Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Anders loved his job, really. He loved helping new immigrants to Kirkwall, the poor sods, learn the local form of Common. Many of his students were humble people that came from simple backgrounds, and wanted nothing more than to find a better life for themselves and their families. They were always eager to tell him about their homes—Antiva, Orlais, the Anderfels—in their limited Common, words coming to them stumbling and unfamiliar, accents thick. Anders would listen patiently, encouraging them to speak, even when it was obvious a student was shy and hypercritical of their own mistakes. It was a joy to watch them grow more confident, blossoming from the shy things they once were into bold, confident speakers.

Save for one student.

Anders couldn’t help but notice the quiet elf that sat in the back of his classroom, always the first to arrive and the last to leave. He would stay in his seat, never offering to speak or stand in front of the rest of the room, and the only thing that ever seemed to rile him was when Anders used magic—then he would leave, not returning until the next day’s session.

Despite his apparent complete apathy when it came to the class, the elf, Fenris, still caught one’s eye. Smooth brown skin, glowing faintly with tattoos, hair a shocking mass of white atop his head, and although Anders couldn’t help but wince any time he saw the elf’s tattoos—his file from his class application told a tragic story; lyrium, Tevinter, ex-slave—he still couldn’t stop the thought that they gave the elf a sort of ethereal quality. He was like a lyrium lined ghost, silent in the back of the room, gaze always locked on Anders for the duration of the class. When Anders released the students, Fenris would remain until the last moments, taking advantage of the time when other students would ask questions they were too shy to ask in front of the rest of the class, and simply listen. He never took notes, but despite this, Anders had the feeling he was cataloguing everything that was said, absorbing it and filing it all away. Really, even with his strange silence and apparent views on magic, Fenris was still one of Anders' more interesting students. There was one small problem, though.

“Fenris, a moment, if you would.”

Fenris paused where he was packing his supplies, quill and a bound sheaf of paper, always unused, and glanced over at Anders before making his way to the front of the classroom. He crossed his arms and raised a single dark eyebrow, bare feet shifting and shuffling on the packed dirt floor—it was Lowtown, most of the immigrants couldn’t afford the more expensive, “proper” classes in Hightown—as he waited for Anders to speak.

“Let me start by saying I’m not upset, so please don’t believe I’m chiding you, but I’ve noticed you never seem to turn in any of the written assignments. Why is that?”

Fenris froze, and a brief expression streaked across his face, so quick Anders wouldn’t have noticed if he hadn’t already been observing him so carefully, before he schooled his features back into the carefully neutral expression Anders was used to seeing. Fenris’s voice, when he responded, was husky and deeper than any elf Anders had ever heard.

“Is that a problem?”

Somehow, Fenris made these four words almost sound like a threat, even coloured by his heavy Tevinter accent, but Anders, used to Darktown and the vague feeling of danger that always seemed to simmer beneath the surface, ignored it and shook his head. “No, of course not; you are not required to do anything you don’t want to do, but if you’re having trouble with anything, I want to help you if I can.” Fenris was silent for a moment before he said, in a voice no louder than a whisper, as if he were afraid of someone overhearing, “I cannot read, nor can I write.”

The tips of his pointed ears, peeking between shaggy white hair, glowed a faint red, and he seemed to draw in on himself in his embarrassment, almost as if he expected to be chastised, or worse, for this apparent flaw.

Anders was momentarily stunned; this was one of the school’s higher level classes, where he spoke more freely and naturally, instead of using the shorter sentences and more simple words he would use for the lower level classes. While the students could, for the most part, understand him, it was still one of the more difficult aspects of learning the language; Anders pushed the students to begin expressing their thoughts on their own, forming spontaneous sentences, both written and oral.

Anders remembered the initial years after he first came to Ferelden, when he could speak so little Common he couldn’t even give his name, and how difficult he found speaking to be, despite being notoriously chatty in his native tongue. The other children chose a name for him based on his language, Anders from the Anderfels, and even as his grasp on the language improved, the name stuck, an eternal reminder of his origins.

Where speaking came easier to some, writing was easier to others, and Anders had, perhaps ignorantly, assumed Fenris fell into the latter group. His writers tended to be shy speakers, afraid of making mistakes and needing to be coaxed into talking, and Anders figured Fenris didn’t do the work simply because that was not where his weaknesses were. He felt a brief flash of anger at himself—he had failed one of his students—but he kept his voice carefully neutral when he responded, “Is that all it is? You don’t need to be embarrassed; there are plenty of teachers that can teach you—”

He was cut off by Fenris shaking his head fiercely, “No, I do not want another teacher. I do not want them all to know.”

Despite his noticeable accent, Fenris’s words were fluid, coming out with little hesitation, and only the occasional pause when he had to remember a word. Anders didn’t respond immediately. His classes were meant for people preparing to truly settle into their new lives—there were other teachers better suited for more beginner skills, but they all clashed with his schedule, and he would be doing Fenris a disservice, as well as potentially insulting him, if he made him attend those classes instead.

His silence extended for a bit too long, because Fenris let out an annoyed growl, turning and making to leave the room. Anders panicked—Fenris was too smart to lose as a student; if he could make his way all the way here without reading or writing, he was already leagues above many of the others in the class and Anders didn’t want to lose him over such a minor thing. He reached out, grabbing Fenris’s arm to stop him, and suddenly he was whirling around, tattoos flashing as he grabbed the offending hand and slammed it onto Anders’ desk, a stream of angry sounding Tevene falling from his lips.

Anders recognised his mistake the moment his fingers touched skin, and he waited until Fenris was silent again, staring at him with angry, frightened green eyes, before he attempted to extract his hand. Fenris’ grip remained tight for a moment longer before he flexed his fingers, long, like a piano player’s, and finally released him.

Anders spoke softly, as if to a frightened alley cat, “First, let me apologise for touching you. That was out of line for my position, and it won’t happen again. If you wish to remain with my class, I can help teach you. It would have to be outside of regular classroom hours, but seeing as I practically live here, I don’t mind. Would that be something you’re interested in?”

Anders saw Fenris’s eyebrows knit together about halfway through him speaking; he was speaking rather quickly, anxiety tended to do that to a person, and he knew some of his words and phrasing were perhaps too advanced, despite how confidently Fenris seemed to speak. As if to confirm his suspicions, Fenris said, slowly, “You want to… Teach me? Outside of class?”

Even with his slightly unnatural inflection, stressing words in the wrong areas, Anders could still recognise the underlying implication. His face paled.

“Maker, I’m sorry, Fenris, I didn’t mean it like that! I was trying to say that if you wanted to come before class or stay after everyone’s gone, we could do that. Forgive me if I made you think otherwise.”

Fenris's expression was wary, but he nodded. “Yes, I think I would like that.”

—

Rather unsurprisingly to Anders, Fenris was an exceptionally quick learner. He listened to everything Anders told him with rapt attention, and when Anders gave him something to work on, he did it with a warrior’s single minded focus. Not for the first time, Anders wondered exactly what kind of slave Fenris had been forced to be. Spending so much time with the elf, he couldn’t help but notice that Fenris seemed to be made of pure muscle, lithe and lean like one of the large cats that prowled the forests of Seheron.

He also learned that Fenris seemed to detest any kind of magic.

Even an idle flick of the fingers to light a lamp made Fenris tense, muscles tight as if he were ready to attack, or defend, at any moment. Without commenting on his observations, Anders began warning Fenris before using all forms of magic, and he could have sworn Fenris had thrown him a look of gratitude the first few times.

Anders wasn’t sure, exactly, where Fenris lived; he never saw him in either Low or Darktown, but he was always at the school before even Anders would show up, oftentimes crouched by the door, finishing some type of worksheet Anders had given him, or slowly working his way through a book Anders would loan him from his personal supply. All the books the school provided were, in Anders’ opinion, terrible for new readers, nothing but dry text with nothing to grab one’s attention, to light that spark that made them want to learn more.

Fenris seemed to enjoy the things Anders gave him, and it was with a sudden, crushing feeling of surprise, that Anders realised, after several months of this arrangement, that Fenris was set to graduate. Without meaning to, Anders realised he’d grown close to Fenris—he enjoyed their time together, when Fenris would speak to him freely. Even with the slight language barrier, Fenris had a sharp wit and dry humour that repeatedly caught Anders off guard, making him laugh loudly, only to receive a frown and visit from any of the other educators that might still be with their own students.

He didn’t want Fenris to leave. He wanted to continue this tentative friendship with the mysterious elf from Tevinter, and when the day finally came for Anders’ class to move beyond what the school could teach them, Anders felt tears begin to prickle at his eyes. It was always emotional to see a group leave—he’d been with some of them for years—but this one stung more than usual. It felt like he was saying goodbye to a friend.

—

Anders’ classroom was silent, save for the gentle scratching of his quill against paper. After one class graduated, there was always a brief lull before the next was transferred to him. He had to admit that he enjoyed this down time; he could prepare a new curriculum for the incoming group, as well as do some of his own personal writing. A gentle knock against the room’s wooden door frame, they didn’t have actual doors, of course, made him look up, and he paused for a moment before allowing a grin to make its way across his face.

“Fenris! What are you doing here? Not that I’m complaining, of course, I’m happy to see you again.”

Fenris hovered cautiously at the mouth of the door frame until Anders encouraged him to enter, where he sat at one of the desks closest to the other man. Anders’ grin softened, and he said, gently, “This feels sort of nostalgic, doesn’t it?”

Fenris had an unimpressed expression when he responded, “I do not know what that word means.”

A faint blush danced across the bridge of Anders’ nose, and he gave an awkward laugh, “Oh, I’m sorry. I’m not quite back to teacher mode, and I always forget because you speak so well. Nostalgia is a sort of wistfulness, no, wait, you probably don’t know that, either. It’s the feeling you get when you return to a place, or do something that you did in the past. Where you’re not quite sad, but you can’t help but think of the way things used to be. I’m sure you understand what I’m talking about. You’ve probably felt it.”

Anders couldn’t quite place the look Fenris gave him when he responded, “I cannot say I do. I do not remember much of my youth in Tevinter, and I do not miss what I do remember.”

Anders flinched, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—I didn’t even think about what your life was before.” Then, under his breath, in the language of the Anderfels, “Good going, Anders, you bloody nug-for-brains.”

Fenris looked uncomfortable when he responded, “You know of my time in Tevinter?”

“Oh, erm, yes. They give us some of the basic information on each of the students when they enroll. It’s just something meant to ensure we don’t accidentally upset or offend someone.”

While he still looked mildly bothered, Fenris seemed to push past his discomfort, returning to his original point and saying, “I was wondering if you could continue to help me with my reading. I… enjoyed having a—” he paused, then muttered something in Tevene, the words fluid and sibilant, “I enjoyed knowing when I should do something. It kept me focused.”

He’s an ex-slave. He probably needs that stability. The realisation, while it made sense, saddened Anders a bit. “I wouldn’t be able to teach you—” he began, but when he saw Fenris’ ears droop, a crestfallen expression on his face, he amended hastily, “I wouldn’t be able to teach you officially, but we can still continue outside of class! If you wanted to go somewhere a few times a week, I would certainly be happy to do that. Do you have any place in mind that you would want to visit?”

Fenris appeared to think for a moment, then shook his head, “No, everywhere in Kirkwall is too loud. There are too many people.”

Anders had an idea. It was pushing well beyond the limits of what the school would consider “appropriate” behaviour with a student, but, well, Fenris was no longer his student, was he?

“If you’re comfortable with it, and please tell me if you are not, I would be happy to host you at my home. It’s nothing impressive, but it’s quiet, and you could have a choice of all the books you wanted.”

Fenris’s green eyes were calculating, and Anders felt as if his entire being were flayed and examined. When he spoke, Fenris’s voice was a low growl, “I would enjoy that, but let me warn you—if you try anything, I will kill you.”

—

I will kill you.

After Anders had convinced him that his intentions were noble, Fenris returned again to the quiet, observant personality that Anders was used to. The two settled on a date, two days from then, and when Fenris left, Anders collapsed into his seat, heart racing.

Fenris had threatened to kill him. While Anders was quite used to comments like that in Darktown, it was the seedy underbelly of Kirkwall, after all, he’d never expected something like that to come from Fenris. He supposed it made sense, though; something about the way he carried himself made Anders believe Fenris was someone he would much rather have on his side than against him. Still, he couldn’t help the rush of fear that ran through him at Fenris’s words, at the dark warning they held.

Distracted, unable to finish his work, Anders returned home to his little clinic in Darktown. Sometimes, after class, Anders would moonlight as a healer, healing the wounds and illnesses that were endemic amongst the impoverished beings of the area. Many of its inhabitants couldn’t afford a visit to any of the expensive doctors of Hightown, and until Anders had settled in, there was always some type of borderline plague ravaging the population. When Fenris finally showed up for their first appointment, Anders ushered him in, speaking in a rush. “I’m so sorry it looks so chaotic; I’ve been so busy with patients, I haven’t had time to properly clean.”

He motioned for Fenris to sit at a table in the centre of the room, and he looked about curiously. “It does not look unclean to me,” then, almost shyly, “what is ‘patients?’”

Anders smiled and looked up from where he was bent gathering their supplies for the day’s lesson. “Oh, it can mean a few things, but in this context, it means the people I heal. I help the people here when they’re sick.”

Fenris gave him a surprised look, “You are a doctor?”

At Fenris’s incredulous tone, Anders laughed. “Well, sort of. I’m a spirit healer, so I can do much of the same things as a doctor, I just do it with magic, and I’m not licensed. That is, I don’t have the proper paperwork or schooling to do it legally. I’m sorry, I keep using words you may not know.”

Fenris ignored most of Anders’ rambling, instead focusing on a single bit that seemed to have caught his attention. “Your work is not legal?”

The grin Anders gave Fenris was positively impish, and Fenris was taken aback by how it seemed to smooth the man’s face, making him look years younger.

“Oh, no, it’s all quite illegal. I just run on the goodwill of my patients, and hope no one reports me to the Templars.”

He straightened, finally making his way back to the table, a book and several papers in hand.

“Alright! Are you ready for our lesson?”

—

Fenris never ceased to surprise Anders. From his devotion to learning, to his voracious appetite for literature, Anders was quickly coming to realise Fenris may be one of the smartest people he’d ever met. It almost seemed as if he needed to be told something only once, and it would immediately be engraved in his mind. It was impressive how quickly he was improving, and it made a rare spark of anger flare in Anders’ chest; Fenris had been deprived of so much during his time as a slave, and Anders was determined to help him learn and experience as much as he could.

“What do you mean you taught yourself? If you couldn’t read, how did you manage something like that?”

Anders wasn’t quite speechless, it was doubtful that was even possible, but he was certainly as close to it as he could get. They were several weeks into their lessons, and Fenris had, quite unexpectedly, revealed to Anders that he was self-taught when it came to speaking Ferelden’s form of Common.

It came from Anders mentioning, in a passing comment, that Fenris had the best overall mastery of the language of any of his recent students, a fact Fenris didn’t seem to find as impressive as Anders did. He didn’t even look up from his paper as he spoke, “It is not so impressive. There are still words I do not know, and I still make mistakes.”

Anders had realised long ago that Fenris didn’t seem to think too highly of himself or his achievements, and it hurt every time Anders saw evidence of it. Even when he attempted to explain how it was impressive, Fenris never seemed to believe him. It made Anders want to throttle the person that made the elf view himself in such a way.

“I’m not going to argue you on this, just know that in my professional opinion, you’re wrong.”

Fenris chuckled, low and throaty, and Anders felt himself glow with happiness; Fenris’s smiles and laughter were a rare gift, and Anders cherished every single one of them. It was quiet between the two of them for a few moments, and Anders took the chance to begin grading some of the papers from his new class as Fenris worked. He ended up lost in the mindless act of reading and marking, not noticing that Fenris had finished his own work until he cleared his throat. Anders looked up, and Fenris pushed his paper toward Anders, a silent question in his eyes.

Anders took the paper and read over it, marking minor issues and adding corrections as needed. When he finished, he put it back on the table between the two, explaining the logic behind his corrections while Fenris looked on with rapt attention. Fenris looked at him and opened his mouth to speak, them shut it again. He looked at Anders warily, before finally saying, “I have a question, mage. If it is not too much work, would you help me on my accent? I was, unfortunately, unable to learn how to say words like a Fereldan, so my accent is poor.”

Anders was shaking his head before Fenris even finished. “Why would you want to change it? Your accent is fine as is.”

“It makes me stand out. It marks me as a foreigner.”

Anders frowned; there was that insecurity again. “Fenris, it’s okay to be different. I rather like how you sound, and I’m sure others do, too. You don’t have to be perfect.”

Something about his last sentence seemed to catch Fenris off guard, to steal his words, and Anders began to backpedal, “I mean, if you really want, I’ll teach you, but I would miss it. It makes you unique.”

Fenris' silence continued, long enough that Anders became worried that he’d really offended him, and he gave a tentative mutter of Fenris’s name. This seemed to break Fenris out of whatever trance he’d fallen into, and his eyes snapped to Anders, pinning him with their intensity.

“I… Apologise. When I was a—back in Tevinter,” Fenris corrected himself, and Anders felt his heart break a little, “I was a personal bodyguard to one of the magisters. He wanted me to always be the ideal bodyguard, to be ready for anything. Anything I did that was less than perfect, he would punish me until it was.” His voice began to trail off, until it was so low Anders struggled to catch his next words, “I suppose some things do not leave you.”

This time, Anders found himself truly at a loss for words. Fenris, with the dark voice and even darker past, this tragically intelligent man that had had everything taken away from him, even now, his past still followed him, thousands of miles away. Anders found himself reaching out, before he caught himself, hands hovering over Fenris's own. He shot the him questioning look, and when he received a nod in response, he took Fenris's hands, cupping them within his own "Fenris," he began, then paused as a wave of sadness washed over him, threatening to bring tears to his eyes, "I know we've only known each other a short while, and I know my words will never take back what you've experienced, but I want you to know that you are safe here. Safe with me. You are my friend, and I will never, never, allow you to be hurt like that again." He paused again, and when he resumed speaking, his words were firm, "If I ever meet that sorry excuse for a mage that hurt you, I'll make him regret it."

Anders was surprised at the vehemence in his own words, and between them, Fenris's hands were shaking, his eyes wide. Slowly, as if he were afraid Anders would vanish in front of him, he removed Anders' hands from around his own, before moving to interlace their fingers.

"I do not know what to say, mage. I have never had anyone say these things to me, to call me their friend. I worry that I will disappoint you with my flaws."

Fenris fell silent, face vulnerable when he looked away, hands still gripped tightly around Anders’, even as they continued to tremble. He flinched when Anders began to run a soothing thumb back and forth across his knuckles, only to relax once he realised no harm would be coming to him. When he looked at Anders again, the other man was gazing at him quietly, some unnamed emotion on his face, and when he began to speak, his voice was as gentle as Fenris had ever heard come from the typically passionate man.

"The only flaw you have right now, Fenris, is the flaw of believing anything you've ever been told by the mages in Tevinter. You're worthy of having friends, you're worthy of having people that care for you, and I'll stay by your side to prove this to you as long as you will allow me."

—

After their tête-à-tête, Fenris stayed for a while longer before leaving, his customary 'thank you' seeming to hold more weight than it did before. Anders blew out the lamp, signifying the closing of the clinic, a short while later, grateful that, tonight, he hadn't had any patients come through. He was sure he would make up for it another day soon, though. There was never true peace in Darktown, after all.

When he retired for the night, hair washed and body cleansed in the large metal basin that passed as his bathtub, he couldn't help but think about his conversation with Fenris, how the elf had looked terrified at the mere mention of Anders being his friend. It wasn't like this was Anders' first round with traumatised students—one didn’t typically emigrate to Kirkwall without a reason— but it was his first time getting close to one of them.

As a rule, he made a point of not getting too attached to his students; they would all leave eventually, and you always ran into sticky situations when you began to blur the professional lines of educator and pupil. Anders would die before he would allow anyone to ever accuse him of abusing his position, and even now, he worried about word getting out to the other educators that he was seeing an ex-student in his home.

He rolled over on the cot that doubled as his bed, mind still awake despite his physical exhaustion. While he and Fenris both knew his actions were pure, it only took a few words whispered into the right ears before a scandal broke out.

That elf was always so quiet in class, why is he suddenly spending so much time with him?

They were spending an awful lot of time "studying" before and after class.

There's no reason for a student to be going to his house, and especially not so late.

Anders felt nausea rise in his throat. No, while he could certainly defend himself, he wouldn't allow Fenris to go through that, not when he was finally beginning to truly open up to Anders. He told Fenris he would keep him safe, and he meant every word of it.

When morning came, it found Anders in class, a cup of the weak brewed coffee from the faculty room in his hands; sleep was long coming for him the previous night, and he needed all the help he could get to make it through the day. He let the brew warm his hands, bringing the cup to his lips and inhaling deeply before taking a sip. He winced.

Maybe I’ll splurge and buy us another bag of beans.

Anders finished his coffee as his new students slowly began to trickle in, the low murmur of various languages filling the room, a menagerie of lives and experiences spent and shared. He let his eyes roam, flitting over bodies as they entered. A qunari with elegantly curled horns, his hulking form curled in on itself as if trying to make him appear smaller. A slim elf, Dalish, if one were to go by the tattoos, wide brown eyes darting around, a hunted expression haunting her eyes. A loud, boisterous dwarf, short legs keeping stride with the human female beside him, both speaking accented Common, laughing brightly. Anders felt a smile touch his lips, and he set his cup beside him, now empty, before he stood, drawing the eyes of everyone in the room.

“Good morning, group. Let me start by saying what a gift it is to see all of you here. I’m sure you’ve all worked hard to make it here, and I want your last few months in school with me to be fun. You’ve moved beyond all the boring things, and now we’re finally getting to put what we’ve learned to use.”

Anders paused, looking over the room, and took note of who seemed to be having the most trouble following his words, and who seemed uninterested. As a rule, he tried to do things that catered to a variety of interests when it came to his students, but if he leaned towards indulging certain students a little more than others, well. No one really had to know.

He didn’t intend on allowing another student to slip under the radar again. His ego wouldn’t allow it.

—

Fenris hid a smile as he listened to Anders talk about his new class. When he came to the clinic later that evening, the other man immediately launched into a discussion, if it could even be called that, considering it was mostly Anders talking and Fenris giving the occasional hum in the appropriate areas. Listening to the man go on and on about his students was almost soothing, a low background noise that kept Fenris grounded while he made his way through another book from Anders’ collection. It was almost surreal; never in his life did he think he would be sitting in a mage’s home, at their table as an equal, listening to them talk about their day and ask about his. He’d never heard anyone say his name the way Anders did, amused and—

“Hello, Fenris? Are you in there?”

Anders waved a hand in front of Fenris’ face and the elf blinked, startled. He looked up at Anders with wide green eyes.

“I am sorry, mage, were you speaking to me?”

Anders had an amused look on his face when he responded, “I’ve been trying to get your attention for a few minutes now,” he leaned his chin on a hand, a soft smile on his lips, blond hair a cascade around his shoulders where it was loose instead of tied up in his customary low ponytail, “What’s on your mind? It’s not like you to get so distracted.”

Fenris hesitated. His immediate reaction was to apologise for his distraction; it was a habit Anders had been slowly working on ridding him of, Fenris’s ingrained response to appease. Everything the mage did made it more and more obvious that he was nothing like the magisters in Fenris’s homeland, but as an ex-slave, he still found himself shrinking back whenever he convinced himself he’d done something to offend or upset, a habit that had been beaten into his bones.

“I was just thinking, I did not ever expect my life to go this way when I came here. Kirkwall does not—I had not heard good things about the city before I came here. It is surprising, but I think I do not mind it so much.”

The expression on Anders’ face was something unfamiliar to Fenris, but the man held clear fondness when he spoke, “Fenris, you have no idea how happy it makes me to hear that. Every teacher wants to leave a positive mark on their students, and if we can help even one out of hundreds, well, it makes it all worth it. I’ve been doing this a long time, and I’m not exaggerating when I say you’ve been one of the best students I’ve had the pleasure of working with. Watching you grow has been nothing short of awe-inspiring, and it makes me want to do better for myself, too.”

Everything Fenris heard about Kirkwall before arriving had painted the city in a negative light—templars roamed the streets, harassing anyone they pleased and throwing mages in the Gallows left and right for any perceived slight, magical or not, the city was filthy, with rats and disease running rampant, the people were all untrustworthy, worse than the Orlesians and their Game. While everything held a kernel of truth, he was coming to realise the city was more complex than that.

There were gems in the dirt, if one were only willing to dig for them.

—

The marketplace was loud in the day, and Fenris felt his ears twitch in annoyance. There were still a few hours before he was set to meet with Anders and he wanted to make certain to give himself enough time to find what he was looking for, but the amount of people crowded around him was setting him on edge, on top of the myriad of smells that assaulted him in every direction. An assortment of foodstuffs, perfumes, and the sweat of dozens of humans led to a miasma of aroma that curled around Fenris unpleasantly; at least in Tevinter, they had magic to keep that at bay, but Kirkwall had no such luxury. Thus, Fenris was forced to suffer as he made his way through various stalls. For once, he was glad of his status as a foreigner; it was easy for him to pretend ignorance and act as if he did not speak the language when one of the many stallowners would attempt to accost him and prove how “This drink will give you the virility of a dozen qunari!” Whatever that meant.

Eventually, he found a booth that looked promising. A seller from Antiva with a variety of goods from the nation, from candied fruits to exotic furs. Fenris let his gaze rove over the selection, and it was an impressive one, before his eye caught what he was looking for. He gestured towards it, and asked the seller, in a steady, confident voice, “How much is it for the coffee beans?”

The seller, another elf with blond hair and an interesting assortment of tattoos covering his face, smiled, showing a mouth full of bright, white teeth. “For you, my friend from Tevinter? Ten copper. Practically a steal.”

It took Fenris a moment to parse the other man’s accent, and when he did, he blinked in surprise. “Only ten copper? Are you certain? I am sure they are worth more than that.”

Winking conspiratorially, the man slipped into Tevene, “You are right, but these Kirkwallers, they are easy to fool. I can raise the price on a few items and make it back in just a few sales,” he then switched back to Common, continuing as if he’d said nothing at all, “Well? Do we have a sale?”

Still confused, Fenris reached into the small pouch at his side and counted out ten copper, sliding them to the other man, and then took the bag of coffee beans, now carefully wrapped in a colourful cloth. As he began to walk away, he heard the man begin speaking to another person lingering nearby.

“Hello, my friend! I see you seem to be interested in these teapots. I have not sold many today, and I would love to avoid having to pack them up, so I will give you a special discount—”

Fenris smiled to himself and shook his head, beginning the trek back to Anders’ clinic. The sounds of the marketplace slowly faded away until they were nothing but a low murmur in the background. Typically, he tried to avoid going there when possible, especially during this time of day, but it was the only window of time he could find to make his purchase and still get back for his lesson before Anders returned.

When he reached his destination, he carefully sat the coffee beans on the ground beside him, then stood, leaning against the wall of the clinic. He knew Anders should be back soon, and sure enough, the man came strolling up, carrying an armful of papers. Fenris pushed off the wall and grabbed his gift, tucking it beneath his elbow, then turned to Anders. He held out a hand, “I can hold those while you open the door. We would not want a repeat of last time.”

Anders shot Fenris a grateful look, laughing, “Well, I won’t say you’re wrong. Thank you, Fenris.” He unlocked the door then ushered the other man in, latching it behind himself. He watched Fenris place the papers on the table, then asked, curious, “What do you have there?”

Suddenly shy, Fenris responded, “I remember you saying how you hated the coffee at the school. I thought I should get you something, to thank you for everything you have done for me.” He extended the bag towards Anders, lowering his eyes and stifling a flinch when their fingers brushed for the briefest of moments.

Anders could feel the threat of tears coming to his eyes, and he took a moment to compose himself. His voice still shook when he said, “You didn’t have to get me anything; I would have done it for anyone in your position.” He began to carefully unwrap his gift, and his eyes widened. “Fenris, how much did you spend on these? This is Antivan coffee; I’m sure it was outrageously expensive. You really shouldn’t have…”

Anders’ voice trailed off, and he set the beans on the table, next to the papers. He turned to Fenris. “Fenris, I really, really want to hug you right now.”

Fenris was still, then said, slowly, “You may.”

He flinched when Anders launched himself at him, lanky arms wrapping around him and head dropping down to rest on his shoulder.

“This is the best gift I’ve gotten in a long time. Thank you.”

Hesitant, Fenris lifted his arms and let them rest on Anders’ back. He felt Anders inhale suddenly, but he said nothing, his grip on Fenris tightening. They stayed like that for a moment longer before Anders pulled back. He sniffled, and his eyes were suspiciously bright.

“Do you want to try them before I take them to the school tomorrow? It wouldn’t be fair of me to not at least let you have a cup before everyone else.”

Fenris began to shake his head; he didn’t typically drink coffee, much preferring to have a cup of tea when given the option, but when he looked at the earnest expression on Anders’ face, he felt his resolve crack. “I will try some with you. I would like to see if this coffee lives up to its reputation.”

Anders clapped his hands together. “Fantastic. If you would, set up your things and I’ll get us a pot started.” He walked to the little kitchenette that was hidden behind a wooden screen and began pulling out two mugs and a pot. He spoke as it brewed, “Really, Fenris, how did you afford this? I realise I don’t actually know what you do outside of our lessons together. I don’t even know where you live.”

“Ah.”

Anders looked over. It was uncharacteristic for Fenris to be at a loss for words, and Anders raised his eyebrows at the expression on Fenris’s face. Fenris was blushing, looking anywhere but at Anders.

“I work at a place called The Blooming Rose—”

“The Rose?!”

Anders clapped a hand over his mouth, but he couldn’t hide his shocked expression. When he saw Fenris startle, then seem to shrink in on himself, he quickly amended, “Not that there’s anything wrong with that! You are your own person and you’re free to do what you want with your body—it’s not like you’re unattractive. Not that I’m attracted to you, or anything! I mean, I think you are, you know, objectively attractive, but you’re also my friend and I—I should stop talking now.”

If Anders was surprised to see Fenris blushing, he couldn’t imagine what his own face looked like. Probably tomato red, knowing his complexion. He dropped his head into his hands.

“Mage. Calm. I am a, how did she call it—A bouncer? I make people leave if they are being rude, and the owner allows me to live in one of the rooms.” Fenris paused, then said, a smirk clear in his voice, “I do appreciate you thinking I am attractive enough to be one of the workers, although I fear I am not as talented as they are.”

When Anders looked up again, he saw Fenris stifling a laugh. He sighed, glad at least he hadn’t offended the other man too much with his, frankly childish, reaction. “I mean, if it pays, it pays, right? As long as they are not taking advantage of you, I support you. I’m glad to hear you’re at least settling somewhere safe.”

Fenris paused, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. “If you would like,” he began, slowly, “we could have one of our classes in my room. It is not as big, but I think I would like to show you where I am living.”

Already, Anders was shaking his head, a little disappointed, “Oh, Fenris, I would love to, but it wouldn’t look good for any of my students to catch me there. I know teachers have lives outside of our jobs, but there are still certain boundaries…”

“You do not have to worry about being seen. There is a back entrance that the workers use. I can bring you through there.”

Anders hesitated a moment longer, then sighed, “You know what? Why not. I trust you, and besides, I’ve always wanted to see what goes on in there. I’ve heard it’s very high class.”

—

It wasn’t difficult for Fenris to get Anders inside the Rose before the establishment opened to the public. Even as Anders began to panic internally, Fenris walked with a purpose, seemingly unbothered by the surprised glances thrown his way when the workers saw Anders trailing behind him, a book clutched tight to his chest. Fenris’s room was on the second floor, at the end of a long corridor and set a bit away from the rest of the rooms. He ushered Anders inside, then closed the door, locking it behind himself.

When he turned to face Anders again, the mage was looking around curiously, and that was when Fenris noticed the lack of seating in the room. Unless he wanted to bring some chairs up from the main floor, he and Anders would have to sit on his bed. Together. He hesitated, then said, “I am afraid I do not have much by way of comforts, as I do not spend much time here. You may sit on the bed, and I will take the floor.”

Anders waved his hand. “Don’t be silly, Fenris; I’m not going to make you sit on the floor in your own room. There’s plenty of space for the two of us on the bed.” He sat and patted the spot beside him, waiting for Fenris to join him before opening the book he’d brought. It was a book of fables, well worn and obviously treasured, if the fraying on the spine of the book and the creases of the pages were anything to go by. Time had no meaning as they read, Fenris aloud with Anders gently correcting him any time a word caused him to stumble or a meaning slipped by him, so it came as a surprise when there was a sudden knocking on the door.

“Knock, knock, it’s your boss! I’m coming in, so I hope you’re decent.”

Before Fenris could say anything, to warn, perhaps, that he had a guest, the door was unlocking from the outside and a woman was pushing her way in. She was tall and curvy, with piercings adorning her face and when she saw the two, her face lit up, first with mischievous glee, then with recognition, when she said, “Anders?!”

Anders gave an awkward little wave, responding, “Hi, Isabela. Fancy seeing you here.” His face burned and he looked anywhere but at the woman leering at him.

Fenris was clearly confused when he asked, “You two know each other?”

Isabela’s voice was all devious intent when she responded, “Oh, Anders and I go way back. I offered him a job when he first came to Kirkwall, before he decided to be a boring teacher; he has this thing he does with electricity that I just know—“

“Okay, that’s enough, Bela! Fenris and I were just doing some additional work—“

“Oh, some extracurricular activities? I see. Well!” And here, she clapped her hands, causing both men to jump, “I can just find someone to take Fenris’s spot for the night; it’s not like you don’t have the time off available. You two have fun in here.”

Isabela left before either Fenris or Anders could get a word in. Fenris let out an annoyed breath, “I apologise for her behaviour. I did not realise how late it had gotten, and now you are stuck with me until we close.”

Anders waved a hand, dismissing Fenris’s apology, “Don’t worry, Bela wasn’t lying when she said she and I knew one another. I’m very used to her antics by now. I’m sure we can find something to do until I can leave. Have you ever played Wicked Grace?’

Chapter Text

“Fenris, I think you lied to me.”

“Mage, you are a terrible bluffer. Plus, it is only the two of us. It is pretty obvious when you are lying.”

A set of cards lay spread between Anders and Fenris where they sat on the floor, and a stack of coins that the Rose used to pay for their services was stacked neatly beside Fenris. Fenris’s face would seem bored to anyone else, but Anders had learned his tells by now; Fenris was as smug as a cat that got the cream. He groaned and flopped back, resting his head on the side of the bed. “And so the teacher becomes the student.”

Fenris gave a little huff of air that served as laughter, “Do not be so dramatic. You won a few times.”

Anders slid lower down the bed, until his head nearly touched the ground and his long legs were next to Fenris. “You don’t have to be so nice, Fenris, I understand when I’m beaten.”

Another of those little huffs of air, then, “What do I win, then?"

Before Anders could respond, there was a comment of, “Knock knock, it’s your boss! I’m coming in, so I hope you’re decent.”

Anders looked over at Fenris and muttered, “Does she say that every time?” to which Fenris nodded with an exaggerated roll of his eyes.

Again, Isabela gave them little time to respond. She opened the door and feigned shock at the sight of the men sitting on the floor, fully clothed. “Oh, well that’s no fun at all. There’s not even a sock missing,” a pause, then, “not that you wear socks, Fenris.”

“I apologise for disappointing you,” Fenris said in a voice that was decidedly not apologetic.

Isabela ignored him. She looked at Anders, then said, in the most businesslike, rehearsed manner he’d ever heard from the woman, “Thank you from coming to The Blooming Rose, we hope our services were to your liking and would love to see you again,” she waited a beat, then laughed,, “How was that for professional, huh? I’ve been working on that one for ages.”

“Very believable, Isabela,” Fenris said flatly, “can we leave now?” His arms were crossed and his foot tapped against the plush carpet, a quick, repetitive tempo that belied his nerves. Anders put a hand on his shoulder and gave him a questioning look, to which Fenris sighed and stopped his tapping, though his arms remained crossed. Isabela took this all in with a knowing look in her eye.

“Yes, you can leave, some of the girls are finishing up with their last clients, so you can take the back way again, just be quiet. Word somehow got out that Fenris has a visitor and everyone is quite curious to see who that might be.”

Anders groaned and ran a hand down his face at the words. “Maker, strike me now. If anyone sees me leaving here, I can kiss my reputation at the school goodbye.”

Fenris hummed, then walked over to a wardrobe that stood in the corner of the room. He grabbed a hooded cloak from within and tossed it at Anders. “Wear this. They may still speak about me, but your identity will be safe. I cannot speak for the people who saw you come in.”

Anders fumbled catching the material, but put it on without any complaints. The fabric was softer against his skin than its appearance would suggest, and it smelled of some sort of scented oil, something woodsy and dark, and, beneath that, an earthy musk that Anders knew could only belong to Fenris. He took a discreet lungful and had to hold back a shudder when Fenris’s scent surrounded him and filled him from within. He cleared his throat and looked at his companion, who didn’t seem to be paying attention to him, putting on a set of gleaming black armour, “I’m ready when you are.”

Isabela waved with another salacious grin that was ignored by both men, then left, closing the door with a click! that somehow felt ominous. Fenris’s eyes were hooded when he said, “You look good in my clothing.” When Anders sputtered, face red, he laughed, “I am joking, calm yourself. The workers think it is amusing to teach me phrases,” he waited until Anders’ complexion was a little less lobster-red, then said, “come, we should leave now. We may be able to avoid the rest of the workers if we move quickly.”

Fenris was right, of course, when he said that the cloak helped shield Anders from curious eyes. Even though Fenris didn’t get any direct comments, and the armour he wore likely helped with that, there was still much pointed whispering and gentle nudges when the pair walked by. Anders pulled the cloak tighter about himself, making sure the hood was secure and wouldn’t fall and expose him to dozens of curious eyes.

When they finally exited and were a few blocks away from the establishment, Anders dropped his hood and gave a breath of relief. “Thank you, Fenris. I have nothing against the working women and men, but most of the teachers already don’t like me because I’m a mage. I don’t need to give them any more fuel for the fire to tell Meredith I’m not fit for my position.”

They began the walk back to Darktown, down to where Anders’ little home-slash-clinic was located, keeping to the shadows lest they run into any late night templars. It was well past the curfew for mages, and even though he was no longer at fear of being arrested simply because he was a mage, that didn’t mean the templars and all the other ruling classes didn’t look for reasons to toss mages back into Circles.

Suddenly, as if summoned by his thoughts, the dull clank of metal against metal began to make its way down the street the two were on. It was narrow, just wide enough for two or three people to pass through and only barely brush against one another, and Anders grabbed Fenris, eyes wide. “They know me,” he said, eyes darting down the street to where the sound was steadily growing louder, “if they see me out here this late, I’m a dead man. They’ll send me straight to the Gallows.”

Fenris seemed to come to a split second decision, because he pushed Anders against the wall, shielding his body with his own. He canted his hips forward and tilted his head so his hair hid Anders’ face, then muttered, “Play along.”

The sound came closer, then stopped, the templar obviously taking in the two and their compromising position. They were close enough that Anders could feel the latent magic that all templars seemed to exude, and he swallowed, then gasped when Fenris muttered against his skin, just loud enough to be heard several feet away, “I am going to take you back to my home, and you will not sleep until the sun touches the sky.” His voice was dark and full of intent, the words spoken in a tone Anders had never heard come from Fenris before.

Unbidden, Anders let out a quiet, “Maker,” which seemed to be enough to convince the templar to keep moving. When the sounds faded into the distance, Fenris pulled back, giving Anders a once over.

“Are you okay?” he asked, likely noticing the way Anders trembled and the slight flush that had come across his cheeks.

Anders pulled up his hood once more, then gave a cheery, if slightly flustered, “Never better. Although, it would probably be best for me to leave the hood up until we get back, hm?” He was proud of how his voice only shook a little, and that could easily be explained away by nerves. Fenris either didn’t notice or didn’t care, because he took Anders for his word and began to continue his silent way to Darktown. Anders breathed a sigh of relief.

—

By the time they made it back to the clinic, even Fenris was yawning, although he did a better job of hiding it than Anders, who removed Fenris’s cloak and hung it along the back of the chair, crossing his arms over the top and gazing at Fenris wearily. “You’re free to stay, although I don’t have much by way of comfort. It’s a lot less hospitable than your room, I know.”

Fenris shrugged, not even bothering to look around, “I know what your home looks like, and it is a lot more comfortable than the lodgings I took to get here. As long as I can bathe myself, I am content.” He began the arduous task of removing his armour, piece by piece, until he was left in nothing but the leathers Anders was used to seeing him in. Still, it felt distinctly intimate in this context, and he turned to give Fenris his privacy.

“I’ll go start a bath. It’s nothing impressive, but it gets the job done.”

Behind him, he heard Fenris laugh low under his breath, as if to a joke only he knew. “I will be here, so do not rush on my account.” He sat cross legged on the floor, facing the door as if he expected someone to come bursting in at any moment. It was at times like this that Anders was reminded that Fenris was trained as a bodyguard to protect magisters; he could probably take down anyone that would be foolish enough to attempt to harm them, whether they be templar or common carta thug. When he thought about it, he realised Fenris had always done things to keep Anders out of harm’s way when they were together; he’d always walked a few steps behind Anders unless they were talking, and he never let Anders have his back towards anything but bare wall. He doubted Fenris even realised he was doing it, and while it did have certain implications about what he thought was his place in the world, it was still touching that Fenris thought to protect him, even if he was doing it unconsciously.

Anders walked to his bedroom and dragged out the large copper basin he used as a washtub, then filled it with ice and melted it. Steam drifted lazily up from the water, and Anders hesitated for just a moment before he added some scented oils to the water. He didn’t give himself much time to think about his actions more than Fenris is probably used to it, working at the Rose. I can at least give him this luxury in thanks. He placed some soap on top of a crate that sat nearby, also one of his nicer bars instead of the lye and fat he usually used for himself. Don’t think about it, Anders.

When he exited his room, Fenris looked up from where he was hunched over a book he’d obviously taken from Anders’ collection, and Anders beckoned him over stepping back inside once Fenris was closer. “I’ll have to apologise for the state of my bedroom, I wasn’t expecting guests, you see.”

Fenris looked around curiously, then shrugged, “I have seen worse.”

“Thanks. I think. Anyway, the tub’s right there, soap’s beside it. There are towels and wash clothes inside the crate if you need them.”

Anders beat a hasty retreat before Fenris could say much more, leaving the other man to undress and bathe in peace. He gave himself a mental pat on the back; he felt like he’d been rather nonchalant about the entire thing. His growing attraction to the elf had been tested today, and Anders thought he’d come through it with his secret intact. He made his way over to the table that sat in the centre of the main room and began the endless, eternal job that was grading papers.

He was deep in his work when Fenris exited his bedroom, saying, “Mage, I—“

His words were cut off by Anders’ inhalation followed by sudden fit of coughing. When it subsided, Anders held a hand to his throat and said, “Fenris, why aren’t you clothed?”

Fenris had nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist, covering his modesty, and another about his shoulders. He grimaced. “I did not think ahead. The only clothing I have is what I came over in, and I would rather not put that on again.”

Anders was frozen, like a broken clock forever stuck at a certain time, while he took in Fenris’s appearance. He was muscular, of course he was, but not in the chiselled, showy way some of Anders previous lovers, back when he was in the Wardens, had been. He was also completely hairless, something Anders knew as a fact was a trait elves carried, the way he knew dwarves were immune to lyrium or qunari grew horns, but he was still the first elf Anders had seen in any form of full undress, patients included. Fenris shifted uncomfortably, and Anders gave himself a mental shake, embarrassed at his own actions. “Stay here a moment, I have some clothing I can spare. It will probably be a bit long on you, but it’s better than nothing.”

He pushed past Fenris, careful not to touch still damp skin, and began digging through one of his drawers. He was certain he still had some clothing that was serviceable from when he was younger and not quite so lanky, and when he found it, he gave a small, “a-ha!” of success. He made his way back to Fenris who still stood in the same spot, hair dripping steadily onto the towel across his shoulders. “Here, this is something you can sleep in, and this is for tomorrow, if you still want fresher clothing. It’s a bit small for me, so let me know if it’s too tight for you. I’ll be letting you change now.”

He spoke at a rapid clip, too fast for Fenris to get a word in edgewise, and immediately felt guilty for taking advantage of the other man’s difficulty with understanding quickly spoken Common. At a more natural speed, he said, “I’ll bathe once you’re all done up. Just let me know when.”

Again, Anders returned to his papers until he heard Fenris clear his throat a short while later and say, “I am clean. Your room is yours again.”

The night shirt Anders had chosen for Fenris fit perfectly in width, but hung mid thigh in length. He levelled Anders with a flat look when the other man had to look away and stifle a laugh. “This was your choice, mage.”

Anders waved a hand, “I know, I know. I promise, it really was the only thing I had that would even remotely fit. It wasn’t intentional.”

“I would trip the moment I needed to get up to protect you. I would be better off sleeping nude.,” Fenris said, pulling at the material.

“Please don’t,” was all Anders managed to croak out. “I’m going to bathe now; please, make yourself comfortable; the cots aren’t much, but they should manage well enough. Blow out the candles, if you would; I’m going straight to sleep.”

Fenris nodded, and as Anders made his way back into what passed for his bedroom, he was followed by a quiet, “Sleep well.”

—

When Anders awoke the next morning, Fenris was gone, and the clothes he’d been wearing were stacked neatly on the table. There was a short note on top.

Thank you for letting me stay. I would like to come get the rest of my clothing and bring you back yours. I will come tonight. Fenris

The handwriting was shaky, letters carefully formed by a hand unused to them and the occasional word crossed out and rewritten. Anders would have to remember to compliment Fenris on both his penmanship and spelling; they’d both gotten significantly better in the last few weeks—proof Fenris had been working diligently during his down time. It made him proud, both as a teacher and a friend, to see Fenris become more confident with himself.

Anders picked up the clothing Fenris had worn previously, and was hit, again, with the aroma that Fenris seemed to exude even when his body was freshly cleaned. It reminded him that he still had Fenris’s cloak, hanging up on a hook near the front door, and he was surprised Fenris hadn’t taken it when he’d left. Perhaps he thought he was doing Anders a favour by leaving it just in case he felt the need to go incognito again. The temperature had been dropping recently, a herald of winter, so at the least Anders knew he could use it for that.

He sighed; it was the last day of the school week, then he would have another several weeks off for vacation while another teacher taught his classes, which he intended to use to spend more time at the clinic. He felt as if he’d been neglecting it recently in favour of spending more time with Fenris, and it made guilt churn unpleasantly in his stomach at the thought of others suffering while he spent time elsewhere. He began to prepare his supplies for the day, then made his way out of the clinic and towards the lift that would take him from Darktown to Lowtown.

The trip was mostly pleasant, with a crisp breeze blowing and the cool early-winter sun shining down. Kirkwall was a shithole, yes, but there were times that it could almost be pleasant. Anders hummed some nameless tune as he walked, cheerful, but a couple of blocks away from the school, he paused at the sound of raised voices. He lifted the hood of Fenris’s cloak and began to walk towards the school again, this time more slowly. When the building was finally in sight, he had to hold back a gasp of terror.

The building was crawling with templars, like beetles feasting on a carcass, and Anders kept a careful distance away, looking at the gathered crowd until he spotted another one of the other teachers. He made his way over, then said, “Lyrene, what’s going on? Why are there templars here?”

The woman looked over at Anders before responding, “We’re not sure, but somebody claims they heard them saying something about maleficarum.”

A hand shot up to Anders’ throat as he repeated, shocked, “A maleficar? Here? Who on Thedas—“

“You should probably leave, Anders,” Lyrene interrupted, “they’re taking whatever mages were in the school, regardless of if they’re guilty or not. You need to lay low for a while.”

Lyrene was one of the few teachers Anders had a decent rapport with, and he thanked the woman for her words of warning, bundling himself tighter and slipping away before anyone else could notice him.

Going back to the clinic at the moment was a no-go; the templars were too close to Darktown, and he couldn’t trust some of the other teachers, or, worse, Meredith, not to rat him out as an apostate healer. While he never explicitly said what he did outside of school hours, it wasn’t exactly unknown, and he just barely managed to scrape by on technicalities that he wasn’t actually healing anyone with magic. Usually.

The only person he could think of that would give him shelter on such short notice was Fenris, and Anders didn’t know if he was working at such an early hour, or if he would even be at the Rose. He was his only option, though, so Anders made a hasty retreat and headed towards Hightown.

The Blooming Rose wasn’t open this early, but Anders remembered the back way Fenris had shown him before. When he got to the door, he hesitated; he didn’t want to just barge in unannounced, and he wasn’t sure if this door was regularly manned. He risked knocking, and took a step back when the door opened almost immediately. He gave a sigh of relief when Isabela’s suspicious eye peeked through the crack, then opened the door fully when she saw who it was.

“Anders! I didn’t expect to see you here again. You couldn’t even wait for us to open the front door, I see,” Isabela had her signature grin, and Anders couldn’t help but roll his eyes at her comments; she loved to try to make him squirm.

Anders said, exasperated, “Yes, yes, hello to you, too. Can I come in or are we just going to stand outside in the cold?” When Isabela moved to allow Anders in, he shook the cold out of his fingers, then said, abruptly, “Templars are at the school and I need somewhere to hide for a bit. This was the only place I could think to come.”

Isabela sucked a breath of air in through her teeth at Anders’ words. “What about Hawke? You could have gone to his place.”

Anders shook his head the moment he heard the other man’s name, “Hawke is on some trip to Orlais with Varric. And before you recommend Merrill, you and I both know she is the absolute last person I should go to to escape templars.”

“Well,” Isabela began, “I’m working today, so I can’t really keep an eye on you, but,” she rushed to continue when she saw the panicked expression on Anders’ face, “Fenris is here! I can let him know you need a place to hide out for a bit. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind; he seems to be quite fond of you.”

“Oh, that would be fantastic. Thank you, Bela.” Anders pointedly ignored the latter part of Isabela’s statement, knowing it meant nothing. Fenris was his friend, and that was it. Anders wouldn’t risk ruining it with his one-sided feelings.

Isabela smiled at the relief in Anders’ voice, then said, “Wait here, I’ll go get him. Ignore the girls if they try to talk to you. And the boys—I don’t know what’s gotten into them lately.”

–-

It didn’t take Isabela long to return with a disgruntled looking Fenris. His expression changed when he saw Anders, something that almost looked like concern crossing his features, when he asked, “Mage, why are you here? Are you injured?”

Anders waved his hand, “No, no, I’m fine. There are just templars at the school right now so I thought it best if I hid out for a while, and, well, you’re the only person that’s still here and is safe for me to be around.”

“Ah,” Fenris said, expression shuttering, “you need my protection. Come up, then.” He turned and began to make his way up the stairs that led to the workers’ personal rooms without another word.

Anders looked at Isabela, with a what’s gotten into him? sort of expression, and Isabela shrugged her shoulders. Anders rushed to follow after Fenris, who hadn’t turned around to make sure he was being followed, and when they got to his room, Anders closed the door behind him, then said, in a timid voice, “Is something wrong, Fenris? I feel like you’re upset with me.”

Fenris’s bed was unmade, as if he’d left the room in a hurry, and he ran a hand through his hair as he sat down. “It is—it's nothing. Do not concern yourself.” He looked around at his unkempt room, then stood again and began to straighten up, as if it mattered to Anders in the slightest.

“It doesn’t seem like nothing,” Anders said, moving to stand out of Fenris’s way as he moved around the small space, “did I say something to upset you? You were fine when you first came down.”

The door to Fenris’s wardrobe closed before he responded, “I just wonder, was I your last choice? Or did you come to me because you knew I was a bodyguard for mages?”

As the implications of Fenris’s words sank in, Anders’ face paled. “What? Absolutely not, Fenris! I just—I guess I figured you’ve probably gotten tired of me by now. We’ve been spending a lot of time together, and the least I could do is let you have your own time. You being a bodyguard didn’t even cross my mind, I swear.”

Green eyes were focused on Anders, unblinking, and he swallowed, shifting on his feet uncomfortably. He hadn’t taken the time to think about the implication of his words or actions, an embarrassing mistake for someone that prided themselves on precisely that. After what felt like an eternity, Fenris looked away. He cleared his throat but didn’t speak.

Time stretched on for an awkward moment before Anders dared to speak again, “I can leave, if you’d like. I’m sure there’s a spare room I can—“

“It’s fine,” Fenris said, cutting off Anders’ words, “you can stay here. I apologise for my poor reaction.”

The slightest bit of embarrassment coloured Fenris’s words, so Anders took the chance to change the subject, saving them both from the awkwardness of the situation.

“So, what do you do when you’re not at work?”

Fenris’s voice was relieved when he said, “You mean when I am not with you? I usually read or spend time in the markets. Isabela pays me well, but I have nothing to spend it on.”

“Oh?” Anders said, intrigued, “What do you usually buy? I can’t imagine you being a clothes man.”

Fenris gave a low laugh, “Nor can I. No, I buy gifts for the workers. I am sure it tires them to get flowers and chocolates from patrons, so I try to get them things that are more personal.”

The thought of Fenris going out of his way to buy personalised gifts was a sweet one, and when Anders said as much, Fenris made a displeased face, “I am not sweet. I am not a candy.”

“Oh, come off it, Fenris,” Anders said, walking over and poking him with an elbow, “you know it’s a figure of speech.”

Fenris said something in Tevene, voice dropping an octave when he switched languages, and it made a shudder run down Anders’ back. “Perhaps I have forgotten,” he said, returning to Common, “I have been out of school for so long, I believe I am not as good as I was before.”

The words were said as teasingly as anything Fenris ever said; that is, they were delivered in a completely deadpan tone that would have fooled anyone else, but just made Anders laugh in delight. His glee seemed to be infectious, because a quick smile flit across Fenris’s face at the sound.

“My shift does not start for several more hours. I can stay with you until then, if you would like.”

Fenris’s offer was kind, but Anders shook his head. “Don’t let me ruin your day; go do what you have to do. I’m not going anywhere, and I have the things I was going to bring with me to the school, so it’s not like I’ll be bored.”

Fenris hesitated for a moment more, but ultimately acquiesced, leaving Anders alone in the room. As soon as the door closed and the sound of Fenris’s footsteps faded down the hallway, Anders deflated. He hadn’t meant to hurt Fenris with his words, to make him feel like a last resort, or, worse, as if Anders only came to him for his abilities as a bodyguard for mages, and it twisted a knife in Anders’ heart that he even put that seed of doubt into Fenris’s mind. He sat down on the newly made bed, he was certain Fenris wouldn’t mind, and rolled over, burying his head in the comforter.

That turned out to be a huge mistake, because the second he did, the smell of Fenris, pure and unadulterated, filled his nostrils. Anders gasped, lifting his head and leaping off the bed, but it was too late. Suddenly, he was hyperaware of the way the room smelled; wood and dark musk and the heady perfume that seemed to be infused into the very air of the building, and it was enough to make Anders pant. He’d never been so attracted to the way someone smelled in his life, and, to his horror, he could feel himself beginning to stir in his smalls.

This was absolutely, positively, unequivocally not going to happen.

Anders brought a sleeve to his nose in an attempt to block out the rest of the room, only to realise, belatedly, that he was still wearing Fenris’s cloak. He groaned aloud, “This cannot be happening to me.” He removed the cloak and hung it on a hook attached to the wall, leaving him in his thick winter robes. As soon as he did so, he realised how warm the room was. It would be comfortable, surely, if he were in regular clothing, and perhaps being a little cooler would help soothe the flame he could feel beginning to warm in his blood, and as soon as he had the thought, he noticed the clothing he’d loaned Fenris sitting on the room’s table. He hesitated for just a moment, then said, to himself, “I mean, they are mine,” before grabbing them.

He began to disrobe, and when he was down to his smalls, the door opened abruptly.

“Mage, I forgot my—“

Fenris paused. He looked at Anders, and for the first time Anders could recall, Fenris blushed. It was a full on flushing of the face to the tips of his ears, and he tripped over his words when he tried to speak. “I forgot my coin pouch, I did not mean to—my apologies for interrupting—“

Anders was sure his face was just as red when he made an embarrassing squeaking sound, then rushed to cover himself. “Sorry, sorry! It was just so warm in here and I saw my clothing and I thought you would be gone longer, and oh Maker, strike me down now.”

It would have, perhaps, not been so mortifying if Anders weren’t still very much erect. There was no way to hide it, even in his smalls, so Fenris, to Anders’ horror, got an eyeful of Anders and his arousal. When Fenris’s eyes very pointedly darted down, then back up, Anders wanted to do nothing more than melt into the ground into a puddle of mage goo.

“Can you get what you need and then can we please act like this never happened?”

Anders’ eyes were closed, so he didn’t see Fenris dart in to grab his coin pouch; all he heard was the sound of the coins jingling merrily, far too cheery for the situation they were in, and then the door closed with a quiet thud. Anders stood for a moment more, marinating in his embarrassment, then resumed dressing himself. He glared down at his crotch as he did so.

“Now look what you’ve gone and done. I hope you’re proud of yourself.”

—

Fenris was gone for a few hours, long enough that Anders decided to risk taking a nap in the other man’s bed before he returned. He was awoken by the sound of the tumbler of the lock turning, then Fenris entered, arms laden with several small packages. Anders sat up and looked at Fenris groggily.

“Welcome back,” he said, covering a yawn. He could almost force himself to forget the situation from earlier, and it seemed like Fenris was doing the same. He watched as Fenris sat the multitude of items down, then scooted to the edge of the bed, stretching his arm above his head until the joints popped. “Sorry about sleeping in your bed. No disrespect to you, but it is boring being stuck in a room all day.”

Fenris didn’t look up when he responded, “It is a bed, they are for sleeping.” He seemed to be looking for something, not focusing on Anders until he found whatever it was— a small package, the size and shape of a book, that he handed to Anders.

“For you,” Fenris said, in an uncharacteristically uncertain voice. He waited until Anders unwrapped it, eyes bright, then said, “I remember you saying, once, that you needed a new notebook and your old one was falling apart, so I got you this.”

The notebook was brown leather, with delicate gold filigree running across the sides and down the spine. The pages were wisp thin when he opened it, and the material itself had a soft, almost silky feeling to it. It was far too nice for the likes of Anders.

“Fenris, why on Thedas—this must have cost a fortune. I can’t accept this.”

Despite his words, Anders didn’t move to give the notebook back, hands clutching it as if it were the most precious item on the planet.

“You have done so much for me this last year, and have spent more time helping me than I could have ever expected. I could not pay you back even a fraction of what you deserve, so this is the least I could do.” Fenris paused, then said, haltingly, “Do you like it?”

Anders had to blink back tears when he said, “I love it. The craftmanship alone is just…Wow. Thank you, Fenris. I really, really appreciate this.”

To his horror, Anders felt tears begin to fall. He sat the book down, then wiped his eyes, smiling up at Fenris when he heard him take a panicked breath. “These are happy tears, I promise!” Fenris didn’t look like the words assuaged his worry in the slightest, so Anders pulled him down with a light tug, then pulled him into a hug. He felt Fenris stiffen in his arms, and instinctively began to run his hands up and down his back in a soothing motion. Fenris’s ears were still cold from being outside, and they twitched endearingly when Anders accidentally exhaled a breath against them. When he pulled back, Fenris was staring at him with wide eyes.

For the slightest moment, Anders felt worried, as if he’d gone too far, and opened his mouth to apologise, when Fenris pulled him forward again. His lips touched Anders’ own, shyly, and when he shifted away, he didn’t meet Anders’ eyes again. Anders blinked furiously, touching his lips with the pads of his fingers, then he was pushing forwards, hands balancing on the bed beside Fenris and kissing him again.

They were soft, fragile things, like boys in a schoolyard, and Anders smiled against Fenris’s mouth when he felt him begin to reciprocate. Outside, Anders could hear the workers getting prepared for their day, shouting down the hallway about borrowing someone’s kohl or rouge and where is that slip, but it all faded into white noise until nothing in the world existed except Fenris and him and the pressure of lips pressing against one another.

Fenris’s tongue slicked against his bottom lip, then bit gently, sharp elf teeth lending the action a sting that had Anders moaning unexpectedly. The sound seemed to startle Fenris, and he pulled back, eyes dark and intent in a way that made Anders want to lay back and spread his legs. When Anders swallowed, Fenris’s eyes followed the motion in a way that felt distinctly predatory.

“I checked the clinic while I was out,” Fenris said, voice low, “there are no more templars in Darktown, so you can return to your home.”

A sliver of hurt wormed its way into Anders’ chest; Fenris had kissed him and now he was kicking him out. Maybe Anders had misinterpreted the entire situation, and Fenris actually—

“I would like if you came back later tonight, however. My shift starts soon, but I would like to continue what we’ve started.”

Anders’ breath caught in his throat on the next inhale, and his voice was tight when he babbled, “Yes, certainly, of course.” It made Fenris laugh as he stood, making his way over to where his intimidating set of armour rested.

“I will see you tonight, then.”

—

“Should I bathe again? He didn’t say anything about it earlier, but three trips through Darktown is really pushing it. Do I bring a gift—no, no, that makes it seem too much like he’s one of the workers. Where in the Void did I put my nice robes?”

Anders flit to and fro through the clinic, picking up items only to set them down again. His heart beat a rapid tempo in his chest, had done so since he left the Rose. Just thinking about the way Fenris had sounded was enough to get Anders flustered all over again. His words had been a promise, a warning of, hopefully, the night to come.

A glint in the candlelight from one of his drawers, pulled open like everything else, caught his eye, and Anders walked over and reached inside, pulling out a tiny gold earring. It was something he’d worn when he was with the Wardens, but had long since been retired when he became a teacher and needed a more respectable appearance. He rolled it between his fingers, the metal slowly warming in his hand, and eventually moved to a mirror to put it in. He was surprised the hole hadn’t closed by now, seeing as it had been years since he’d last worn it, and when he pulled back his hair, a different man stared at him in the mirror. He paused for a moment more, then walked to his wardrobe and pulled out an old, worn jacket. It was a hideous thing, a feathered monstrosity, and Anders stroked the fabric of one of the sleeves lovingly. He pulled it on, then walked to the mirror again. Anders the Grey Warden stood before him, and he looked at his reflection for a bit longer before removing the jacket and placing it back in the closet with a self-deprecating laugh.

That version of Anders was long gone, but this version was here and currently wasting his time reminiscing. He grabbed a random robe—green, terribly out of season—and pulled it on, smoothing out the wrinkles as he did so. This robe was lighter than the one he’d left in Fenris’s room, and he rushed back to the Rose, arms crossed in a vain attempt to conserve some warmth. He knocked on the back door as usual when he made it to the building, and this time an unfamiliar face answered the door, welcoming him in. The workers had gotten so used to Anders that at this rate, they were going to begin thinking he was Fenris’s personal client, and the thought made him stumble in his steps.

When he knocked Fenris’s door, there was no answer, and one of the workers, a slight, vaguely effeminate elven man, looked over and said, “He’s still up front, he won’t be back for another thirty minutes or so. Would you like a drink?”

The last bit was said so suddenly that it took Anders a moment to catch up, then he said, confused, “Erm, sure? I guess it won’t hurt to have one glass.” He followed the courtier, taken a bit aback by the sudden change in plans, and when they got to what appeared to be the workers’ personal dining area, he was welcomed by several other people in the room.

“Do you want an Agreggio or Bottled Scar?” The elf that had brought him in looked back at Anders expectedly and Anders stuttered out a request for the latter, having no idea what it was but knowing he wasn’t a fan of Agreggio.

“Bottled Scar? You’re being generous, Velka,” one of the courtesans said, eyebrows raised in surprise.

The elf, Velka, shrugged, “He’s Isabela’s friend and Fenris’s guest. I’m sure the boss won’t mind.”

“Oh, that’s where I recognise you from,” another spoke up, a beautiful human woman with skin as dark and sleek as treated leather, “lucky thing, you; I asked Fenris to play when he was first hired and I think I scared the poor thing to pieces.”

“We’re just friends,” Anders said weakly. Friends that apparently kiss and make other sorts of promises. The woman hummed in an ‘I don’t believe you,’ sort of way, and gestured for Anders to come sit by her when Velka handed Anders a glass of a deep purple wine. When he took a sip, it was silky on the tongue and went down as smooth as spring water. He made a surprised sound.

“Nice, isn’t it?” the woman said, laughing the slightest bit at Anders’ expression, “The last time I remember having some was right after we hired Fenris. He did this thing with his fist when one of the guests was getting too touchy and as soon as we closed, Isabela brought some out and gave him a full bottle.”

Anders was too afraid to ask what this thing was, so he gave a polite smile and took another sip of his wine. By the time he was finished and was told Fenris’s shift was over, his body was pleasantly warm but his head was surprisingly clear. He thanked the workers for their hospitality, they really were a nice bunch, even if every other sentence was dripping with innuendo, and followed Velka back to the personal rooms. He waved Anders off as he began to make his way back to his own room, leaving Anders to stare at Fenris’s door like a man going to the gallows.

He tried the doorknob, finding it surprisingly unlocked, and shivered head to toe when he realised Fenris had probably done that for his benefit before he'd gone to work, assuming Anders would heed his words and return. When he entered, he saw the room was much the same as when he’d left, except his robes were now hanging up next to Fenris’s cloak.

Anders sat on the bed again—Fenris hadn’t seemed to mind him being on it earlier—and waited. He was too nervous to even read one of the books Fenris had lying around—he should really teach the man how to pick up after himself—so he sat and let his thoughts swirl around his head until he heard the doorknob turn. His head turned so quickly he was surprised he didn’t give himself whiplash when he saw Fenris shoulder his way in and stood to greet him. Fenris was wearing the armour from before, which was apparently his work uniform, and had an annoyed expression on his face that softened when he saw Anders.

When Fenris closed the door, he just stood there, gazing at Anders, who looked back like a deer in magelight. “Ah, you look nice,” Anders managed to get out, taking in Fenris’s appearance when he was fully armoured, “very…Intimidating.”

“That is the intention, yes,” Fenris said, walking over to the far wall where he began removing his armour, not bothering to use the privacy screen that had probably been in the room when Isabela gave it to him. He took each piece off carefully, as if it were a precious gift, and set them down on the floor gently, on top of a towel that appeared to be covered in spots of oil.

“I would normally clean and oil my armour as soon as I got off,” Fenris said, voice slightly muffled as he unhooked his cuirass and pulled the additional fabric beneath it over his head, “but I think I have more important things to focus on at the moment.” That dark promise was back in his voice, and it made Anders lightheaded to hear it. The moment Fenris was fully undressed from his armour, he walked over to Anders and pulled him into a kiss, more urgent and fervent than the ones they had initially shared. He dragged his lips from Anders’ own, across his cheek and to his ear, leaving a trail of blazing heat as he did so.

“I will ruin you.”

Chapter Text

“I will ruin you.”

The words made Anders run hot, hotter than any wine could ever hope for. He whined, a mortifying sound, high in his throat, when Fenris tugged gently at his earring with his teeth.

“This is new. I like it.”

It took a moment for Anders to find his voice, “It’s been a while since I’ve last worn it,” then, as if to lighten the suddenly charged energy of the room, he tried to joke, “aren’t you moving a bit fast, Fenris? We’ve only just kissed this morning and now you’re already trying to get me in your bed.”

Fenris didn’t pull back when he muttered into Anders’ ear, “Mage, I have wanted you for months. If you knew the things I thought of, you would never speak to me again.”

“Fuck.”

At that, Fenris did pull back, a smug expression on his face. He brought his hands to Anders’ waist, fingers gripping tightly, as if he were afraid Anders would try to flee. He reached up to kiss him again, teeth biting at his lip in a mirror of earlier that morning, then slid his tongue in when Anders gasped. The muscle slicked through Anders’ mouth, running over teeth, tongue, and palate, and when he pulled back again, he licked his lips and said, “You taste like my favourite wine.”

Anders felt dizzy with Fenris’s sudden intensity, and could only begin to respond, “Well, when I first came by—“ before Fenris was on him again, running his nose down the side of Anders’ neck and stopping at the crook, then inhaling.

“You always smell so good,” Fenris’s voice was gravel, something deep within his chest that Anders could feel in his entire body. He pulled Anders back towards the bed, a devious smile blooming across his lips when Anders let him, all resistance in his body dissipated like smoke in the wind. He followed when Anders fell onto the bed, body bracketing him like a shield.

“What do you want?”

The words snapped Anders out of his daze—what did he want?

Fenris must have noticed his confused expression, because he clarified, “What do you want me to do to you?”

Anders swallowed.“I’m—I’m not sure. I was only half joking when I said this is moving faster than I expected. I don’t want us to do anything and then end up regretting it later.”

Fenris stared down at him, gaze unreadable, then slowly lowered himself until Anders could feel the soft exhales of his breath; Fenris did not seem to be the slightest bit affected by their actions, even though Anders knew he had to be an inferno on the inside, if his words were true.

Anders squirmed under Fenris’s gaze, so he added, “I suppose nothing below the belt right now. I don’t want you to be chaste, per se, I just think we shouldn’t go quite that far yet.”

“You do not wear a belt.”

Exasperation coloured Anders’ voice when he said, “Below the robes, then, Maker, Fenris, are you doing this on purpose?”

Fenris’s eyes were bright with mischief when he responded, “Perhaps,“ followed by, “no touching, that is all?”

His accent was as heavy as Anders had ever heard it, and something about the way Fenris repeated the words rang alarm bells in his head. He couldn’t think of anything Fenris could possibly be planning, however, so he nodded, perhaps a bit hesitantly. With little fanfare, Fenris took Anders’ wrists and held them in the empty space above him, pressed against a pillow. “So neither of us is tempted,” he said, by way of explanation.

Fenris could feel Anders' pulse racing through the thin skin of his wrists, and when he lifted his head to speak in the other man's ear, his voice was low and smooth. Tevene spilled from his lips like a stream of honey, slow and decadent. Beneath him, he felt Anders shudder and an almost feline expression crossed Fenris’s face. He shifted, letting his lips ghost over Anders’ as he spoke, just shy of actually touching.

"Look at you, trembling for me like a newborn babe. You don't even know what you want, do you? You would let me do anything to you. I could probably take you against the wall and you wouldn't even try to stop me. I will respect your wishes, but know that next time, I may not be so kind as to ask again."

Anders moaned, "Fenris, Maker, I don't know what you're saying, but keep talking to me like that and I may finish in my smalls."

Fenris tilted his hips and leaned into Anders, green eyes heavy lidded. "That would not be advisable. Do you want to walk back to your home like that? Do you want everyone to see proof of what I can reduce you to?"

The last sentence was muttered in Tevene again, punctuated by a long, catlike stretch from Fenris, his body arching and pressing against Anders before retreating again. Anders bit back another moan, and Fenris smirked, biting lightly at Anders’ throat. “The rooms are soundproof. Let me hear your voice.”

Anders groaned aloud, “Fenris, you’re going to kill me.”

Fenris spoke with his mouth still against Anders’ throat, “The Orlesians call it the little death. Is that what you want from me? Do you wish for a sweet death?”

Anders’ head was spinning, caught in a whirlwind of arousal and surprise—he hadn’t expected Fenris, his quiet student from the back of the class, to have such a filthy mouth. Fenris looked up at Anders’ silence, taking in the flush that Anders knew would probably be travelling down his entire torso at this point, like one big ball of arousal. He blinked back to awareness, then said, “Fenris, I will take anything you give me at this point.”

“You say such dangerous things, mage,” Fenris began to run his fingers along Anders’ robe, in the approximate area of his nipples, “I find myself wanting to take advantage of you. I want to hear every sound you can make and I want to have you on every surface of this room.” He met Anders’ eyes, “I will follow your request, though.”

“I mean—“

Fenris didn’t allow Anders to finish his sentence before his lips were on him again. He bit down, harder than any other time, and the sound Anders let out was loud enough that they would have been able to hear it down the hallway were it not for the soundproofing. Fenris’s tongue was inside his mouth the moment he opened it, and he dragged sharp teeth over Anders’ tongue. When an incisor nicked Anders’ tongue hard enough to bring forth blood, Fenris sucked on the muscle until the flow stopped.

Fenris had yet to release his hands, and at this point, Anders wasn’t sure if he wanted him to. Fenris’s hands were like an anchor, the one thing keeping him tethered to reality. The stretch was beginning to burn in his muscles, a not unpleasant feeling that only added to the rest of the sensations coursing through his body. Fenris was taking full advantage of Anders’ one request, and he could feel himself getting close to release even though Fenris had barely touched him.

“Fenris, I—“ words failed him as Anders looked up at Fenris in a panic. Fenris grinned at him wolfishly, sharp teeth on full display in a way that tickled something in Anders’ hindbrain. He felt like an animal trapped by a larger predator. Even though Fenris was shorter than Anders, like this, he loomed over him, shaggy white hair falling about his face.

“Come for me, Anders.”

And it was that, Fenris saying his name for the first time in that voice, in a language he couldn’t even understand, that took Anders down. His arms flexed in Fenris’s grasp, and he let out a high, throaty sounding whine. His entire body shook and his hands clenched and released above him, as if looking for something to grab on to. Eventually, when Anders stilled, only a few aftershocks that made his body twitch, Fenris sat back, releasing his wrists. The action was not immediately acknowledged; Anders had a far away look in his eyes, and it took a few moments before he seemed to return to himself. He lowered his arms shakily.

In a voice that did not sound at all like it had just made Anders come completely untouched, Fenris said, "Welcome back. I see you ignored my advice. Now you will have to return home like this."

Still, Fenris appeared to be completely unaffected. The only tell was that his accent had yet to lighten up, sounding as if he were caressing every word before releasing it into the air. His gaze raked up and down Anders slowly, and Anders felt another shudder run through his body.

"Luckily for you, it is the Rose. I am sure it is nothing unusual to see here."

Anders hit the back of his head against the headboard, a dull thud ringing out in the silence of the room.

—

Fenris wasn’t quite so cruel as to make Anders walk home with his own spend drying between his legs, tossing the other man a washcloth with which to clean himself and a fabric pouch to place his soiled smalls in. He gave Anders another biting kiss—he really was a toothy creature—before letting Anders leave. Anders made certain to avoid the eyes of any and all of the courtesans and courtiers as he left; while the room may have been soundproofed, Anders’ appearance, mussed hair and swollen red lips and dishevelled robes, made it more than obvious what he’d been up to. Fenris had offered to walk Anders home, it was rather late, but Anders didn’t trust Fenris, or himself, truly, once they were alone again.

As soon as he entered the clinic, Anders rushed into his room, staring into a mirror to see the damage Fenris had wrought. For reasons he couldn’t understand, the single mirror in Fenris’s room was only neck high, forcing one to crouch if they wanted to see their own face, and when he saw his neck, he regretted not checking before he left.

Anders looked like he’d been attacked by a vampire. Red marks, clear results of sharp teeth, littered his neck like a collar, and when he rolled up his sleeves, he was already bruising at the wrists from the force of Fenris’s grip. Anders had never been ashamed of being a mage, had always worn it like a badge of honour, and now he was particularly grateful as he healed the evidence of Fenris’s passions. Anders hadn’t expected him to be quite so aggressive in bed, even with minimal touching. He liked to use his teeth and he liked to pull Anders around and even the way he used his voice was an act of war.

The mere memory of that voice, speaking Fenris’s native language so fluently, made Anders run hot. He wanted to open the clinic the next day—or today, he’d lost track of time with Fenris— and he knew his thoughts would be on nothing but their time together. He gave himself a quick wash off, cold water, he wanted to risk nothing, before shuffling into bed. It wasn’t nearly as soft as Fenris’s, but that didn’t stop him from falling asleep almost immediately.

The next morning found Anders well-rested. No dreams had found him, a blessing as a Grey Warden, and his body felt loose and relaxed. Apparently having an orgasm that temporarily took you from your body from nothing more than someone’s voice was a great nightcap. As he wandered his room, yawning and getting ready to open the clinic, he marvelled at the turn of events his life had taken.

He’d come to the city following his boyfriend at the time, a mages’ rights activist, and when the man had died, made Tranquil then murdered by templars, Anders spiralled. He started sleeping around, which was incidentally how he met Isabela, until he landed his current job and found purpose again. He never expected to have another relationship again—people tended to not want to deal with Grey Wardens and their shortened lifespans, Karl was just a fortunate outlier,—and even when he’d only expected to be friends and nothing else with Fenris, that was more than he could have ever asked for.

Anders had a quick breakfast of bread and cheese, then opened the clinic. It didn’t take long for patients to start streaming in, a steady flow that was easy for Anders to get lost in. The rhythmic motions of bandaging wounds and applying poultices and stealthily healing infections with magic were soothing, calming his thoughts until his mind was as calm as an interrupted river.

The peace was abruptly interrupted when a runner, a young man probably no older than fourteen, from the mines burst in, still covered in soot.

“Healer, you have to come quick! There was a collapse at the mines and a bunch of the men are hurt!”

Panicked murmurs began to fill the clinic, with some of the less injured patients getting up and leaving in a rush, worried for their loved ones. Anders looked around; there weren’t too many more people, and they all had only mild injuries. He looked back at the runner and said, “I’ll be there shortly. Go back and tell them to move anyone that can still walk. If anyone seems to have a neck or back injury, do not move them.”

The lad nodded, then rushed out again to deliver the message. Anders flipped the sign on the clinic door indicating its sudden closed status, and hurried to finish the last few people still in the building. When everyone was gone, he assembled a pack of items he was likely to need—elfroot and lyrium potions, bandages, splints and the like, then hastily made his way to the mines.

—

It was chaos.

Men ran around, yelling and barking orders, while the city guard tried to keep back the steadily growing crowd. When Anders showed up, one of the leaders of the mines waved him in before the guard could stop him, with some excuse about Anders being their mine mage, then said, “We moved the less injured like you said, but there are still men trapped underneath the rubble. We can get to them, but it’ll take some time. The guards will let you use magic as long as we’re here to supervise.”

Anders grit his teeth at the rule; mages were allowed to do magic freely, but only if they had someone to keep watch over them, which was an entire field of training in itself. The mines kept such people on staff precisely for these situations, despite them being an expensive bunch to hire; they had to have so many people allotted for so many mages. He nodded through his irritation—it wasn’t the first time he’d had to deal with the rule, and it was still better than the draconian laws he'd grown up with, where all forms of magic were banned—and made his way to where the largest crowd of miners seemed to be gathered.

“What’s going on? How many are still down there?” Anders didn’t bother with greeting or explaining who he was, the robes and staff made that obvious enough.

One of the men spoke up, “At least three. We don’t know if they’re conscious or not; they’re not answering our calls.”

Anders swore. He wasn’t the only mage there, but his specialities lay in healing and combat magic. It would be slow going for him to magic the rubble out of the way. A thought came to him, suddenly, and he motioned over one of the runners.

“Go to the Rose—I know, just listen to me,—and ask for Fenris. Tell them Anders needs him.”

Anders didn’t bother telling the boy to let them know it was urgent; he would probably do that on his own, and besides that, Fenris had to know if Anders was calling for him purposefully, it was serious. He turned back to the miners. “I’m going to conserve my energy until we get them out. I need you lot to distribute potions to the people that need them, and lyrium potions to the mages that need those. Separate them from the people with more severe injuries, and I’ll look at them individually. I have someone coming that’ll be able to get the rest out a lot faster than I can.”

The men nodded, and Anders gave them satchels with the potions, trusting them to use their good judgement. He found and healed the people that he could tell immediately needed it until the runner came back, Fenris in tow. He looked surprisingly cool around all the madness, and gave a sigh of relief when he saw Anders, uninjured.

“Where do you need me?” Curt and to the point, Fenris wasted no time asking for directions, and Anders was grateful for his warrior’s training, knowing Fenris would be able to keep his cool despite the frantic energy all around them.

Anders stood and bade Fenris follow him to the first spot he’d gone to. “They said there are at least three people still down there, they’re not certain if they’re conscious or not.”

“And if they are not alive?”

Anders hadn’t wanted to think about that possibility, but again, Fenris, ever the pragmatist, went straight to it. Anders hesitated before answering, “I’m not certain; they didn’t say, but I think, for right now, focus on anyone that’s still alive. It’s better for us to focus on the people that we can still save, and let them get the rest once everything’s cleared.”

Fenris nodded, then, as Anders and several of the passing miners watched, entranced, his brands flared and he phased right through the stone. One of the miners whistled, muttering, “You see everything in this Maker-damned city.”

—

Inside the mine, Fenris waved debris that was still falling away from his face. He couldn’t immediately see anyone, but there were several tunnels that branched off from the entrance, so he rushed through each one, calling out as he did. At one of them, farthest away from the entrance and blocked off by another wall of stone, he heard a voice call out, “We’re back here! We’ve got injured!”

“Step back if you are close, I’m coming through,” Fenris said before lighting his brands again and stepping through the stone. As Anders said, there were three men behind the rock, one of them lying on the ground, silent, with a wound on his head, while another attempted to rinse it with a waterskin.

“Do we have healers?” The man that had called out to Fenris didn’t comment on him walking through the stone, instead pointing at the injured man when Fenris nodded in confirmation, “Take Joseph first. A chunk of coal got him good and he hasn’t gotten up since.”

Fenris nodded again, then moved to pick the injured man up. He kept his movement as gentle as he could, holding on to the man tightly as he phased them both through the rock. He repeated the action at the entrance, then brought the man to Anders when he saw the mage still standing nearby.

“He is the only one that is injured. There are two others that are uninjured, do you wish for me to retrieve them right now as well?”

Anders chewed his lip for a moment, then responded, “Yes, get them, too, if you can. We don’t know how stable the rest of the mines are, and there’s risk of another collapse with how much movement we’re doing up here.”

Fenris tilted his head in confirmation of Anders’ requests, then went back to rescue the other two men. Once he brought them back, it didn’t take much time at all to rescue anyone else that may have still been trapped. By the time everyone was retrieved and any pressing wounds were healed, the sun was low in the sky and the night chill was beginning to creep in. Anders and Fenris were sitting with some of the other miners, just in case they were needed again, and when the all-clear was finally given, Anders dropped his head to Fenris’s shoulder with a weary sigh.

“Come home with me tonight, would you?”

—

When Anders and Fenris finally made it back to the clinic, Anders was struggling to stay on his feet. He had just sat in a chair when there was a knock at the door. He groaned beneath his breath, “Maker, please, no more,” but before he could answer it, Fenris was there, opening the door with a scowl.

“If it is not urgent, come back tomorrow.”

Anders hissed Fenris’s name as he stood and nudged the man away from the door with a hip. In front of him stood another mine urchin, this one much, much younger than anyone else that Anders had seen. He held an orange cat in his hands and tears began to track lines in the soot on his face when he said, frantic, “Mine Cat’s hurt! Help him!”

The cat was still in his hands, breathing shallowly, and Anders, ignoring Fenris’s grumbled protests, put his hands on the small animal, allowing some of his remaining magic to flow into the creature’s tiny body. When the cat stirred, then opened yellow eyes, the boy made an excited sound.

“Thank you, mister!” then, “Can you watch him? The mines are too dangerous and the adults wouldn’t let me ask you to help him earlier. They said he wasn’t important, but Mine Cat is just as important as everyone else!”

The words were said with the kind of offence only a child could muster in such a situation, and despite his fatigue, Anders found himself holding out his arms for the animal. Mine Cat looked at him and when a soft purr began to rumble in his chest, Anders fell in love instantly. “Of course. I’ll watch after him if you promise to come visit him sometime.”

The boy’s face brightened. “Thank you, mister,” he repeated, “I’ll come see him every day!” Then he was rushing off, waving at Anders as he did so.

Anders looked at Fenris, smiling at his disgruntled expression, then began, “I think a cat is the least I deserve after—“ He stumbled, causing the cat to leap out of his arms and rush to hide under a cot. Fenris caught him with a worried sound, frowning when Anders said, voice faint, “I think I overexerted myself today.”

Fenris helped him to his room, placing him on his bed and turning to face him with crossed arms, “There was no reason for you to do that. You have used too much magic today to waste it on a cat.”

“Fenris, I couldn’t leave him to die!”

“You could have, actually.”

“He’s a worker, too!”

Fenris ran an exasperated hand down his face. Anders hadn’t noticed before, in the chaos at the mines, but Fenris was in his casual clothing, completely unarmoured, something he didn’t expect for the situation Fenris had anticipated coming into.

“Fenris, where is your armour?”

Fenris looked down, then back up at Anders. “I was told you needed help and that there were injuries. I did not wish to waste time.”

Even though Fenris had confessed his attraction to Anders, it still surprised him every time Fenris seemed to take him into consideration before himself. He pulled at Fenris’s hand. “Come here, sit down with me.” When Fenris was sat beside him, Anders blinked his dizziness away, black spots were beginning to crowd his vision, he really needed to lay down soon, then said in a dazed voice, “You’re sweet and a bit foolish. Let me kiss you before I pass out,” and did precisely that. The last thing he registered before darkness took him was the soft pressure of Fenris’s lips against his own.

—

“Fenris,” Anders whined, drawing out the last syllable, “my head. I think it’s going to explode.”

All his words got him was a flat look from Fenris, and a judgemental, “You did not listen to my words yesterday. Deal with your consequences.”

Anders sat at the table and put his head in his hands, “I thought you liked me,” he said, voice muffled. He heard Fenris give a huff of laughter, then say, “If I did not like you, I would not have gotten you breakfast. And something for the…Cat,” and Anders’ head shot up.

Fenris opened a rather large basket, how quaint, and pulled out an assortment of foodstuffs. Wrapped meat pies with oil staining and glistening through the parchment, fruit fresh enough to have just been picked mere hours ago, loaves and rolls of bread that still steamed from the oven, and an assortment of cheeses, soft, hard, and everything in between.

Without thinking, Anders said, “Fenris, I love you,” then got up to kiss the other man on the cheek. He didn’t notice how Fenris seemed to freeze at his words, too busy surveying the food in front of him, hands on his hips, as if he couldn’t decide what he wanted to eat first. “You know I’m a Grey Warden, right? I could eat half of this right now.”

When he didn’t get a response, he looked over at Fenris, still motionless. “Fenris?”

“Repeat that,” was the first thing Fenris said when he seemed to find his voice again.

“Pardon me?”

“What you just said,” Fenris was clenching his teeth now.

“That I could eat half of this right now?”

“Before.”

“That I’m a Grey Warden? I meant to tell you—“

“Before.”

“That I—oh.”

Anders looked at Fenris, who wasn’t looking at him, gaze somewhere far in the distance. He spoke, voice cautious, “I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking, if you don’t feel—“

“Say it again.”

“What?” Anders was beginning to feel like this conversation was very one-sided.

“Say it again.”

“I love you,” the words were said in a soft voice, as if Anders were frightened of Fenris’s reaction.

Silence, then Fenris was on him in a flash, lips and tongue and teeth, kissing, licking, biting. Anders was caught in the whirlwind of his passion, and could only gasp helplessly as Fenris kissed him until he was lightheaded. He growled into Anders’ mouth, voice dripping with promise, “Bedroom.”

Anders swallowed, eyes darting to the table, “But the food…”

“Will be there when I’m finished with you.”

“Pounce—“

“Will not touch it. Do you want me to carry you to your bedroom like a bride while you continue to make excuses, or will you walk yourself?”

“I-I’ll walk—“

Fenris’s voice was all smoke and sin and he muttered filth into Anders’ ear in a mixture of Tevene and Common as the two made their way to the room, Fenris’s hands roaming over every inch of skin they could reach.

“You will not be able to speak when I am finished with you,” “I will have you in ways that will make the Maker blush,” “I’m going to fuck you so hard your ancestors feel it.”

When they tumbled into Anders’ bed, Fenris growled, in a repeat of before, “What do you want me to do to you?”

“Anything, everything,” was Anders’ breathless response.

The look Fenris gave Anders would make Desire demons look away.

“Take off your robes before I rip them off,” Fenris said, and from the way he was glaring at Anders’ clothing, he was completely serious in his threat. Anders struggled to lift his robes over his head while Fenris bit at every inch of skin as it was revealed to him.

When he was finally disrobed, Fenris ran sharp nails down his torso, enthralled at the lines of red they left. It made Anders shudder and a soft moan slipped past his lips. Fenris’s head whipped up to look at him calculatingly.

“You like that.” It wasn’t a question, and Anders moaned again, louder, when Fenris repeated the action in the same spot, so close to drawing blood Anders could see the vessels crowding to the surface.

“I do,” was breathed into the air. Anders grabbed one of Fenris’s hands and put it on his head, looking at him with a clear expectation, and arching into his touch when Fenris latched on and pulled. Anders let out a gasp at the sudden, sharp pain of it, the sound immediately transforming into a whine when he felt Fenris’s sharp teeth nipping the delicate skin of his throat. Fenris spoke against him, never moving his mouth, and the motion, the heat of his breath, made Anders shiver.

“Marks?”

Anders tried to nod furiously and succeeded in doing nothing but making the grip in his hair tighter, a warning.

“Maker, yes, please, I can heal them—“

“No,” Fenris looked up sharply, green eyes flashing, “leave them. I want to be able to see them days from now. I want you to remember who did this to you. You healed them before; do not do it again.”

“Fuck, Fenris. Okay, I won’t heal them, I have robes that I can wear, I’ll let everyone see them, I’ll do whatever you want if you just keep touching me.”

Fenris laughed lowly, intoxicated on the power he seemed to hold over Anders; the only other time he’d had this sort of control over a mage, it had been carefully regulated, him nothing more than an unwilling participant. Having Anders here, beneath him and pleading for him, telling him to do anything he wanted, whatever he wanted, was a heady feeling.

Nips turned into bites, a dark promise of the marks that would bloom red like scattered rose petals hours from now, indents from Fenris’s teeth where he hadn’t bitten quite so hard littered around them like thorns.

Anders had never been one to restrain his voice, in life or in bed, and he was glad that Fenris had the foresight to close the clinic and lock the door when he came in. He could feel every touch Fenris left like a brand, heat travelling wherever he touched him. When Fenris finally, finally, began to remove his smalls, Anders pushed him away. He moved back with an annoyed huff of air, and Anders said, “It’s not fair that I’m the only one naked. Take off your clothes.”

Fenris tilted his head, the action looking somehow predatory, but acquiesced, pulling off his shirt and tugging off his leggings. Anders let out a soft “oh” at the sight, surprised that—

“Fenris. You’re not wearing any underwear.”

Fenris looked at Anders as if he might be a bit daft. “No,” he said slowly, “I do not. The, hm,” a pause, “the bottoms are too tight.”

“The leggings,” Anders said, automatically, brain activating into ‘teacher mode’ in an instant.

“Yes, those,” Fenris said, exasperated. “Calm yourself, turn off your mind. You are not my teacher right now. You are simply mine.” He punctuated his words by pulling Anders’ bottoms completely off, releasing his cock into the air. Fenris spider-walked his fingers up the shaft of it, featherlight touches that made Anders tremble in anticipation.

“Humans are such strange, hairy creatures,” Fenris said, tugging lightly on Anders’ pubic hair in a way that made him twitch, “and your teeth are so blunt, your nails so flat; it is like you were meant to be prey animals.”

Sometimes, the way Fenris spoke and moved made Anders feel like precisely that, and his instincts were currently going haywire with the desire to flee at the way Fenris was looking up at him, eyes reflecting the sunlight that streamed through the room’s small window in a way that was distinctly catlike. When he licked up Anders’ shaft, sudden, and with no warning, there was the slightest bit of roughness to his tongue, usually unnoticed when they were kissing.

“I’ve never been with an elf,” Anders said, apropos of nothing.

Fenris grinned—lazy, predatory,—and said, “Good. Because you will never be with another,” and then he was sinking down, down Anders’ shaft until his nose brushed Anders’ pubic hairs. He stayed there a moment, simply breathing Anders in, then he moved up, grooved tongue dragging up the heated skin until Anders was practically shaking with the stimulation.

“If you have never been with an elf, then you have never tasted an elf, no?”

It only took a moment for Anders to grasp the meaning behind Fenris’s words and he swallowed the saliva that was already pooling in his mouth. Without bothering to answer the question, he pulled Fenris up, then grabbed at his hips, pulling him closer. “Normally, I’d want us to pleasure one another with our mouths at the same time,” he said, “but I think I would finish before you if we did that."

“Pity. Next time, then,” Fenris said, allowing Anders to pull him close until his hands pressed against the wall and his cock sat proud and erect in front of Anders’ lips.

Anders, who just stared at it until Fenris said, “Well? It will not suck itself.”

He glared up at Fenris, then leaned forward and gave a tentative lick, keeping his eyes on Fenris and gauging his reaction. His expression hadn’t changed in the slightest, and Anders’ brows furrowed. If Fenris wanted a blowjob, then he would very well get a blowjob. He leaned forward again, taking the head in, this time, and swirling his tongue around it, pink and slightly damp. He didn’t go any farther, just taking in the size and shape of it, the taste and smell; there was something distinctly grassy about the taste of Fenris’s precome, and the skin at his groin smelled markedly inhuman in a way he couldn’t quite place.

From the few elves he’d had as patients, Anders knew they tended to run on the smaller side, when compared to humans, but Fenris more than made up for that in girth; Anders knew his cheeks would be bulging by the time he slid down. He accepted it and gave himself the mental challenge of making Fenris moan and shake by the time he was done with him.

He moved his head down, trying to hollow his cheeks as he did so, but only succeeding in looking foolish as Fenris’s cock pushed at the sides. He felt a hand carding through his hair, touching but not pulling again, not yet. He didn’t look at Fenris until he was all the way down, grazing his blunt human teeth gingerly across the flesh from time to time, just light enough to be a tease, and gagging just the slightest bit at how full his mouth felt. When he finally looked up at Fenris, the elf was looking down at him with a devious expression. “Remember to breathe,” was all he said before his fist was tightening in Anders’ hair and pushing him down, holding him until tears pricked at his eyes, then pulling him up again, only to repeat the motion.

Anders gagged wetly, knowing saliva was trickling down his chin in the most abhorrent way, but Fenris didn’t seem to mind—he almost sounded like he enjoyed it, if the soft grunts he let out were any indication. Anders lifted his hands to tap Fenris’s hips, to let him know it was getting to be too much, then paused in his motion. Fenris was testing him, he knew it. He glared up at him defiantly, a sight that was surely comical given his current position, and Fenris laughed before allowing Anders to raise his head, sputtering inelegantly, “Maker, are you trying to choke me to death?”

Fenris looked down at Anders, eyes heavy lidded, and—finally!—a slight flush beginning to form on his face. “I knew you could handle it, do not complain.”

It was praise, even if it wasn’t exactly phrased as such, and it made any indignation Anders had crawling to his tongue die away. In a nonchalant voice, as if he were talking about the weather, Fenris said, “I’m going to fuck you now, and I’m going to make sure everyone in Darktown knows my name by the time we’re done.”

The words sent such a wave of arousal through Anders that he couldn’t speak, just stare at Fenris with wide eyes. He knew well by now that Fenris didn’t exaggerate; if he said he was going to do something, he did it.

It was too late to soundproof the clinic.

Fenris pushed Anders back down towards his pillow then crawled above him. He looked around for a moment, then asked, “Where is your oil?”

Anders blushed, “Ah, well, mages don’t tend to—let me just show you. Give me your hand, if you would,” when Fenris reached out, cautious, Anders murmured, “magic,” a warning for Fenris that he tried to remember every time they were alone, and a palmful of grease was conjured into Fenris’s hand. “It’s nothing special, but it’s good enough when you don’t have much else or you’re in a hurry.”

Fenris was very much in a hurry, because he wasted no time smearing it across his fingers and circling Anders’ hole. “Again, I will ask, do you want this? Because I will not stop once I am inside you.”

“Fenris, I just had your entire cock in my mouth, yes I want it.”

“Good.”

Then Fenris was pushing in. His fingers were much more slim, more elegant, than Anders’ own, but that didn’t stop the burn when the first one entered. His arms raised, gripping Fenris’s biceps. “Sorry, it’s been a while.”

That made Fenris purr, quite literally purr, the sound rumbling through his chest until Anders could almost feel the vibrations. He’d forgotten elves could do that when their emotions were particularly high; even if Fenris didn’t show it on his face, his body’s natural instincts would always give him away. It was cute.

Anders didn’t comment on it, worried it might make Fenris self-conscious enough to stop, and when a second finger entered him, any thought about biology or instinct or anything left his mind. His world was only Fenris and the pressure inside him. He took a breath to relax, knowing the tightness he could feel was his own fault, and Fenris made an approving sound. He scissored his fingers for a few moments, obtaining a few of Anders’ breathy moans for his trouble, then stopped and pulled Anders’ legs up until they circled his waist. He lined his cock up at Anders’ entrance, but before he could push in, he looked at Anders, eyes dark.

“Say it again.”

Anders looked at Fenris for a moment, confused, before the flame flickered to life, “I love you.”

Fenris pushed in, making Anders moan in pleasure, legs shaking where they were wrapped around Fenris’s waist.

“Again.”

“I love you.”

Fenris pulled out, then back in, skin slapping against skin.

“Again.”

“I love you, fuck, Fenris, I love you.”

Fenris’s hips pistoned into Anders, alternating between quick, shallow thrusts, and deeper, harder ones that made Anders’ toes curl and his hands squeeze Fenris’s biceps, choked, bitten off words of, “I love you,” trembling through the air. When Fenris lifted Anders’ knees, pulling his legs over his shoulders and pressing forward, a stretch Anders knew he would feel for days, he grinned, feral.

“Say my name. Let everyone in Kirkwall know who you belong to.”

Anders was never going to be able to look his patients in the eye again.

When Fenris hit his prostate, Anders did exactly as he asked, voice cracking between the syllables of Fenris’s name.

“You sing so prettily for me.”

“Maker above, Fenris, who taught you to talk like this?”

Fenris gave a breathless laugh, even as his hips continued their relentless movements, “I work in a brothel, Anders; who do you think?”

Every time Fenris said his name in that voice, in that accent, Anders fell for him a little more. He could figure why it took Fenris so long to say his name without needing to ask the other man, and the realisation that Fenris trusted him enough to ignore a rule of not addressing mages directly, a rule that had likely been beaten into his bones, made him want to pull him into his arms and never let go.

Fenris bit down Anders’ chest, as far as he could in their current position, then lifted his head to murmur into Anders’ ear, “In Tevinter, they call relations between elves breeding, like we are nothing more than a bunch of animals. Do you want that? Do you want me to breed you, Anders, fill you full of my seed so any other elf can smell me on you? So they can know that you have been taken, claimed, stuffed full by another?”

If this was truly the result of Isabela’s workers, they all needed a raise.

Anders was leaking all over his stomach, a puddle that gathered in his navel and had begun to run down the sides of his stomach. Fenris leaned down, giving Anders’ poor thighs a break, to lap it up, tongue running rough across the skin, then he came back up, crushing his lips against Anders’ and forcing his tongue inside, making Anders taste his own arousal.

He moaned into Fenris’s mouth, the sound eagerly swallowed up, and chased his lips when Fenris pulled back. Fenris laughed at the following whine, drunk on the way Anders chased after him, even pinned down as much as he was. He knew he could go longer, could go all night, if he truly desired, but Anders was only human and had human limitations when it came to this.

A conversation for another day.

“Are you close? Do you want me to let you finish?”

“Please, Fenris.”

“Stay with me for a little longer. I will give you what you desire.”

Anders trembled, from top to bottom, but he tried his best to hang on, to be good for Fenris. Fenris was just short of hitting Anders’ prostate, too close to be accidental, and Anders didn’t even notice he was crying until he felt the roughness of Fenris’s tongue on his cheek.

“A little longer, my heart.”

Anders couldn’t find it in him to moan, whine, make any noise. He could only take what Fenris gave him, his body little more than a vessel for Fenris’s pleasure. He held on, drifting, until he felt Fenris’s fingers on his cock, a drive directly into his prostate, then the words, the same words from before, the ones he still couldn’t understand, spoken into his ear.

“Come for me, Anders.”

And as before, Anders found completion. His hands grasped Fenris’s arms so tightly the colour fled from his fingers, and he moaned Fenris’s name, a long, loud, broken sound that could probably be heard outside the clinic. His release splattered between them, coating his torso in milky white, splashes of it hitting high enough to reach Fenris’s chest.

When Anders tightened around him, around his cock, Fenris let himself follow behind. He spilled inside Anders, cock throbbing in time with the beating of his own heart, far more than any human would ever release, and Anders took it gasping and whimpering in overstimulation as Fenris continued to pulse inside him.

“Fenris, how much—?”

“Elves used to have mating periods. There is a reason Tevinter calls it breeding; our bodies need to make sure it takes.”

“Maker save me.”

—

By the time Fenris’s body had finally ceased, Anders understood the meaning of the phrase fucked out. When Fenris pulled out, an absolutely obscene amount of spend following the motion, Anders gave a tired murmur of, “magic,” then waved it away with a spell. Fenris looked distinctly put out by the action.

“I would have cleaned you.”

“I know what you were planning,” Anders said, squinting when Fenris looked away guiltily, “with the way you just abused my poor hole, you must be insane if you think I could handle that tongue of yours today.”

“Another time, then,” Fenris said, a promise in his voice. He wiped Anders down, gentle over the multitude of marks that covered his body. “You should have stopped me,” he murmured when Anders flinched when he touched a particularly deep mark.

Anders shook his head, “Absolutely not. I told you you could leave marks, and if I didn’t want you to, I would have said something. Besides,” he stuttered, shuddering when Fenris grazed a nipple, ignoring the way the other man looked up at him with sudden hunger, “I’m on vacation. It wouldn’t be the first time the clinic had to be closed a little longer than usual.”

His words seemed to relieve some tension in Fenris’s shoulders, and Anders tugged him down, saying, “I loved every second, don’t ever think I didn’t. I love you, and every bit of you,” he gave Fenris a quick kiss on the lips, pulling back before Fenris could take a chance to deepen it, then said, “and I would love you more if you brought me breakfast in bed. Or lunch. I’m not certain what time it is anymore.”

Fenris stood, looking over Anders where he lounged on his sheets, “Anything you command, mage.” The words were said in jest, making Anders roll his eyes, and when Fenris came back, he had a tray laden with food, but an inscrutable expression on his face. He sat the food down on the end table closest to Anders, then said, “I have potentially unfortunate news,” Anders looked up, a roll halfway to his mouth, “the cat…”

“Ser Pounce-A-Lot, I was going to tell you his name before you attacked me. What’s wrong with him?”

“I was mistaken when I said he would not touch the food. Several of the meat pies have been lost.”

He said it as if delivering a message to a commander that his soldiers had died, and Anders laughed, the sound brighter than it had any right to be, here in dreary Kirkwall. “We will hold a funeral in honour of the fallen. Now get back in bed before I drag you back.”

Fenris crawled into bed behind Anders, curling around his body and draping an arm over his chest. He breathed in Anders’ scent; sweat and spend and magic and elf, and let his body relax.

“As you ask, amatus.”