"Really? Perhaps they should start making slaves Tranquil—then they wouldn't dream of escaping! Wouldn't that be wonderful?"
And that was all it took to cause the elf to turn on his heels, his stance heavier, trudging uncaringly through the dirt and debris of the slavers' den. The broken glass was intrusive and tore through his skin like wet newspaper but he didn't care; couldn't. He found himself back in Danarius' old mansion. It wasn't his, it never could be: he'd have it no other way. Fenris preferred watching the place slowly delapidate, wine-stained wallpaper peeling and flaking from the walls, like old wounds, the corpses that refused to rot and the fleeting whispers that escaped through the ever-thin Veil, than claiming it as his own.
The abomination visited him later. The exchange was quick, concise. He resented how the mage skirted around his apologies, almost shamelessly so. He refused to have his wounds addressed, the pain was preferable to the humiliation of allowing a mage to be of any use to him. Such visits were commonplace, now. Neither would care to admit that the clash of lyrium lines glowing through the thick fog of their mutual contempt and the burning crackle of lightning over skin was becoming routine.
Their kisses weren't tender. Their tongues would clash through barbed insults and Fenris would bite down, hard. Hard enough to make the mage cry out, but not enough to cause him to leave. The mage's blonde hair, pulled back into a half-ponytail, was too semblant of the Tevinter fashion for his liking. Soon Fenris would be grabbing at flaxen strands, pulling the apostate's head back clumsily as he thrust into him unceremoniously. The pace would become fevered, as it always did, and the abomina- no, Anders, would be moaning and writhing shamelessly underneath him.
He'd make the man beg; string desperate, pleading words together in the hope they'd make sense; whimper and cry out louder,
"Louder. I'm not quite certain all of Hightown has heard you yet, mage. How far you've fallen..."
until they were both spent, heartbeats racing fervidly through rumpled cloth. Neither would insist the other stayed. Anders would excuse himself, as expected, and Fenris would not, couldn't, watch him leave.
