally, but still an enemy - to have sex. Half of him had just expected Anders to outright refuse and laugh at him; the better part of the other half had thought he’d have to willingly subject himself to all sorts of pain and humiliation; and the tiniest, most hopeful part of himself had expected to be taken roughly and without thought to his comfort, the mage asserting dominance over him at last. That could still happen, he supposed, but it wasn't what the other man had hinted at, with his firm but gentle statement that he'd come to Fenris tonight but only if the elf thought it through and really decided he wanted a mage in his bed. If anyone had told him this was how it would play out he'd have assumed that last line would have been a veiled threat, a promise of pain, but that wasn't at all how it had sounded like. It had simply sounded as if... Maker, this was baffling! It had sounded as if the mage didn't want him to regret what he was offering. So here he was, not even midday and already worn out from pacing, and the sun seemed to be moving backwards in the sky for how slowly time was passing. Night couldn't come fast enough. He wanted this to be over, he wanted to prove Danarius wrong, he wanted... the rest of what he wanted wasn't important. Proving to himself that Danarius had lied, that he was capable of inspiring someone, anyone, to want him no matter for what reason, would unshackle chains that he had managed to ignore were there until Xebenkeck had so sharply brought them to the forefront of his mind.

He had to successfully overcome his training, he realised suddenly. If the way he was reading Anders turned out to be right, if all the mage really wanted was to have a good time and show him a good time in the process, he didn't want his conditioning, his former inability to come without being commanded to, to show through. He wanted to have sex like free men did. Was it really so much to ask?

Another thought crossed his mind just as suddenly: even if Anders was planning on being rough, he could prepare in advance. He could minimise the pain with the gift of time the mage had given him. His mind set, he left the mansion, glad to have a task, simple as it was, to help pass the time. Maybe Solivitus could help him with his problem.

He was right, as it turned out. The apothecary responded to his discreet inquiry by selling him a pot of elfroot based gel that was supposed to ease the passage of... well, Anders. It wouldn't prevent tearing like Danarius’ blue green salve had, none of Sol’s little bottled solutions did, but this one, the apothecary had promised, would also mitigate any potential discomfort and facilitate healing afterwards.

After a nerve wracking stop at the Hightown market that had taken up a good portion of his afternoon he had returned home and renewed his pacing, repeating to himself over and over that he was no longer a slave, that he'd be entitled to come without prompt if his body so wished and, finally, during the last hour of clear daylight, had bathed and started to prepare himself physically as well. He'd dressed in a pair of loose white linen trousers and a black button down shirt of the same material, his feet still bare. He'd bought the clothes at the market after his trip to Solivitus - only because he actually needed some new clothes (something that didn't scream ’I was a slave, I hate you all’, Varric had once said), it wasn't as if he had done it especially for that night, of course; the time he'd spent agonising over what clothes to buy was merely a consequence of him not being used to shopping. It was stupid either way, that for a fleeting moment he had thought he could somehow make himself a little less unappealing with different clothes.

But then... night fell at last, and there was no sign of Anders, nor was there any sign of the mage an hour after that, or a second hour after the first. He wasn't coming, Fenris realised with a stab of bitter disappointment, he wasn’t coming and Fenris, in brand new clothes, pacing the floor with his ridiculous wishes and his already prepared ass, was once more the fool.
He was in the middle of extinguishing the flame in the hearth and resolutely ignoring the burning behind his eyes when he heard the door open and close, felt the footsteps coming his way, heard his too loud heart thundering in his ears. Anders was there. Anders was there.

When the healer finally came into view, even through the dying light of the fire, Fenris could see that he’d been in a scuffle. His hair was dishevelled, his boot was singed and there was a shallow cut on his left cheek, likely from a dagger, that he hadn't bothered healing yet. On top of that he was slightly out of breath, as if he'd run part of the way.

"Had a run-in with some not-so-friendly neighbourhood bandits or I'd have gotten here sooner," the mage offered, by way of greeting. "Sorry about that. I hope you didn’t think I wasn’t coming. So, I, er... couldn't help but notice that your door was unlocked."

Fenris swallowed, unsure whether the healer was mocking him or if he was, as he appeared to be, somewhat nervous himself.

"Yes," was the only thing he could think to reply.

"So you've thought about this. You're really sure you want me here?"

The elf’s stomach was twisted in knots. This was the moment when everything could change, when Anders could laugh in his face and belittle him. He was asking for it, inviting it even, but he'd risked too much already to back down now.

"Yes," he repeated, "I'm sure."

"Right," Anders said, setting down his staff, his tone overly bright, "ground rules, we need to establish those. Two at least, as far as I'm concerned."

"Ground rules," he echoed dumbly. So this was the catch. Anders had led him to believe he would show him pleasure but, of course, he'd lied. He was going to demand something completely demeaning, and Fenris would comply because, really, what choice did he have when not even Isabela wanted him?

"Rule number one: I don't do anything you don't want me to; rule number two: if I inadvertently end up doing something you don't want me to, you’ll find a way of telling me so that doesn't involve your fist inside my chest. These are non-negotiable. Any rules of your own to add?"

... What? Those were his rules? Where was the catch, the humiliation, the demeaning? Those at least were known quantities, something he’d come to expect. This worrying about his comfort... it left him unsettled.

"I... No. I have no rules to add."

When had Anders managed to come this near without him even noticing it?

"Okay. Then, unless you have any objections, I'm going to kiss you now."

Kiss him? It was impossible, surely he'd misheard, the healer couldn't have said what he thought he'd heard. Either that or he was getting ready to have a good laugh at his expense, dangling the idea of a kiss in front of him like a carrot, then yanking it at the last minute, and how ridiculous was it that a grown man had never been kissed? And yet his face was coming closer, inch by agonising inch, giving him time to change his mind, to say no (as if he'd ever say no to this), and if he'd thought his heart had been thundering before it was nothing compared to how loud it was now. Was this really happening? Then for the first time (for the very first time, Maker, he’d stopped dreaming of this so very long ago) lips were brushing his own, warm, slightly chapped, real. He wanted to... Maker, he didn't even know, he wanted to give something back but he didn't know how to do this. Anders didn't seem put off by his lack of skill though, bringing a hand up, caressing his cheek lightly with his knuckles, giving without entrapping. He couldn't be dreaming because his mind would never know how to conjure up such a perfect scenario. His lips tried to mimic the healer’s and he was granted an appreciative hum for his trouble. Fenris felt dizzy with the experience. Even Danarius had never wanted to kiss him, how could Anders?

Something warm and wet was at his lips, gently seeking entrance. Fenris wasn't ignorant, he'd seen other kisses before, between magisters and body slaves, between the Fog Warriors, even at the Rose when Hawke dragged them there on one of her quests, but to be on the receiving end of one... He parted his lips slightly, to allow Anders’ tongue to slide in, tentatively touching his own to the other man’s, hoping against hope his inexperience wouldn’t make the healer call off this night and leave. Please don’t leave. This was so much more than he'd thought to have, ever, and it was the mage giving him that, even after all the insults and accusations Fenris had thrown his way over the years... Please don't leave.

While his own tongue was tentative and inexperienced, Anders’ was a perfect example of what the apostate’s demeanour had been since they'd talked at the clinic that morning, gentle but firm, exploring languidly but with purpose, drawing Fenris in and allowing him space at the same time.

After what felt like an eternity and yet not long enough - Maker, not long enough! - the healer ended the kiss and a sound wrenched itself from the back of the elf’s throat, something like a whimper. It was only when he felt the other man’s fingers on his, prying them apart - gently but firmly, gently but firmly - that he realised he'd been grasping Anders’ coat all that time, so hard his knuckles where white. He let go, his fingers stiff, and Anders kissed them one by one, planting another kiss on his palm, yet another on the inside of his wrist, massaging his hand tenderly, then repeating the process with his other hand, pressing it to his stubble near the dagger cut, showing him he was also allowed to touch, honey brown eyes shining in the near darkness, holding his gaze all the way.

The flame in the hearth was almost truly gone now, a tiny, timid thing he'd tried and failed to completely smother, and then Anders was stepping back from him and towards it, using his magic to rekindle it, nurturing it - gently but firmly -, and the parallel was startlingly clear even while the fire blossomed under the healer’s care, cracking merrily once more, flooding the room with warmth and light.

"You should lock your door," the mage said with a smile, still tending the fire, "Maker knows the lateness of the hour never stops Hawke from barging in unannounced anywhere she pleases whenever the mood strikes her."

Anders was right, of course, and Fenris hurried to comply, glad for the reminder. The last thing he wanted was for anything to jeopardise this night that was fast becoming much more - and about so much more - than he'd ever expected. Xebenkeck’s unwelcome vision had made him so desperate to prove his old master wrong that he had been willing to subject himself to almost anything to achieve it - up to and including propositioning someone he'd thought would use him roughly and never let him forget it, never let him forget he'd gone and begged a mage to take him - but now it was less, so very less, about disproving Danarius, and so much more about simply experiencing this night Anders was willing to offer him.

He approached the healer on unsteady legs, embarrassed now that the fire provided enough light for him to be truly seen, but there seemed to be no disgust in the other man’s gaze as he pulled him in for another kiss, and, Maker, now he'd been kissed twice, two separate memories to hold dear and relive to stave off the pain of his old ones. He felt Anders’ fingers on his shirt, slowly unbuttoning the top button, then the one after that, gently but firmly, such care. One more button and the healer’s lips were no longer on his but on the side of his jaw, down his neck, kissing the hollow of his throat, more buttons coming undone under Anders’ skilled hands, his lips trailing a path of fire and want down Fenris’ chest with every kiss. When the last button finally opened the mage reversed the direction of his attentions and kissed his way back up, his hands between the now-open shirt and Fenris’ bare skin, touching, caressing, gentle but firm. Then, in a fluid movement, the healer’s hands slid the brand new shirt off the elf’s shoulders and onto the floor, and Fenris couldn't bear to hold the other man’s gaze anymore, couldn't even look at his face, couldn't stand to see the moment when Anders finally looked at his naked torso and realised how hideously deformed he was, lyrium branded everywhere. Closing his eyes didn't prevent him from hearing the apostate’s half suppressed gasp. There would be no more kisses for him, no more touching. He'd be lucky if Anders didn’t simply walk away. Please don't leave - I'll do anything.

"Maker, Fenris," the mage whispered breathlessly, and Fenris tried to prepare himself for what came next, "you're gorgeous."

His eyes snapped open in pained surprise. He'd been wrong. He'd been lulled into a false sense of security by the other man’s treatment of him so far, fooled by his gentle way into thinking Anders wouldn't mock him; why was he always such a fool? He'd always been a poor judge of character, right from the time he'd thought Marcus desired him, tonight was no different. He wanted to say something, anything, but he feared his voice would give him away and he'd break, so he just focused on controlling his breathing, eyes fixed on the wall ahead. If he could just make it through this night then Danarius would be wrong, someone would have at least wanted to bed him enough to actually endure him, even if the purpose was to mock him.

While he was waiting for further humiliation a pair of warm hands found their way onto the sides of his face and held it there, until his only choices were closing his eyes again or actually looking at the honey brown ones in front of him. Closing them would give too much away so he had to look. How could they seem so tender when their owner was being so cruel?

"Fenris, I know that bastard must have done a number on your self-esteem, but I meant what I said. You are gorgeous."

He couldn't hold back the silent tears spilling down his cheeks this time, it hurt too much. One of the hands forcing him to look started caressing instead and, even though he was being mocked, he was so pathetic that he couldn't help but lean into it, one more memory of willing touch to hoard.

"You don't believe me, do you? You think I'm lying to you. Do you have a full length mirror in the house?"

Maker. That would be the ultimate humiliation, to stand bare chested in front of the mirror while Anders, still fully clothed, mercilessly pointed out each and every one of his flaws, but he couldn't risk displeasing the healer, so he nodded.

"In one of the upstairs rooms."

"Your room?"

"No, not anymore, I moved it."

"Help me get it down here?"

Please, no. "Yes."

Anders’ mouth was on his again, still incredibly gentle, and here he was once more melting into the kiss, proving to the healer how easily toyed with he could be. Then they were walking up the stairs and into the room where he'd stashed the accursed mirror, covered in a dusty sheet so he didn't have to look at it. He should have just smashed it the first time he’d seen it, but it was too late now and soon it was downstairs, placed at an angle where it would catch the best light from the fire. Then Anders was embracing him from behind, his chin resting on the curve where the elf’s shoulder met his neck, golden eyes capturing tear-filled green ones in the mirror. The healer turned them sideways then and came to stand in front of him, still looking at him in the mirror, hands exploring the planes of his chest, and he was enthralled as surely as if the other man had used blood magic.

"Your chest is defined without being a huge lump of muscles," Anders started, his lips kissing Fenris’ chest as if he meant it, his voice hypnotic, "and I'd have to be blind not to notice the strength beneath your skin. Your skin is tanned but it shows no signs of the ill effects of too much sun - it’s smooth, and hairless and perfect. Your markings... I hate the way they were carved into you, the pain they caused, the memories they took. But they don’t just make you look intimidating to enemies, they display your muscles and compliment them at the same time, they contrast with your skin tone and make you look even more exotic and beautiful than you already are."

Fenris couldn't breathe, transfixed. Even he could not mistake what was in the healer’s eyes in the mirror. Anders meant it. However misguided, however blind that made him, he didn't see him as the pitiful scarred wretch he was, he saw him as desirable. He hadn't been cruel, hadn’t been mocking him at all. Now the other man’s lips and hands were back on the elf’s face, but that gentle exploring no longer caused anguish.

"Your jaw is strong and your lips are smooth, your hair is so soft, and then you have the most incredible eyes I've ever seen."

Anders was behind him again, slightly to his left, undoing his own trousers now, just enough to pull his engorged cock free, jutting out hard and proud.

"This is what you do to me, Fenris, and I haven't even seen the rest of you yet. If I have taunted you, mocked you this past week it was only because the sight of you writhing in pleasure made me go hard and I was embarrassed of wanting someone who hated me, of having given you that power over me. I attacked you to defend myself pre-emptively and I am sorry, so sorry. I wouldn't have if I had known the truth."

Fenris turned sharply, wide eyed, to look at Anders, not wanting the mirror - or anything else, really - to stand in the way of him interacting directly with the mage. He wanted to say something, but words were never his strong suit, and he was woefully inadequate to act in this. He reached for the other man clumsily, grabbing his coat again, and pulled so hard he made the healer crash into him. Anders didn't seem to mind his clumsiness and brought his arms around the elf, one palm flat on the small of his back giving him safety and comfort, the other hand tangling in his hair - somewhat loosely, affording Fenris the ability to free himself easily if he wanted to, as if he knew the warrior would hate to be held helpless - and drawing him yet again into another kiss.

Knowing Anders desired him, actually desired him, had freed something in Fenris. He no longer felt like a puppet this night, someone who should just stay still while events unfolded; Anders desired him - surely that meant he was allowed to be an active participant in this. His hands found the buckles in the healer’s coat - threadbare, he had never noticed how threadbare it was until now and, unexpectedly, he hated that someone who was giving him so much couldn't afford something nice for himself - and made short work of undoing them. He didn't even bother discarding it on the floor, wanting so badly to feel the other man’s skin that he sort of crawled into the open coat and fit himself there, snug against the mage. Even through their kiss he felt Anders’ smile at that, making him smile in return. Then he brought his hand lower, to grasp the healer’s half exposed cock, making the other man moan his name with need, and it was an incredibly heady sensation to be the one causing that, so he did it again and again. Anders’ eyes twinkled with mischief.

"You like that, do you? Making me say your name? Well, two can play that game."

And, without warning, the mage sunk to his knees, pulled Fenris out of his new trousers - smiling appreciatively at the sight of his erect cock - and swallowed him whole. Maker. There was a mage on his knees in front of him sucking his cock. Fenris’ legs refused to support his weight, and he'd have fallen if not for the apostate holding him up, then gently lowering him to sit on the floor. No one had ever done this for him, Maker, he'd never even known it could be anything more than one person being used as just another hole and trying not to gag while the other one took all the pleasure for himself, but that didn't describe what was happening between them at all. He didn't want to be the only one having pleasure, for starters, nor did he want to use the healer’s mouth as a hole to fuck, he didn't want to use the healer at all. Anders seemed to be thoroughly enjoying it, which baffled him, Fenris wanted to give as well as take and, Maker, it was hard to think straight while Anders sucked his cock, while Anders licked him, while Anders kissed and cupped his balls, while Anders placed open mouthed kisses from root to tip - with blown pupils and a smile on his lips - on. His. Cock. His entire world had just been reduced to Anders.

After a while the healer stopped lavishing attention on his cock to ask "Do you have something I could stretch on the floor? A blanket, or even a clean rug?"

"A blanket?" he asked stupidly, all his blood flowing downwards and none to his brain if it was so hard to understand a simple word.

"Yes," Anders replied patiently, "so I can stretch it on the floor for us to lie down on. I suppose we could just move this to the bed, if you prefer, but the fire is going nice and strong here, and I'm betting your bedroom is cold."

Bedroom? His legs wouldn't carry him across the room right now, never mind up the stairs.

"A blanket. Yes. Upstairs, in my bedroom. Blankets, sheets, take what you need."

The ability to think was slowly returning to him as he watched the glorious vision that was Anders, coat open and hard cock peeking out of his trousers, merrily making his way up the stairs. He suddenly realised something that shook him to the core: now that he knew, or was in the process of finding out, what sex with the healer was like, he was glad he was the one here and not Isabela, not even Hawke. It wasn't anything so simple as the fact that Anders wanted him when no one else had. Anders treated him in a way that made him feel... he didn't know how it made him feel, he just knew he was so glad it was the healer there and not anyone else. The thought made him happy. He'd had precious few occasions in which to feel it, but he could still recognise the emotion.

When he saw the mage coming down the stairs, arms laden with a pair of sheets and at least four blankets, if he was not mistaken, he had to smile, and he'd never known this could be him, that he was as capable of this light teasing and playful banter as a desirable man was, but Anders made him feel like he could do anything, the words coming easily to his lips.

"Are you sure you’re not missing anything? Maybe the mattress, or perhaps the bed frame?"

"Hush, you. I'll be damned if we’re not comfortable. Now get that pert elvhen arse off the cold floor and help me lay these down instead."

Three blankets were stretched on the floor close to the fire, one on top of the other, and only then did Anders lay down the first sheet. Fenris was about to point out that the healer had it backwards when he realised the blankets were a makeshift mattress - a comfortably high makeshift mattress, that warded off the chill of the floor perfectly - on top of which the two sheets and the fourth blanket went to make a bed, and it was so much like this night was turning out to be, this bed, makeshift, impromptu and borne of necessity but then surprisingly comfortable, a perfect fit.

Anders helped him out of his all but discarded trousers and started getting rid of his boots, making a million and a half buckles seem like child’s play. Then it was Fenris’ turn to help the healer out of his trousers while he shrugged out of the coat and made it into a feathered ball that he lay down on their would-be bed.

"See? Instant pillow!"

Fenris would have smiled at the mage’s childish glee if he wasn't suddenly fully aware that they were both very much naked. It was a strange sensation, to be torn between embarrassed self-awareness and sheer lust. Anders was the one who was gorgeous, a thin dusting of reddish gold hair covering his chest and then going lower, forming a trail, thickening near his cock. He was far too thin, which made sense considering he barely ate any decent food, but still gorgeous. More than once the warrior had caught him sneaking food from his own plate when they all ate at Hawke's into a pocket or two, to give to his patients, but he hadn't cared then, had chosen to believe that Anders, being a mage, would have to have an ulterior motive beyond his selflessness - mages weren't selfless after all, just manipulative. He felt ashamed for having so poorly judged the man who would give him so much.

"I was wrong," he said quietly.

"What about?"

"You. All the times I said you'd do well in Tevinter, that all mages are the same, I was wrong." He put his hand on the cut on the healer’s cheek and caressed it with the pad of his thumb, so bold now with all the confidence Anders had given him. "You'd have been collared on your first day there, and then you’d have tried to free all the slaves of the Imperium on stubbornness alone. You wouldn't have lasted a week. I am sorry that I ever compared you to the magisters."

Anders’ eyes widened before kissing him again, urgently this time. When he finally emerged from their kiss it was just to offer a hoarse "thank you" and continue kissing him, bringing them both down to lie entangled on their sides. Their bodies were touching everywhere, it was one more of a list of sensations Fenris had never experienced before tonight, and he just couldn't get enough. His cock was hard enough to hurt and, judging by the way the healer’s felt when he touched it, he suspected he wasn't much better off.

Anders turned them so he was straddling the elf, hand stroking his lyrium lined cock at a maddeningly slow pace, and Fenris wondered if he was going to take him like that, face to face. He'd quite like that, to look at the other man while they pleasured each other. There was a glint in the mage’s eye that could only mean trouble as he cast a spell that had his fingers coated in a greasy substance, but Fenris sensed it was the good sort of trouble. Anders sat upright on top of him, showing off his fingers, looking mischievous.

"What shall I do with this, do you think?"

He expected an answer? Actual coherent speech from his pleasure addled mind?

"Inside... Put them inside..."

"Mmmm, yes, I knew that much. But," he leaned in conspiratorially, "inside whom? You? Or... me?"

Fenris couldn't help it. The dual hot spikes of want and disbelief that shot through him had him bolting upright, eyes wide as saucers, hands clumsily steadying the healer he'd nearly dislodged. Anders was forced to choose between opening his legs and then closing them around him for balance or toppling backwards, and toppling backwards didn't seem high on his priority list.

"Do you mean that? That you'd let me..." He gestured vaguely in the mage’s direction, not knowing how to voice it.

"I most certainly do. If you’d like that, of course."

He hadn’t thought he'd care this much about what this particular man - this mage - would like, but he did. He wanted pleasure for both of them, not just for himself.

"And you? Would you like it?"

"Fenris," Anders said, lips so close to his ear it was almost a whisper, "for the record, there is very little we could do tonight that I would not like."

Shivers ran down his spine, his stomach clenching in anticipation.

"Then put them in you. Please."

But the healer didn't simply put his fingers inside himself, no. He did it expertly while keeping a running commentary about why he was doing it and how much he wanted the elf inside of him, his words making Fenris’ toes curl in pleasure and his breathing come in ragged pants. Then he pressed lightly on Fenris’ chest, having him lie down on his back, and started manoeuvring to align his own entrance with the elf’s cock.

As soon as the tip of his cock touched Anders’ entrance white hot pleasure, stronger than he'd ever felt, coursed through his veins. His ears were ringing, his eyes rolling into the back of his head, unseeing, and what started as the healer’s name turned into a primal scream that tore itself from his throat as the world tilted on its axis.

It took him a few moments to realise what had happened. He had spilled himself before even entering, had had an orgasm more powerful than anything he could have imagined. Anders had wanted him, had truly wanted him, had, beyond all logic, found him desirable; gorgeous, he'd called him. Fenris had been so taken in by the healer’s delusion that he'd allowed it to become his own self-delusion as well, but the truth was staring him in the face: he was worthless, useless, pathetic. He'd managed to embarrass himself completely, hadn’t managed to be inside the other man even for a second when he'd wanted it more than anything. Pathetic. He scrambled to get out from beneath the mage and got on all fours facing the blazing fire - and yet he felt so cold now -, exposing his own entrance. Hot tears of shame and self-hatred ran down his cheeks, but he reached behind to hold himself open with a hand anyway, bracing himself on his forearm on the floor. This at least he was still good for, to just stay still, on all fours like an animal, and take it. It was no longer a question of proving Danarius wrong - Fenris himself had done a stellar job of proving why he was nothing to be desired just now - but he hoped the healer might find his ass marginally more appealing than his own hand, he wanted to give him at least that.

"Please. Use me," he sobbed pathetically, "let me be worth at least something."

He felt the other man’s body heat approaching and wished he hadn't prepared himself, even if it had been hours ago, when he’d thought the night would have been over long ago, and far too little of it remained to be of any real help. He wanted it to hurt, punishment for having tricked Anders into thinking he might be worth fucking, he wanted to be in so much pain that he’d forget for a minute that he was worth nothing at all. Words were falling from his lips in a torrent, desperate to be heard.

"Please, you don't have to use your fingers, just use me, I can take it. Use me. Don't leave without fucking me, please. Use me."

An arm wrapped itself around his midsection and another one around his shoulders, pulling him upwards and backwards, flush against the mage’s chest. He didn't know what the healer wanted of him but he let himself be handled. Anders could have him however he pleased after this. Then he was being turned to face the other man and those same arms were wrapping themselves around him, rubbing his back, holding him close while lips kissed his tears away.

"Shhh, Fenris, it's alright. Stop that, it’s alright."

"Use me," he begged again, choked by tears "I'm tight, I can give a little pleasure. Let me be worth that."

"Not like this. No one is using you on my watch, Fenris, you're worth so much more than that. Maker, not like this."

"Please-"

"No. Look at me. Look. At. Me."

His chin was tilted up by a curled index finger - gentle but firm - and he had no choice but to look into honey brown eyes.

"Not like this. It was my fault. I should have gone slower, not thrown so many new things at you at once. I'm sorry - I honestly didn't think something like this happening would hurt you so much or I'd have taken more care to go slower. Please, Fenris, it's alright. No one is using you."

Anders’ tone was so tender it made him feel even sadder to have missed this opportunity. His tears were quieter now, less sobbing and more simply falling. Anders was right, it was alright in the end. He had so many memories worth treasuring now, including this last one of being held safe in his arms, of being comforted even after what had happened. He’d never thought to have them and he did, it was alright. It had to be alright. He'd missed out on the opportunity to see the healer’s face contorted in ecstasy because of him - of him, he could have caused it if he'd not been so pathetic - but he had a treasure trove of other memories from this night. He took a deep breath and willed his tears to stop falling. After everything Anders had given him it was poor form to cling to him like this if the healer wanted to leave badly enough that he wouldn't even allow the elf to attend to his pleasure. Fenris’ seed was still at his entrance, he was probably yearning for a bath. He breathed again and managed to control his tears.

"I'm alright. I’ll be fine. I'm sorry for this, for my outburst, I'll be fine now. You must wish to bathe, I won’t keep you, you can leave."

He wasn't ready for the sudden yet unmistakable flash of hatred he saw in the other man’s eyes for a second, crushing him with its weight, so at odds with the gentle tone he'd heard just now. Anders’ tone was no longer gentle but carefully neutral, with an undercurrent of steel.

"Fenris, I would ask you a favour, if you're willing."

He was probably going to ask him never to bring this night up again. As was his right.

"Of course."

"If you ever decide to stop waiting and go after Danarius, tell me? I’d like to be there when you kill him."

It was so unlike what he was expecting to hear that his head shot up.

"You wish to be there?"

"Yes. I’d like to see him die at least, or help you kill him if you’ll let me."

Maker. All that hatred hadn't been for him but on his behalf, for Danarius. The pressure in his heart eased considerably.

"I'd be glad for your help."

Anders smiled at him, all gentleness again.

"Thank you."

"No, thank you. For everything. I'm sorry I wasn't able to give you a little pleasure."

A tender hand tucked an errant lock of hair behind his ear.

"Fenris?"

"Yes?"

"You’ve given me plenty of pleasure already. But we have all night. I'm not going anywhere tonight unless you’d like me to leave."

"You're staying? Why would you want to stay?"

"Why wouldn't I? A roaring fire, a comfortable spot in front of it, a gorgeous man to share it with... I can think of nowhere else I'd rather be tonight."

More tears leaked out, torn between pain, hope and an emotion he was too afraid to name. Why? Why be so gentle, why care for him this way, why stay, why give him anything at all, let alone so much?

The healer was still almost fully hard against his thigh, his neglected erection flagging a bit but still very much present, and yet he made no move to take care of it, almost as if his pleasure was an afterthought.

"But I..." He paused.

"You what?"

"I made a fool out of myself, and you don't even wish to be inside of me, I-"

"Stop! My turn now. First if all, you did not make a fool of yourself, it was my fault. I should have realised that it was too much at once. Second, what happened is no shame. You think it never happened to me, not even once? It happens to everyone - you're just a bit older than usual because you never got the chance to do all the experimenting when most people do. It’s no shame, Fenris. Thirdly, while I know it was just the newness of everything, a part of me can't help but feel flattered that it was with me you lost control - I'm a conceited, presumptuous narcissist, it's one of my many, many talents. And, fourthly, to borrow a phrase from Isabela, Maker’s golden-pierced cock, how can you think I don't want to be inside of you?"

Fenris was slack-jawed until the profanity wrenched a surprised half laugh from him. Had the mage really just told him, in his very unique, very wordy way, that not only was he not disgusted, he was flattered? That he'd get to try again? But...

"But I offered. I offered and you said no."

"I didn't say no, I said not like this. And I’ll say it again if you offer it like that again. Not when you're hurting, not when you put yourself in a position that you feel is submissive because you know nothing else, not when it's not desire or pleasure that move you but shame and pain. Right now I want you so damn much it’s hurting, Fenris, but not like this. I'm very particular about having the people I bed all hot and bothered for me by the time I actually bed them, I'm quirky that way."

The mage actually winked at him, and out of nowhere Fenris found his desire again. Anders had the incredible ability of taking away his shame, of making him feel valued. He'd never known. To think that he'd approached the mage because he thought Anders might hate him enough to get off on hurting him, that he'd believed the mage about to rape him the day before... He brought his hands to the healer’s face and kissed him, taking initiative, showing him he wanted to, and it was six, six kisses now, six kisses all to his own in the same night when before he'd had none. The only reason why he wasn't attempting to penetrate the mage right this moment - Maker, right this moment! - was because his cock still needed time to recuperate, but his desire needed no such thing. If he still believed, as before, that they’d only get to try one thing tonight he might have waited, saved it for the astonishing opportunity of being the one in control, but Anders had said they had all night. That there was very little he wouldn't like to do with Fenris. It wasn’t about giving pleasure or taking it, it was about sharing it. With Anders. He wanted the night to last forever. His hand drifted to the healer’s unattended cock and stroked it slowly, trying to imitate the pace the other man had set for him that had been just so good. His voice was hoarse.

"Have me, then, if you want me. I promise you I want it too. I want to be inside you later, but I want you inside me as well."

Anders must have seen the truth of it when he looked into his eyes, because he shuddered and let out a strangled sound. Fenris’ hand was pulled away gently by a shaking one.

"Fenris, remember when I told you it happened to everyone? Grey Warden or not, it’s going to happen to me if you keep that up."

The elf felt a swell of pride at giving so much pleasure - something he'd never thought to feel outside the context of his life as a slave - and now he understood why Anders had said he'd been flattered.

"Are you completely sure? Remember rule number one? I don't do anything you don't want me to."

"I want to. Can we do it in a way that I can look at you?"

"Maker, yes."

The healer laid him down gently once more, until the elf was flat on his back, his head resting comfortably on the not-quite-pillow, and then crawled down his body, past his spent cock, and held his legs open like a feast, a predatory grin on his face, nearly bending him in half. He'd thought Anders would prepare him with his fingers and his grease trick, but what happened was something else entirely. Suddenly and without warning the healer’s face disappeared from view and a tongue, warm and wet, was at his entrance, licking his ring with broad strokes, Maker, going inside, maddening but not enough - and just as suddenly as it had started it was over, the mage’s face coming back into view, eyebrows furrowed in puzzlement.

"Fenris?"

"Yes?"

"Why does your arse taste like elfroot?"

Fenris was aware of the twin spots of colour forming high in his cheeks.

"I... prepared. After I bathed. I wasn't sure what to expect."

There was a twinge of sadness in Anders’ tone when he replied.

"You weren’t sure if I was going to hurt you and not give a damn."

"I... Yes."

He could see it in the other man’s face, the moment when Anders decided it didn't matter that Fenris had thought that of him, as long as he didn't think it now. It started as a little shake of his shoulders that grew until Anders was laughing heartily, almost uncontrollably, and the warrior couldn't figure out why until he heard him say "So now I get to lick the only arsehole with addictive properties in the whole of Thedas" and Fenris was laughing too, Anders’ mirth infectious. And then the laughter subsided and Anders’ tongue was on him again, so much pleasure, he'd only ever been on the other side- That thought stopped the tide of pleasure as if a bucket of ice had just been poured on him and he pushed on the healer’s head urgently with a plea.

"No, please. Stop."

The mage stopped his ministrations immediately, his face resurfacing with a worried look.

"Fenris? I'm sorry, I didn't think you'd not like this. I'm sorry."

"I have no wish to humiliate you. I won't take my pleasure at your expense any more than you accepted taking yours at mine."

Anders had that look again, something that was more than tenderness but that Fenris didn't know how to name because no one had ever looked at him like that, and his voice was heavy once more and yet soft at the same time.

"Is that what you think? That this is humiliating for me? Licking your very desirable, very clean arse?"

"You can't possibly desire that. I- I've done that. There’s no pleasure for the one using his tongue, no matter how clean the other is. It's degrading."

Anders’ eyes were a strange mix of softness and fire when he replied.

"You’re worried about me." It was a statement, but there was a disbelieving note to it. "Fenris. It's only degrading when you're being forced into it. I want to. There's no part of your skin that it wouldn't give me pleasure to use my mouth on. I'll lick and suck and kiss every inch of you that you’ll allow me to. So if you don't want me to do this I won't, but, Maker, not because you think it's degrading for me when I want to so damn much."

The healer’s words sent a jolt right through his cock. ’ There's no part of your skin that it wouldn't give me pleasure to use my mouth on. I'll lick and suck and kiss every inch of you that you’ll allow me to.’ Had he accepted Xebenkeck’s bargain after all? Was his body still in Darktown, his companions dead all around him, his mind trapped in this impossible dream where he was accepted, desired, cherished? Would he be able to tell the difference? He took solace in the fact that it was Anders, and not Hawke, here with him. Xebenkeck could not have given him what he hadn’t yet even thought he could wish for at the time. This night was real, and it was theirs. Demons had no hold here, neither Fade nor personal ones - Anders had banished them all.

He nodded his assent then, whispered words of encouragement and desire pouring out of him while the healer’s tongue licked his hole, his balls, his over sensitised cock, sensations he'd never thought anyone could feel, his cock hardening again so soon after his orgasm, as if he'd been dosed with a lust potion. One slick finger entered him carefully, followed by a second one as soon as he was ready, and then - oh, Maker! - a spot inside of him that he hadn't known existed was being touched, prodded, teased. He was fully hard in minutes. Anders lifted his head, mischievous smile back on his swollen lips, hair all over his obscenely wanton face (for him, no one had ever looked that way for him), let go of his legs and squeezed his cock playfully, his words making Fenris think this might have been his plan all along.

"I think someone is ready to go through with our original plan. Shall I?"

"Yes," he moaned. Maker, yes.

And then finally - finally! - Anders was grasping his lyrium lined cock, hand a little too tight at the base, in a way that Fenris suspected would not have allowed him to embarrass himself if the urge overtook him, and sank onto him, inch by maddening inch, and, oh, Maker, it was so tight, so hot, so good. The healer let go of the base of his cock and descended the rest of the way with a moan. There were tears in Fenris’ eyes and he didn't even know why, but it might be related to the fact that he'd forgotten how to breathe, which wasn't good, he'd have to remember how to breathe if he wanted to be awake to feel this. Anders held himself very still, sheathing him completely, and his ass was brushing Fenris’ balls, and-

"Breathe." The healer’s soft voice was an anchor in the middle of the tempest, soothing, allowing him to centre himself enough to set a pace, something between this maddening stillness and the erratic thrusts he would have otherwise given. It was bliss, completion, perfection. And it was his. He took Anders’ cock in his hand, smeared the drops of clear liquid peeking out of it all over its head, and somehow found the presence of mind to stroke it in time with his thrusts, his hand sure but far gentler than he’d ever been with his own cock because he wanted - needed - to give back at least a little of all the pleasure he was taking. He was never going to last long, this first time, but the healer didn't seem to expect him to. He could barely discern the honey brown of Anders’ eyes now, arousal darkening them almost completely - because of him, Maker, all because of him - and his lover (his lover!) was breathing harshly, his voice ragged and breathless where it had been all softness before.

"Maker, Fenris, I’ve been holding out for you, but I can't much longer, please, I can't."

It was a fleeting thought, Danarius no longer warranting more than the beginnings of a question, soon eclipsed by the strength of his orgasm and the beautiful sight of Anders coming because of him, but he couldn't help but wonder, had the healer known? Had he known that this was the best way to tell him to let go, that if it had been Anders telling him ’Come for me, Fenris’, the way Danarius used to say it, something inside of him would have been broken beyond repair, crushed into sand where Danarius had only managed to batter and bruise? Then the question was gone and there was only the two of them, sweaty and sated, still joined, and Anders bending impossibly while still keeping him inside, leaning down for a kiss.