It was, of course, all Isabela's fault.
She could make anything sound like a good idea, at least briefly, and especially when one was in one's cups, which Fenris often was. Though give her this; she'd at least given him an opportunity to change his mind after sobering up, rather than recklessly going ahead with it right then. He supposed even she knew there were lines she should not cross. And besides, she'd have needed to talk the apostate into it as well. Which can't, in any case, have been easy, the mage's dislike of Fenris being almost as strong as Fenris' dislike of him.
But they both liked Isabela. And had both been sleeping with her, at least occasionally – though separately – until now . And the wench wheedled well.
He also couldn't deny that as much as he loathed the mage, he still considered Anders to be a handsome man. Rather too gaunt from improper diet, scruffy and often smelly from lack of personal hygiene, but still handsome. At least until he opened his mouth and spewed out his usual rhetoric about the poor oppressed mages, which tended to spoil any favourable impression his physical being might have engendered.
So that had been one of Fenris' conditions to Isabela; that if the mage came, he was not to talk. And that any least sign of his in-dwelling spirit being present, any use of magic, would end it. He had not thought the mage would agree to such terms. In fact, he had to admit to himself, he'd rather been counting on it. Apparently he'd been wrong. For here was Isabela, a broad grin on her face and there, lurking in the doorway to his room, was the mage, eyes glinting in the reflected firelight and lips a thin line as he and Fenris eyed each other warily.
Fenris sighed, almost silently. "You may enter," he said, as courteously as he could to one he'd never imagined inviting into his house, much less into his bedroom. Though even that was not entirely true; he had imagined it a time or three, late at night in the occasional odd dream or nightmare. Though which were mere wet dreams and which were horrifying nightmares... the lines blurred, sometimes. Perhaps inevitably, given his own past.
His hands tightened into fists as Anders straightened and took a few steps forward. The man wisely kept his distance, stopping by Isabela. He was, Fenris was pleasantly surprised to notice, clean for once, cheeks scraped almost smooth except for where he'd missed a small patch of stubble on his right jawline, hair clean and combed neatly, even his clothing showing signs of a recent cleaning, or at least a good brushing to remove the worst of the surface grime. Isabela's suggestion, or his own idea, Fenris wondered. Not that it mattered, other than making the prospect of their upcoming activities somewhat less unpleasant.
"So, shall we get right to it, or would you boys prefer to take your time getting there?" Isabela asked, eyes bright with amusement.
Anders merely pressed his lips more tightly together for a moment, glancing at her before focusing his attention back on Fenris. Fenris kept his face own face still, pleased to see that the mage remembered and was following the terms. Which reminded him...
"A question, first," he said, and then focused his own attention entirely on Anders, ignoring Isabela. "You are here of your own free will? Not as a result of any coercion of Isabela's?"
Anders lips thinned again, but then he nodded, once.
"You agree to my terms freely then; no magic, no talking, no appearance of that demon you share your body with?"
Anders' lips thinned even further, brow furrowing in annoyance or anger for a moment, but then he nodded again. Which left Fenris wondering just why the mage had agreed, what he was getting out of this liaison, and yet it was hardly something he could question him about.
"Satisfied?" Isabela asked, looking if anything even more amused than she had before.
"Satisfied enough," he agreed. He considered offering them food, drink... but being hospitable to the mage was something he had no interest in. Honouring his promise to Isabela would be more than enough hospitality as it was. So he turned away, walking over to the bed, stopping beside it rather deliberately within a pool of moonlight cast by one of the holes in the ceiling, and began to disrobe.
Isabela made a noise of approval, and in moments was at his side, helping him to remove his armour. He heard the mage's own more cautious approach, stopping some little distance away, then after a brief hesitation, the rustle of clothing being removed. He kept his back turned, at least at first, but he didn't like having the mage behind his back. And, yes, he admitted to himself... he was curious. So he turned, as he handed off his breastplate to Isabela to put away, and began unlatching the toggles that held his jacket closed.
The mage was already out of his boots and ridiculous feathered mantle, and had taken off his long quilted leather coat. He was working on unwinding the long strips of cloth, too stained and ragged to serve as bandages any more, that he used to bind close the layers of torn and ragged clothing he wore underneath it. Isabela moved to help him, her eyes meeting Fenris' almost challengingly as she helped the mage to undress.
Fenris turned away to hang up his jacket on its stand with the breastplate, and turned back to find the mage studying him, eyes widening as he ran his eyes appreciatively over Fenris' lyrium-marked torso. The mage drew a breath as if about to speak, then remembered himself, and bit on his lower lip instead, eyes rising to meet Fenris' almost challengingly as he drew off the layers of ragged clothing from about his own upper body.
He was as gaunt as the elf had expected him to be, though surprisingly fitter, the muscles under his pale skin all clearly delineated. Not merely because of how thin he was, but also because they were well-developed, in much the same lean-muscled way as the elf's own were. Anders' skin was not as smooth as Fenris had expected from his own experience of magisters, but instead marked with scars. Fenris frowned, recognizing one or two of them – a place where a slaver's sword had caught the mage in the side some months before, another where he'd blocked a dagger cut with his own arm that was even older than that. Places only hastily healed, without the extra expenditure of power required to do much more than close them. Anders reserved his magic for Hawke and her companions, it seemed, for none of the rest of them were as marked from their adventures as he was.
The thought made Fenris shift his weight from one foot to the other uneasily, knowing how unmarked he himself was in comparison, though he'd taken far worse blows than the mage ever had. He had benefited from Anders' healing more than the mage usually did, it would seem. Their eyes met again, Anders' lips thinning and chin lifting defiantly, Fenris meeting the look unflinchingly. The room was near silent, apart from the crackling of the fire and the sounds of three people breathing, and the faint background noises of the upper city drifting in through the broken roof overhead.
They broke their gaze and shucked out of their leggings at much the same time, Isabela crouching down to gather up and put aside Anders' discarded clothing as the two men eyed each other again, both down to nothing but their smalls and what seemed to be about an equal degree of wariness. The mage's smalls were surprisingly pristine, Fenris noticed, much newer and cleaner cloth than the remainder of his clothing, and already tented by Anders' arousal. Not that his own smalls – much smaller than Anders', being just a triangular scrap of silky cloth that provided just enough coverage to hold him in place and protect tender flesh from chafing – were under any less strain at the moment. Because, blight him, the mage was attractive, and Fenris could not deny his own excitement over seeing him naked, and anticipating sharing his bed with him, though that frightened him in almost equal parts. He certainly couldn't have faced doing it without Isabela's safe and reassuring presence.
She stepped between the pair of them, and spread out her arms, looking from one to the other. "My turn," she said, and the two exchanged a final brief glance before moving to help her to disrobe. Not that she had any great need of help, or all that much to remove, either. Fenris, being in front of her, set to work unbuttoning her long white shirt, while Anders drew the shawl from around her hips and then began unbuckling the tops of her boots, dropping to one knee to put himself at a better height for the tasks. His long agile fingers made short work of the buckles, and in fairly short order the pair of them had Isabela down to just her jewellery – which she generally preferred to keep on – and her smalls, which she pushed down and stepped out of without their help.
She stretched, cat-like, hands over her head, a smouldering look in her eyes. A challenge, that she shared equally with both of them, as her back arched and made her full breasts jut proudly in one direction while her bottom curved enticingly in another. Fenris knew he made a sound as he ran his eyes approvingly over her full curves; he was only dimly aware of Anders making a like noise.
He found himself briefly annoyed by the other man's presence. Things would be so much more straight-forward without the mage here. Instead of simply moving toward Isabela, he remained where he was, Anders also hanging back with a frown. Isabela, for her part, looked back and forth between the pair of them, and then laughed.
She moved to the bed then, climbing up onto it and then turning around to lay back, torso raised on bent elbows, and give them a look from under lowered eyes. "Join me?"
They exchanged a look, then moved to opposite sides of the bed, Fenris taking the nearest side – Isabela's left – and Anders moving around to the other. "Now was that so hard to do?" Isabela asked, drawing a snort from Fenris and an amused look from Anders. Once they were there, they eyed each other uneasily over her naked body.
It would be easiest, Fenris decided, if he tried to ignore the other man's presence, and just did what he would normally do with Isabela there in his bed. Accordingly he rolled toward her, raising himself on one elbow and leaning forward to kiss her. She smiled happily, moving enough to meet him partway. He concentrated on the kiss at first, on the spicy taste of her mouth, like cloves and cinnamon, and the feel of it, all warm and moist and inviting. She made a sound, and shifted position, head dropping back slightly, and he reached for her breast only to find other fingers already there. Fenris flinched back, glaring momentarily at the mage.
Isabela twisted her torso a little, and he hesitantly reached for her other breast, then darted another look at Anders as the man shifted closer in behind her. He still had one hand cupped around her breast and, as he met Fenris' look, he lowered his head to kiss Isabela's shoulder, then began to work his way along it, towards her neck. Isabela sighed appreciatively, head dropping a little to one side to give him better access. Anders' mouth may have been busy on Isabela's flesh, but it was Fenris he watched, their eyes locked together.
Fenris scowled, then looked away, shifting position so that he could lean down and take Isabela's nipple into his mouth, feeling all too aware of the other man now, even when not looking at him; aware of how close Anders' hand, now toying with Isabela's other nipple, was to his own cheek. He let his own hand drift downwards, across Isabela's smooth stomach and then down between her legs. Normally the pleased sound she made as his fingers caressed her folds and slipped between them, the way she arched into the touch of lips and teeth and fingers, would have been rather thoroughly distracting. But tonight... with Anders there, he could not concentrate properly, could only feel resentment at the other man's presence, his intrusion into what was usually a very private and enjoyable thing between Fenris and Isabela.
Fenris withdrew, sitting up and shifting away from the pair. "This isn't working," he said, glaring briefly at the mage before turning his attention back to Isabela. She looked disappointed, and pouted slightly. "Not even as a special birthday gift for me?" she asked.
Fenris' eyebrows rose slightly. "I was not aware it was your birthday," he said dryly.
She smiled, and shrugged. "I'll admit that I'd be lying if I claimed it was. It's still over two months off though, and I don't want to wait that long. Early birthday present, perhaps?"
That drew at least a slight smile from Fenris, and an amused look from the mage. He shrugged. "Birthday or no, it's not working."
Isabela sighed, then abruptly say up, long legs crossing in front of her, head tilting to one side as she gave him a thoughtful look. "Anything I might do that might help it to work better?" Anders snorted, and she reached back without looking to take and squeeze his hand. "Short of Anders' leaving, that is."
Fenris shifted uncomfortably, darting a look at the other man. "I... no. I don't know," he said reluctantly.
Isabela frowned slightly, head tilting further to the side. "That sounded suspiciously as if there was almost a yes, except you didn't want to admit that there was a yes."
He could feel the heat of the flush that coloured his cheeks. She knew him too well. "I don't like him touching you when I am here to see it," he admitted quietly, then looked away uncomfortably, unsettled by the degree of his own possessiveness, his jealousy.
"This certainly won't work as a threesome if he..." she started to say, then broke off. When she continued after a brief pause, her voice was very slow, and thoughtful. "Of course, if he's not touching me..."
Fenris said nothing, jaw setting obstinately, eyes still turned away. The silence stretched out. He could feel the blush of his cheeks darkening, knew it was spreading to colour his ears as well. He could not bring himself to speak.
He felt the bed move, the mattress sag as Isabela rose on her knees and moved closer, abandoning Anders at the other end of the bed for now. A fast glance that direction showed Anders sitting with his knees drawn up and arms wrapped around them, his head lowered as if to stare at his own long skinny toes, giving them what little privacy he could.
Isabela moved to kneel on the mattress beside Fenris, her arm settling around his shoulders after only the briefest hesitation, head bending close to his own. "Is that what you want?" she asked, voice low, barely more than a whisper, something just between the two of them. "You touching him? Him touching you? Both?"
Saying the words felt impossible; it took three tries, before he managed to force them out, a harsh whisper. "Me. Touching him." And shuddered, for a moment hating his own desires.
She nodded, face calm now. "And what shall I do? Touch as well? Just watch? Watching can be fun too."
"Touching me," he said, and shrugged. "Him, if you want to. Or watching. Just not him touching you."
She nodded again, then withdrew to the other end of the bed, leaning close to whisper with Anders briefly. Fenris watched, caught the surprised glance Anders threw in his direction and knew his cheeks coloured further. And saw when Anders slowly nodded, still keeping to the rule of not speaking.
"All right," Isabela said, voice seeming loud in the quiet that had fallen. "Let's try this a little differently," she said, and guided Anders to lie down where she had been, and sat beside him, looking expectantly in Fenris' direction.
It took him a few seconds to nerve himself up to move closer, and then he only went as far as Anders' outstretched feet. He raked his eyes up the man's body and back down again, then hesitantly reached out, letting the palm of his hand come to rest on top of Anders' right foot, thumb and fingers closing loosely around the mage's ankle. The mage's foot twitched slightly at the contact, then went still again, save for a slow, slight curling of the toes.
Anders' skin was warm and dry. Fenris could feel his pulse, a faint repeating pressure against his palm. He glanced up at the watching pair, then turned his attention back to the foot under, stroking the hand up toward the toes, other hand reaching to cup under the ankle and heel and raise it slightly. He explored Anders' foot by slow and careful touch; the long skinny toes, the callused underside – so little callus compared to the thickness of it on the soles of his own feet – the raised tendons down the top of it. The spur of bone at the ankle, the way the flesh dipped in around the thick tendon in back. He worked his way slowly higher, feeling the muscles in the lower legs, the surprising softness of the fine golden hairs that covered the mage's legs. He'd expected the hairs to be stiff, even prickly, like stubble, but they were not. He ran his hand up Anders' leg, against the grain of them, then stroked the hairs down smooth again before shifting further up the bed, further up Anders' body.
The mage was clearly enjoying the attention, his smalls tented again, the fabric darkening with dampness where his tip pressed against them. Isabela sat and watched, only the flush of her skin and deeper breathing giving away that she was enjoying watching what Fenris was doing.
Anders had knobbly knees, all bony lumps and old scars. He twitched when Fenris prodded one, and glared briefly at the elf as Fenris gave him an amused look and prodded the same spot a second time before beginning to work his way up the mage's thighs. More scars there, including a nasty one on the inside of the left thigh that must have just narrowly missed the big artery there. Missed it, or the mage would have been dead. Or if it hadn't missed it, merely very, very lucky that he himself was a superlative healer.
Fenris avoided the man's groin for now, instead moving to kneel beside him, opposite Isabela now, and set his hand down lightly on the mage's stomach. He let it rest there for a little while, lifted and dropped again by the man's slow steady breathing, watching with fascination for a little while the flush that was colouring Anders' neck and chest, the way his erection was straining further against the fabric of his smalls with each breath he took. Just from Fenris' touch. Even when his hand was doing nothing but lying there, motionless. He reached out after a while with his other hand, letting the back of his hand come to rest against the darkening red flush, feeling the heat of it for a moment before removing his hand, seeing Anders' nipples tighten though the touch had been nowhere near them. Fascinated, he leaned forward and down, keeping all his weight on his knees and the one hand braced now against the mattress by Anders' side, keeping no pressure but its own weight on the hand that still rested on Anders' stomach. Felt the muscles there tense as his exhalation gusted across Anders' skin just before he lipped at the nipple.
Anders made a wordless sound, stomach dipping sharply inwards for a moment, back arching a fraction to press his chest upwards. Fenris felt his own penis, only half-hard until now, suddenly stiffen noticeably. He growled, and closed his teeth on Anders' nipple, worrying gently at it and drawing further intriguing sounds from the man. Knew when Isabela slid her hand across Anders' chest to tweak his other nipple, and felt nothing but approval of the additional sounds it drew out of the mage, where the mage's touches to her own body had somehow infuriated him. He let his hand drift downwards across Anders' stomach, teasingly close to the fabric of his smalls, fingertips brushing against the waistband of them but going no further, despite the wanting sound it drove from Anders, or the way it made him lift his hips.
He was breathless and hard by the time he finally sat up again. Isabela was bent down over Anders now, using her mouth on his chest rather than fingers, and began toying with the nipple Fenris had just abandoned. He watched the two of them for a moment, admiring the arch of Anders' neck, the bob of his prominent adam's apple as he swallowed, the curve of his dark blond eyelashes against his lightly freckled cheeks. The mage had his eyes shut, his head pressed backwards into the cushions, hair mussed and coming loose from its ponytail. Finally Fenris touched Isabela's shoulder, gesturing her to move aside when she looked up enquiringly at him, to see what he wanted next.
"Roll over on your stomach," he told the mage, and was surprised by the way Anders' eyes snapped open, almost comically wide, the mage darting a half-frightened look at Fenris before looking appealingly at Isabela. Fenris' eyebrows rose as she set a hand on Anders' shoulder, squeezing it comfortingly.
"It's all right," she told Anders in a soft, reassuring voice. "I'm here. You're safe."
Anders studied her face, then looked worriedly at Fenris, biting his lower lip in obvious indecision. His erection had flagged, the elf was surprised to notice, and realized his command must have touched on some fear of the mage's. He began to wonder what, and whether perhaps it might be best to withdraw the request, and then Anders abruptly lifted himself enough to flip over onto his stomach, folding his arms and burying his face in them.
Fenris froze. More scars. Scars the kind and pattern of which he was intimately familiar with, having a like set on his own back. Scars from whipping; not just from having been whipped hard enough to sting, but hard enough to cut into flesh, deep into flesh, down to the bone in some spots. Long knotted lines of scar tissue. Isabela, he knew, was watching both of them closely, a worried expression on her face now that only barely registered in his peripheral vision. For a long moment he felt faint, able only to see that long stretch of back, the marks criss-crossing it from buttocks to shoulders.
He felt... numb, as he reached out this time, his own erection gone, as flaccid as the mage likely was right now. When he touched, it was not with the whole hand, or the palm, or even all the fingers. Just one solitary fingertip. Very lightly; just barely touching one of the stripes of shiny tissue. "Who?" he asked, voice harsh.
"Templars," Isabela answered, voice barely wavering. "It's one of the things they do, to mages who disobey them. Or sometimes just because they can," she added bitterly. Bitter enough for him to look up at her, study her face. Whatever the story behind Anders' scarred back was – and it was not one he wanted to ever ask the mage about himself, he was suddenly sure – she knew it. And was angered by it.
He looked back down at his hand. At that one fingertip, touching the scarred flesh. The tautness of Anders' shoulders, half-hunched, arms wrapped around his head to protect his face, to hide whatever expression was on it. Very slowly he lowered his hand, letting it come into full contact with that scarred flesh. He sat still, blinking slightly, just looking at the darkness of his flesh next to Anders' paleness, the glow of his brands – he wondered, vaguely, when he'd lit up, and decided it didn't matter as the glow faded away again – and thought of scars, and how they were acquired, and how they changed someone. Even when how they were acquired couldn't exactly be remembered. He bent down, after a while, lightly touching lips to the back of Anders' neck, closing his eyes for a moment.
There was moisture on the back of Anders' neck when he sat back up again. A few small clear drops, reflecting the lights in the room. The firelight, the candlelight, the moonlight coming in through windows and broken ceiling. Stars, possibly, though too faintly to be seen.
He touched Anders again then, silently continuing his earlier exploration, fingers gently tracing the lines that marred the mage's back. He was aware of Isabela moving around Anders to kneel beside him. She touched his chin, turning his head to study his face. He didn't mind. His hands were busy, feeling the mage's history written in his flesh, so like his own. She kissed him lightly, on each cheek, then kissed him on the lips, tasting of salt now instead of spices.
"Sit up," he told Anders after a while, and turned away even as the mage turned over, not wanting to see his face. Not now. Later, perhaps, but not yet. "Touch me," he said, voice rough, hunching his shoulders and lowering his head, closing his eyes.
And shivered, just once, when a long slim hand came to rest against his own scarred back, warm and oddly comforting. Then sat still, as Anders began his own careful, gentle exploration.