Alistair sighed as he removed his armour with the help of a servant. What a mess. The Orlesians were captured or dead, his friend had found himself in command of a total of zero wardens and he was being forced to travel to the Bannorn to deal with bandits and rebels and Maker-knew what else when all he wanted was to be fighting with his former brother in arms.

Damn him for making him king. Damn him for forcing him to marry that woman.

He dismissed the frightened servant who was attending him once his armour was removed and slumped in a chair by the fire in his shirt and breeches, wishing he'd thought to bring some Antivan red from the palace. What he needed right now was a drink. Just one - he knew his limits, but something to relieve the hard knots of tension in his shoulders would be very, very welcome right now.

There was a knock at the door and Alistair got to his feet wearily. No doubt it was Faren, wanting to talk, and much as Alistair missed his friend what he wanted most to do right now was nothing. Sitting in a room, by himself, without his wife or Eamon telling him how he needed to run his kingdom was surprisingly pleasant.

Still, he opened the door, sighing. "Faren..." he started but stopped when he saw that it wasn't the dwarf commander. Instead the mage from earlier - the one Rylock had been so upset over - stood at the doorway, hands behind his back and a sheepish grin on his face.

"Wha..?" Alistair said.

The man sketched a quick bow, revealing a flagon in one of his concealed hands and two goblets in the other. "Your majesty," he said. "Excuse my presumption," the man pushed passed Alistair with a confidence and arrogance that had him completely confused. He'd only been king for a short time, but he had managed to grow used to being treated with a level of deference that this man simply didn't have. "But I found myself in possession of this rather fine flagon of Antivan red and absolutely no-one to drink it with."

Alistair blinked incredulously. "No one?" he said. Last he had checked, Oghren was somewhere in the keep.

"Well, no one except for a smelly dwarf who I strongly suspect won't leave me enough after the first drink to get even slightly tipsy. Oh, and a recruit who is intent on being the most boring woman alive. And a Commander who seems to think finding out what happened to his missing wardens is more important than getting drunk with me."

"Should I be flattered that you turned to me last then?" Alistair said, amused despite himself.

Anders gave him a sly smile. "What if I told you I actually wanted to come here most of all?" he said, and Alistair was shocked to feel a bloom of warmth in his stomach at the tone of the mage's voice. "I was just ... "

"Just what?"

"Shy?"

Alistair laughed. "Why do I find that difficult to believe?"

Anders raised an eyebrow. "Probably because it was a lie," he said. "So, your majesty, care for a drink?"

Alistair grinned and took the offered goblet.

An hour, maybe two later Alistair was feeling pleasantly relaxed and remarkably entertained. The mage had some interesting stories, seemed intrigued by Alistair's past as a templar-in-training and sympathetic to his plight as a new king. He was just thinking about ordering up another flagon when Anders leaned forward in his chair.

"You know I'm a healer, right?" he said, his clear eyes twinkling. Alistair raised an eyebrow.

"Faren said as much. Why?"

"Well, I can do something for that neck of yours," Anders continued. "I couldn't help but notice how you're holding it. Stress getting to you?"

Alistair rubbed his neck, feeling the soreness that he'd been carrying for so long he'd forgotten about it. There was no healer mage at the palace - not since Wynne went off with Shale, and Alistair had a sudden memory of how warm and relaxing the old woman's magic had felt on the road. Alistair shrugged and nodded. "I won't deny it's a little sore..." Anders seemed to take this as permission and leapt to his feet, grinning, moving behind Alistair's chair with his magic flaring. He leaned forward so the mage could access his neck more easily and let out a sigh as he felt the touch of long fingers and the familiar warmth of a healing spell tingle on his skin. Tension he didn't even know he'd been carrying started to leak out of him and he felt his head flop forward and his eyes start to close.

"You know," Anders said as he worked, "I didn't get a chance to thank you properly."

"Thank me?" Alistair said.

"For agreeing with the Commander and sending that witch Rylock away," the mage continued. Alistair's head was turning muzzy as the mage stroked the muscles of his neck, fingers working lower to his shoulders and beginning to knead the muscles there.

"Nothing to thank me for," Alistair murmured, resisting the urge to groan in pleasure as Anders' fingers found a particularly tight spot. "The Right of Conscription supersedes everything. Rylock didn't have a leg to stand on."

"She's persistent, I'll give her that," the mage continued. "But I can't see her going against the word of a King. I'm probably safer now than I've ever been before."

"You should thank the Commander," Alistair said.

"I'm not sure the Commander is open to the sort of thanks I'd like to give," Anders said, his voice suddenly husky. Alistair's eyes flew open, not entirely sure Anders was suggesting what he thought he was suggesting. The mage's hands were resting on Alistair's collarbone, warm magic pulsing outwards and downwards, reaching Alistair in places he certainly wasn't tense.. at least, not until a couple of seconds ago. He opened his mouth to protest, even as Anders' hands slid lower, under the loose ties of his shirt, and the mage's breath tickled one of his ears.

"I.. ah... what makes you think I am?" he said, his voice squeaking a little as the mage found a nipple. Alistair was frozen to the chair, feeling he really should be moving away but somehow not being able to.

"The fact that you're still in the chair," Anders said. "The way you smiled when I suggested I drink with you oh.. and ah... that." The mage's long fingered hand pointed cheekily at the growing erection in Alistair's breeches and he felt himself blush to the roots of his hair.

"Your... ah... your magic... it's.."

Anders removed his hands and sat on the arm of Alistair's chair, folding his arms across his chest and smirking at the King. "...not what's causing that, I can tell you," he finished for Alistair. "Magic doesn't do that to people. Not unless they're already part of the way there."

Alistair found he couldn't meet the mage's eyes. He wanted to cross his legs protectively, but felt that might give the wrong impression. To be honest, he was totally bewildered as to what impression he wanted to give. Desire throbbed through him, but he was used to the idea of fulfilling his desires with a woman. Of course, the only woman he'd been permitted to even attempt that with had been Anora, and she...

...well she'd made it quite clear after their first time that sex was purely for the purpose of conceiving an heir. Since then he'd always felt guilty for the pleasure he took in it, considering her own reactions were so limited. Sex with Anora always left him feeling slightly dirty and guilty, to the point where he almost dreaded their nightly ritual.

Anders, on the other hand, seemed to be promising something that was purely about pleasure. Alistair would be lying if he said he hadn't noticed the sensuality of the man, from the very beginning in the courtyard of the keep the way the man held himself, the way he reacted to the people around him, breathed experience in a way that reminded Alistair of Zevran.

Zevran had jokingly tried to seduce Alistair on several occasions during the blight, but the Antivan assassin had never managed to spark desire in Alistair the way this man had somehow done.

He felt soft, long fingers on his chin and his head was gently tilted back towards the mage's, suddenly close enough for him to feel the breath on his lips. "I'll leave if you want me to," Anders said softly. "Just say the word," the last was breathed out in a whisper as the mage's lips brushed his own.

Alistair's mouth parted in surprise and Anders took the opportunity to run his tongue over his lips, drawing out a gasp.

Anora never let him kiss her.

Alistair's hands came up almost of their own accord and tangled in the mage's hair, pulling him closer as their tongues entwined. The kiss ended with both men gasping, Anders laughing a little and Alistair clamping a hand over his mouth, shocked at his own boldness.

"Well, it seems the monarchy is quite... passionate," Anders said, touching his own lips and quirking an eyebrow. "I thought as much." Alistair was speechless. The mage got to his feet and Alistair was suddenly afraid he was going to leave, but instead Anders turned to face Alistair in the chair and lowered himself to his knees. Hands felt their way up Alistair's thighs and to the ties on his breeches, deftly undoing them and reaching inside to grasp his cock firmly. Alistair bucked his hips involuntarily, letting out a throaty growl.

The situation was way out of his control now, but he couldn't bring himself to care. After all, wasn't he the king? Didn't everyone expect him to find pleasure where he could? And here was a man, obviously used to giving and receiving pleasure, willing to do...

... well, what was he willing to do? A hundred possibilities suddenly jumped to mind and he felt his cock twitch in anticipation. He heard a low chuckle from the mage, who's fingers were busy tugging his breeches and smalls out of the way. "Not going to send me away, then, your majesty?" Anders said, looking up at him.

Alistair bit his lip and shook his head. Anders grinned and dipped his head into the King's lap.

As the mage's warm, wet mouth encased him Alistair's head fell back against the chair and he let out a moan. Never in a million years would Anora even contemplate doing what Anders was doing to him now. Anders swirled his tongue around the tip of his cock and drew him into his mouth firmly, suction and moist warmth moving up and down - down so far that Alistair nearly came undone right there and then. "Maker's breath mage," he panted as Anders' head moved faster and his hands moved around to grip Alistair's buttocks. A subtle pressure urged Alistair to stand and he did, the warmth of Anders' fingers digging into tight muscle. Another pulse of magic came from those hands, relaxing the muscle and stimulating something deep inside that made his hips buck again.

Alistair let his hands rest in the mage's hair, using Templar discipline to resist the almost overpowering urge to thrust. When he felt the mage's fingers part flesh and touch the rim of his anus, however, he gasped and tensed and Anders lifted his head. Alistair let out a little sigh of disappointment at the loss of that warm pressure, but the mage had an eyebrow raised and his lips poised. "Remember you can tell me to stop at any time," Anders said, his fingers circling and gently reaching inside, suddenly slick with grease. At the same time he again enclosed Alistair's length in his mouth and Alistair was suddenly deliciously sandwiched, pressure and suction from one side and slick intrusion from the other. He opened his mouth to protest, but before the sound could come Anders finger reached a point that set lights flashing behind his eyes and all that would come was a wordless shout of pleasure. A second finger stretched him gently to join the first and Alistair felt a twinge of pain that was quickly washed away by gentle healing magic. Anders began to pump his fingers slowly in and out in time with the rhythm of his mouth and before long Alistair was gasping and grunting in pleasure that built quickly to a peak he couldn't have controlled if he tried.

"Stop!" he managed to choke out, but the mage didn't stop, merely grinned around his cock and increased his pace. Alistair's legs shook and his hands clenched in the mage's hair as his climax overcame him and he spilled into the mage's mouth, who swallowed greedily as though it was the tastiest treat imaginable.

"Sweet sodding Andraste," Alistair gasped as his knees buckled and Anders pulled back, grinning and licking his lips like a cat. Fingers were gently disengaged and Alistair allowed himself to sink back down into his chair - his pants around his ankles and his dignity completely destroyed.

"Well, well, well," Anders said, sitting back on his heels and contemplating Alistair from his place on the floor. "It's nice to know the taste of royalty." He licked his lips again and Alistair felt himself flush in embarrassment, despite what they had just done.

"Is that how you usually thank people?" he managed to ask, reaching down to his breeches, intending to pull them back up, but Anders caught his hand and stilled it, turning it palm upwards and laying a kiss in its centre.

"Not at all," he said, lips still touching skin. Alistair was amazed to feel a shiver of anticipation shoot through his skin at the continued contact. "Only those I find... appealing. And I wouldn't be getting dressed just yet, your majesty. I haven't quite finished thanking you."

"I feel pretty thoroughly thanked, to be honest," Alistair said. Anders laughed, releasing his hand and standing.

"Trust me, your majesty, there's far more pleasure to be had tonight."

Alistair swallowed. "More?" he said.

Anders held a hand out and pulled Alistair to his feet, leaning in briefly to touch his lips to the other man's. Alistair couldn't help it, he pressed forward, capturing Anders' mouth in his and plundering it, bringing his hands up to encircle Anders' chest, feeling the firm muscles under the robes. Anders smiled into the kiss and wrapped his own arms around Alistair's waist, again reaching under his shirt and brushing the skin beneath. When they broke apart the mage was still grinning that damnable grin of his - Alistair didn't think he would ever be able to see it again without thinking of those lips wrapped around his cock...

... which suddenly was insisting Anders' was right. There was more pleasure to be had tonight.

"You might want to get rid of those pants," Anders said. "Before you trip over."

Alistair tilted his head and contemplated the mage for a moment before quickly kicking them off, pulling his shirt over his head straight after.

"Maker's breath," Anders said, chuckling. "Once you're committed, you're committed!"

Alistair grinned back, although he could still feel the vestiges of embarrassment, especially considering the mage was still clothed. "If you're going to insist on continuing to thank me," he said, "you can get those robes off."

Anders didn't hesitate, but pulled the robes over his head. Alistair took a moment to admire the man's form - again like Zevran's lean strength, although the mage was taller and broader than the elf. His own enthusiasm for the night's entertainments was also obvious and Alistair found himself swallowing, amazed that he could be the thing inspiring such desire. Anders let his robes pool on the floor and stepped back towards Alistair, pulling him in for another kiss before gently directing him back to the bed.

"Remember what I did with my fingers?" he said as they sank down. Alistair nodded, stretching out on the bed as Anders settled next to him. "Did you like it?" He hesitated before he responded, then shrugged.

"I would have thought that was pretty obvious."

Anders ran a finger down his chest, letting his palm lie flat on his stomach and a short pulse of magic flare outwards and downwards, Alistair squirmed a little, raising his hips. His templar senses were ringing alarms at him but it was quite thrilling to choose to ignore them.

"Good," the mage said, then with surprising strength and speed grasped Alistair's hips and pushed him over to his front, straddling him from behind. Alistair could feel the mage's cock resting in the hollow between his arse cheeks - it's heat was searing, but Anders was busy with his hands on Alistair's back - slow sweeps at first that tingled with magic. The power seemed to sink into his muscles like water and he felt drowsy and comfortable, as though he were in a warm bath. Anders' hands reached lower and cupped his buttocks. "Truly, your majesty, you have a magnificent arse," he said softly, and Alistair felt him move until the rough brush of stubble scraped over his backside. A warm tongue followed and Alistair felt his breath hitch and turn into a groan as he felt the sharp press of teeth.

Anders lifted his head and shifted position again, letting his fingers once again penetrate Alistair gently. The grease spell made entrance easy, and Alistair was relaxed enough - and curious enough - not to protest. Anders was slow and gentle, using first one finger, then two until Alistair was raising his hips to meet his movements. He felt the mage's hand twist and a new pulse of healing magic - sharper this time - Alistair recognised it as rejuvenation - before the heat of Anders cock nudged where his fingers had been seconds before.

"Is this ok?" the mage's voice was hoarse with need and Alistair was strangely touched that the man would bother to ask. He was also shocked at how much he wanted the mage to continue.

"Yes," he heard himself say and the mage's chuckle indicated just how much of Alistair's need came out in his own voice.

"Thank the Maker," he said as he pressed forward, "I wasn't sure what I was going to do if you said no.." His hands reached around and pulled Alistair upwards until he was on his knees, the movement seating his cock deeper inside and Alistair heard a low groan escape the mage as his hips and balls brushed Alistair's arse. Alistair was rock hard again, and he felt Anders fingers reach around to grasp him firmly. They stayed like that for a moment, both breathing hard, Alistair growing accustomed to the feeling of being filled before Anders pulled back a little and started to move.

Alistair felt heat build in him quickly. Anders fingers were deftly stroking him in time to the movements of his hips and it didn't take long for Alistair to start crying out with each thrust and stroke. He could feel the rough brush of Anders' stubble as the mage nipped and kissed his shoulders and back, the warm pulse of healing magic from his fingers as they stroked him and the hot hardness of his cock as it fucked him and it was almost too much. He started to buck in the mage's grasp, shouting hoarsely as he felt pressure build to breaking point and shatter. He didn't think he'd ever come so hard in his life.

Anders continued for a few more thrusts before letting out a shout of his own and falling forward, the two of them collapsing onto the bed, gasping for breath. Alistair's head was buzzing with more than the aftermath of pleasure, but his limbs were heavy with languor and he did nothing but lie there, enjoying the lazy trail of the mage's fingers over his chest and the feeling of being pressed close to another warm body - something else Anora never let him do - until he drifted into slumber.

It must have been hours later when he woke. He was alone in his bed, but sounds of movement told him he wasn't alone in the room. He sat up. The single candle gave off enough light for him to make out the form of the mage, gathering his robes from the floor, obviously trying to be quiet.

"Shall I consider myself sufficiently thanked, then?" Alistair said softly. Anders' head whipped round at the sound of his voice and the mage looked slightly sheepish.

"I was trying not to wake you," Anders said. "You seemed to need the sleep."

Alistair rubbed his hand through his hair. "I won't deny it."

Anders seemed unable to move, his robes clutched in a bundle in front of him. "So..." he said finally. "Does the king of Ferelden have much cause to visit the Commander of the Grey these days?"

Alistair let a warm smile spread over his face. "You know," he said, watching the beginnings of a smirk form on the mage's lips, "I rather think he does."