A/N: Hugs to Zevgirl, who makes all my stories readable. This story is dedicated to all of you who requested it. You know who you are :)

The Wounded Coast should have been called Criminal Coast, or Bitterness Beach, or even Sorry Shore. After all, Anders surmised, it was full of bandits, slavers, and bitter Qunari outcasts, and if you went, you were sure to be sorry. Anders definitely was sorry when Hawke dragged them out as if they were headed for a picnic.

"Think of the loot we'll find!" he said cheerfully, giving Anders a wink.

"I'm not interested in ripped pants, raven feathers, or pebbles Hawke," groaned Anders.

"Oh, I don't know about that. Your coat's feathers are looking pretty wilted. You could use some new ones."

"Hey!" Anders brushed at his pauldrons with an offended pout. "They aren't wilted. They just need some… um… oomph!"

"Well, some new black feathers will give them that oomph," said Hawke and moved ahead of the group, whistling some irritating tune he had learned at the Hanged Man.

"I don't like black," grumbled Anders at no one in particular, which was fortunate because the others weren't paying attention to him anyway. Varric was relaying a story about a whore and an unfortunate merchant to Isabela, who was offering advice about how to spice up the story for Varric's next book. The glowy, glowering elf was striding along behind Hawke, clothed in his usual boring gray leathers with the spikes that looked as if they had been torn from a hapless porcupine and glued onto the armor. The Imperium apparently lacks any fashion sense.

As it turned out, it was outcast Qunari they needed to fight this time. Anders wearily tossed out swirling clouds of healing, making them twist in the opposite direction they usually did, just for the fun of it. He even tried making his lightning bolts perform some curly loops in the air just to impress the Tal Vashoth but ended up zapping Fenris's elbow by accident.

"Oops! Sorry!" he called out when Fenris turned to glare at him menacingly.

"Anders, just stick with the usual, okay?" yelled Hawke.

"Oh, fine." Anders sighed at the lack of appreciation and proceeded to cast the spells in their basic, boring form. So much for trying something new and exciting.

The Qunari were hacked to pieces and riddled with arrows in record time, and Anders leaned against a boulder, sipping lyrium while the others looted the corpses.

"Anything interesting?" he asked.

"How about a rusty metal spoon?" Isabela tossed the utensil in the air and caught it with a flourish.

"Ha!" exclaimed Varric. "Here's some tattered sheets! With a little sewing, maybe we can make Fenris some curtains for his mansion." Fenris shot Varric a look that would have reduced most people to dithering puddles of flesh, but dwarves were renowned for their thick skin.

"No raven feathers, I'm afraid," said Hawke, "but here's a moth-eaten scarf that's just the right shade of blue to match your coat, Anders!" He grinned as he walked over to the mage and draped the rather threadbare cloth over Anders's shoulders.

Anders rubbed the fringe between his fingers. "Well, at least it doesn't have any ants or fleas in it," he muttered, mournfully.

By the time they had finished searching the area and cleaning their weapons, the sun was already low in the sky. Hawke led them to a small cave that was really more of a rocky overhang.

"Looks like we're camping out tonight," said Hawke. "Fenris, can you and Anders go fetch some firewood?"

"Hawke, I forgot to wear my gloves today," said Anders. At Hawke's puzzled expression, he waved his bare hands in front of his chest. "Splinters, Hawke. I don't need to get splinters!"

"Oh, you'll be fine. You can borrow mine." Hawke tossed his gloves to Anders, who peered at them skeptically. Hawke made a shooing motion. "Now go on! The sun will be setting soon, and we're all hungry."

Anders sighed and proceeded to follow Fenris down the path to the beach. The Wounded Coast lacked trees, but driftwood lay strewn along the coastline among myriad boulders with jagged edges like teeth that just screamed for some unwary ship to feed them. Fenris and Anders picked their way through the rocks trying to locate wood that wasn't damp from the waves. Hawke's gloves were far too big and flapped about in an annoying fashion, so Anders stuffed them in his belt.

Anders had avoided being alone with Fenris ever since the incident in his clinic when Fenris had demanded his payment. The reclusive elf had made no further mention of that evening, and Anders had been more than happy to leave it in the past. Well, mostly. Sometimes, his cock liked to reminisce about it, and Anders's brain had to take it in hand. Of course, his mind tended to be weak when pleasure was involved, and there were occasional moments when he found himself taking it in hand literally.

For the most part, Anders was thankful (very) that the elf had not returned for a repeat performance (which would have been hard to top). If his cock disagreed, well that was too bad. It was past time it learned some common sense (very far past time).

Anders winced as his right foot stumbled over a broken bottle and turned his ankle. Beaches were supposed to be fun and relaxing, not dangerous. Obviously, the locals lacked knowledge of what a real beach looked like, or surely they would have cleaned up around here.

"No wonder they call it Wounded," said Anders. "These rocks can easily lacerate your knee or tear open your foot. If I really wanted to make money, I could set up clinic in a cave and reap the benefits of healing injured criminals. There are so many different bandits, slavers, and Qunari here that sooner or later they're going to start fighting each other for territory. They would appreciate a good healer, don't you think?"

"What I think is that you never stop talking," said Fenris, stooping over a piece of driftwood as long as his arm. Anders's eyes settled on the taut muscles that stretched beneath the seat of Fenris's leggings. It's just so wrong that someone with such a sour attitude can look that hot. Warmth flooded his groin, and he gritted his teeth as he focused back down on the sand. Oh no, we're not going there, he told his cock firmly.

"Talking relieves boredom and stimulates the mind," said Anders. "When I spent a year in solitary, it was the only thing that kept me sane. Well, that and Mr. Wiggums."

"It's a wonder the templars allowed you to live if they had to listen to your prattle for an entire year."

Anders's face flushed red. "They did much more than allow me to live. I would think you of all people would understand that." When Fenris turned to look at him, startled, he gave a huff and pushed ahead, leaving the elf staring after him. Egotistical bastard, always thinking he has suffered more than anyone else.

Anders was so intent on making a haughty escape that he didn't see the rusty shovel lying across his path. With a short cry, he stumbled over it and stretched out his hand to break his fall, but it landed on a piece of driftwood rather than the soft sand. "Ow!" He regained his balance and straightened to stare down at his stinging palm. A vicious splinter was wedged deeply into the pad of his thumb, and a small trickle of blood was already seeping from the wound. "Andraste's bloody tits!" he yelled in frustration. He kicked at the sand, only to cough at the cloud of dust that erupted from his action.

Fenris approached him, a look of concern on his face that was so fleeting, Anders was sure he must have imagined it.

"Give me your hand, Mage."

"No! You'll hurt it."

Fenris narrowed his eyes at Anders, and his voice dropped to an even deeper level, one that sent shivers up Anders's spine.

"Give it to me now." It was clearly a command, and Anders was surprised at how quickly he obeyed.

Fenris held Anders's hand gingerly, carefully keeping his steel-tipped gauntlets away from the skin. He opened Anders's clenched fingers with a gentleness that reminded Anders of another time… fingers stroking his hair as the bindings around his cock and balls were released… the soft touch of lips tenderly brushing his own. Didn't I dream that?

"Hmmph." Fenris grunted as he examined the splinter. "I will remove it, but you must hold still."

"I am holding still."

"No you're not. You're twitching."

"Well, you would be too if someone was about to yank a splinter the size of a knife from your thumb!"

"It is not that big. You exaggerate, as always."

"Oh, just get it over with." Anders squeezed his eyes shut, biting his lower lip nervously. When he felt the light touch of Fenris's finger against his thumb, he hissed and jerked his hand away.

"What are you doing?" Fenris was glaring at him.

"Sorry, sorry. It's just that… I really hate having splinters removed. Kind of a coward about it, actually." Fenris merely raised his eyebrow, and Anders blew out his breath in frustration. "Never mind. Go ahead." He stuck out his hand and closed his eyes once more.

This time he felt no touch, not even a little pressure. There was a faint tingle, like a miniscule vibration, and then… nothing.

"Well, do it already!"

"It's already done, Mage." Fenris's voice was tight with irritation.

Anders opened his eyes and stared down at his thumb. Sure enough, the splinter was gone, leaving only a tiny cut with a single drop of blood.

"Well, that was quick." Anders chanced a glance at Fenris and almost backpedaled at the sudden intensity in the green eyes. "Uh, thanks."

"You are welcome." Fenris held his gaze for an instant longer before turning away and scooping up the driftwood he had collected thus far. Anders followed him down the beach, resolutely staring at the sand rather than the elf's ass. He couldn't quite shake the feel of that tender touch, however.

A short distance down the shore, they came across a stream emptying into the ocean. The sun was close to setting, but there was still enough light to send sparkles across the rippling water. Fenris stopped at the bank of the stream and set his load of wood down.

"I'm getting a bath before we head back. It will be too dark later to make our way here without tripping over rocks." The elf turned his back and began removing his gauntlets.

"Er… now?" Anders had to admit that the steam looked terribly cool and inviting, and he was tired of feeling sweaty and dusty. But bathing here meant undressing… in front of Fenris… and the last time that had happened…. He felt a throb between his legs as his cock perked up at the memory. Stop it.

"If you wish to remain dirty, that is your choice, but I intend to cleanse myself. I do not relish sleeping with Qunari blood splattered across my body."

Yes, that would be a shame, because it's such a lovely body. Anders gritted his teeth with frustration and squeezed his eyes shut. Knock it off, he scolded his cock. He hates mages, remember? And he always has to be so… so… dominating.

Yes, but we like that, don't we, replied his cock.

No, we most definitely do not!

"Are you having a Justice moment?" Fenris's deep voice interrupted Anders's conversation with his traitorous appendage, and his eyes flew open. The warrior was standing stark naked by the water, looking back at Anders with a brow furrowed with puzzlement.

"No! I just… uh… needed to think about whether I wanted to bathe or not." His tongue felt sluggish in a mouth gone slack as he soaked up the image of Fenris gloriously nude. The elf was unfairly sexy, all lean muscle and tanned, smooth skin that seemed even darker in contrast to the white markings that flowed over his body. And right there, between slim thighs hung his….

Nope. Not going there.

"Suit yourself," said Fenris as he waded into the rippling water, stopping in the center where the water came up to his chest. Leaning his head back, he dipped under the surface and then came back up, silver hair streaming back from his face and trickling rivulets of water down his neck and torso.

Think how nice it would be to just lick that off, said his cock.

Shut. Up.

"Are you coming in or not?" Fenris leaned back against a boulder with one arm draped casually over it, gazing at Anders with eyes half-lidded.

Anders grunted and sat down on a rock to remove his boots. He turned them upside down and gave them a shake, grimacing as sand spilled out. You can't go anywhere around here without getting sand in your shoes. Or your hair. Or your lovely, feathered coat. Maker, I've probably got sand up the crack of my ass.

You could probably get the hot elf over there to slide something else up your ass, said his cock.

Anders resolutely ignored this and stood to remove his coat and underclothes. He sneaked a glance from under his hair to see if Fenris was watching and almost lost his balance when he saw that Fenris was definitely gazing at him. If only Anders's cock wasn't quite so flushed and slightly swollen. Unfortunately, it seemed determined to disobey, and he couldn't stand here forever in only his smallclothes. He stepped out of them with a huff and marched into the stream with as much, or as little, dignity as he could muster.

The water did feel refreshing, still warm from the day's hot sun and lacking the harsh salt of the ocean. The bottom was sand, of course, which was certainly preferable to sharp rocks, and the deepest area came only to his chest. Anders could almost feel the stress and sweat of the day's battle washing away with the current. He tilted his head back and closed his eyes, contentedly soaking in the last rays of the sinking sun.

The current masked any other movement in the stream, and Anders startled when he felt the sudden pressure of another body against his back. A hand settled on his hip, steadying him, and another pulled out the thong in his hair.

"I do believe that I told you to leave your hair down, Mage."

Anders eyes widened, and a tremor raced through his body as his heart suddenly decided to gallop. Blood surged to his cock as memories flooded his mind: hands tying him to the table in his clinic, bandages being wound around his cock, the heady taste of Fenris as he slid into Anders's mouth….

"I… what?" Alarm warred with desire; mind struggled with cock.

"Surely, you haven't forgotten our rules, Magister?"

Uh oh. "You mean… before when we… role-played?" The slim fingers on his hip tightened slightly, but Anders could have easily pulled away if he wished. Unfortunately, his legs seemed to agree more with his cock than his brain.

"Precisely."

"But I haven't played Wicked Grace with you since then! I don't owe you anything!" The hand in his hair drifted down and fingers caressed the nape of his neck, which was thoroughly distracting.

"Actually you do. Perhaps you remember Hawke telling you a week ago of an attempted raid on your clinic?"

"Er… yes?" He did remember it. Hawke had showed up one morning to warn Anders to keep a watchful eye out around Darktown. Apparently, some templars had decided to apprehend Anders but had met a rather unfortunate fate before reaching the clinic. Anders had assumed that Hawke had disposed of them.

"Carver was unable to locate his brother and found me in the Hanged Man. He informed me of the raid, and I took the liberty of thwarting their plan."

"Oh." Oh.

"So as you can see, you are currently in my debt." The fingers at his neck moved back into his hair and tightened into a fist, pulling Anders's head back. "That debt can easily be erased if you decide to cooperate."

Anders's mind was rapidly losing the battle. He could feel the warmth of Fenris's chest against his back, and a hardness was brushing against his ass. His own cock was fully erect by now and demanding attention. It didn't help when Fenris released his hip to trace his finger along the length of Anders's shaft. A moan escaped before he could bite it off.

"I will take that as a yes." The bastard sounded so damn smug.

"And you want to… role-play again?" The thought of Fenris role-playing always made him feel like the world was turned upside-down; it was so ludicrous.

"Yes."

"Can I at least be in control this time?"

"No." There was a brush of wet hair against his ear as Fenris lowered his head, still holding Anders's hair in a tight grip, and bit him right in the sensitive area where his neck met his shoulder. Anders gasped, unconsciously arching back against Fenris and struggling to keep hold of his wits, which were currently running off into the trees with gales of laughter, leaving his poor brain bereft of any common sense. Stupid brain.

"So pliant, Magister? Do you like submitting to your slave?" Fenris began to move towards the bank, tugging at Anders's hair to guide him.

"I am not pliant!"

"You're not trying to fight me either." Fenris pushed him chest first against a large boulder, smoothed by years of exposure to water. The water was only knee-deep, and their erections were both plain to see, water dripping from the smooth shafts.

Anders reached past his huddling mind and managed to pull forth a smidgeon of defiance. "Oh, so it's a tussle you want, is it?" A wicked grin spread across his face as he stretched back his hand to grab Fenris's hip. Two can play at this game.

After years of practice, Anders had mastered the art of using his magic to his advantage in bed. Used carefully, combining just a small amount of sparks and healing magic could achieve wondrous results on the receiver. He called forth this magic now and sent it coursing along Fenris's skin in soft waves.

The warrior's response was even better than he had hoped, but he had forgotten those lyrium markings that were so unique to Fenris. A low cry came from behind him, and the fingers in his hair immediately fell away, allowing Anders to crane his head around to look. The white tattoos were glowing softly as his magic interacted with them, and Fenris's eyes were closed tight, head leaning back, mouth slack with stunned pleasure. Maker, but he is beautiful when he's not glowering at everyone.

Not wanting to overload Fenris's senses, Anders reluctantly drew his magic back into himself. As the markings dimmed, Fenris opened glazed eyes to stare at Anders in shock. The mage couldn't resist a smirk. Bet you never had that experience before, you broody elf.

Unfortunately, Fenris recovered quickly, flipping Anders around and grabbing him by his biceps, slamming him back against the boulder. Dilated pupils almost disappeared behind narrowed eyelids.

"Seeking to gain the upper hand, Magister?" he hissed. "Perhaps you have forgotten just what I'm capable of." Before Anders could respond, he pressed one hand flat against Anders's chest and activated his tattoos.

Lines of lyrium flared to life, and warm tingling spread outward from Fenris's hand, increasing in intensity as Fenris strengthened his power. Anders bowed back against the rock, helpless as waves of mind-numbing pleasure skittered over his skin, suffusing every nerve cell with a bliss that was impossible to block. He writhed wantonly beneath Fenris, keening embarrassingly. Justice roared within, rushing to the surface of his mind to bathe in the glow of lyrium. Within mere seconds, he felt the familiar pressure building at the base of spine, his balls drawing up as the inevitable orgasm approached. Suddenly, he felt fingers close firmly around the base of his cock and squeeze, cutting off any means of coming. Nonono, please! Ecstasy continued to build, but Fenris refused to release him, and Anders cried out in frustration at being left right on the very edge. The keens degenerated into sobs, and he went limp, sagging against the cold surface of the boulder.

Suddenly, the unbearable pleasure ended, although the grip around his cock remained firmly in place. Anders could feel wetness on his cheeks that did not come from the stream. Too dazed to move, he opened his eyes to see Fenris leaning over him, one hand still applying pressure to Anders's cock, the other braced on the rock.

"Have you learned your lesson now, Magister?" Anders could only nod mutely, throat too raw to speak. He had receded from the edge, but his cock was still amazingly hard.

Fenris pressed him harder against the boulder and reached down to gather Anders's weakened legs in his arms, drawing them up and back against Anders's chest.

"Use your grease spell." Anders obeyed, resistance completely melted. Fenris drew his fingers through the grease in Anders's palm and pressed them against the mage's entrance, massaging teasingly until a soft whine escaped Anders's lips. First one finger, then two were inserted and Anders groaned as they stroked and stretched inside him.

"Fenris, please." He was going to hate himself later for this pathetic behavior.

A low growl answered him and then he was being filled, Fenris thrusting in hard enough to cause pain, but Maker, it was so good. He tried to move, to give Fenris better access, but his position made it impossible. Helpless, he could only lay against the rock and let Fenris have his way.

He wasn't going to last long, not after the lyrium torture and with the way Fenris was pounding into him. Don't stop. He kept his eyes open, watching the elf: the ripples of muscle moving under supple skin, full lips parted, dazzling green eyes intense and staring back at him with an emotion Anders rarely saw there.

The pressure built, and Anders lost his ability to focus. A torrent of curses poured from his mouth and his nails scraped against the boulder beneath him. White heat seared through his body, and he cried out as he felt Fenris's markings flare against him, the warrior pulsing deep inside with a groan. Their bodies jerked in tandem as pleasure took hold and shredded every sense of awareness to pieces.

When Anders finally came back to himself, he was lying limply against the rock with Fenris leaning into him, clearly exhausted. Hesitantly, he reached up to tuck a wet strand of hair behind a pointed ear. The gesture was automatic, almost a caress. Fenris jerked his head up, meeting Anders's softened gaze with a confused one. For a moment, they simply stared at each wordlessly, each refusing to look away from the other. Then, Fenris lowered his mouth to Anders, and for the first time since their last intimacy in the clinic, he kissed the mage.

It was a question at first, Fenris clearly trying to decide where he wanted to take this. Anders parted his lips encouragingly, teasing Fenris with his tongue until the elf finally surged forward with decision, meeting Anders's tongue with his own. Fingers, gentle this time, delved into Anders's hair, pulling him closer and deepening the kiss. For a long moment, they simply explored each other with no struggle for control.

When Fenris finally backed away, he gave Anders a long, measured look before turning away and leaving the stream to get dressed. Anders followed, shrugging back into his robes and feeling more refreshed than he had in a long time. It had nothing to do with the stream.

As they gathered up the driftwood and headed back up the beach, Anders tentatively broke the silence.

"Fenris?"

"Hmm."

"You know, my clinic attracts a lot of attention, not only from the templars, but also from the Coterie. A guard would be immensely helpful in discouraging attacks."

Fenris swiveled his head slowly to look at Anders with a lifted eyebrow. "Are you asking me to protect your clinic?"

"I would pay for it, of course." Anders gave him an innocent smile.

"Then consider it done." As Fenris moved ahead, long strides unhindered by the weight of the driftwood, Anders could have sworn he detected the ghost of a smile on the elf's face. Humming to himself happily, he followed along, his footprints joining Fenris's in the soft sand.