[Sex in this chapter, so over 18 only please. If you're not 18, go write your own story instead. It's fun and in your story your characters can do whatever you want them to, but this one is adults only.]
The market was crowded, to my relief. We were much less conspicuous when surrounded by other merchants. It had been pure luck that it was a day when foodstuffs and wares were brought in from the surrounding countryside.
I had two goals for the day: to replenish my store of needles, pins and other sewing notions so that I could keep up the ruse, and to find some link with the famous Crows of Antiva. We were criminals now in the eyes of the world, so who better to petition for help than the most notorious criminal syndicate in Thedas?
We found a shop with our sort of goods and I began negotiations, wishing that I had a better sense of the value, and in some cases even the use, of the various items displayed. The shopkeep was suspicious of us, thinking that we were competition, which was fair enough. Smiling and holding out my hands in what I hoped was a disarming gesture, I swore to him an oath that we were heading north on the morrow and that I would sell nothing until we were a day's travel away from his territory.
He grudgingly gave me a discount for quantity, but would have cheated me on some linen thread of poor quality if Anders had not spoken up. More than anything, more than being hunted, on the road, tired, dirty, my future uncertain, more than any of that, I hated what I did next, but it was necessary for our characters, and our characters were necessary for survival. I struck Anders, hard enough to be convincing, for speaking out of turn, then, when he fell, I kicked him, my foot making a solid thump against his ribs. Each time we played a scene like this, a bit of me died, but we had discussed it at length, Anders being the one who absolutely insisted on its necessity. That it was unbelievable to anyone who knew us that I would be capable of such a thing was exactly its strength. And that Peregrin, the destitute needle and pin man, was so brutal to his servant had created a reputation for us. One that we hoped would cause any Templar hunters to continue pass us by, as they had on many occasions so far.
Luck was with me that day, as much as any day in those bitter times, and I heard a rumor of a Crow assassin in the village. Unlike common criminals, the Crows often made themselves known, the mere intimidation of their presence sometimes making more messy action unnecessary. I was more surprised to find that she was said to be staying at the same poor inn we occupied then to hear word of a Crow openly bandied about the market.
We returned to our room, our supplies restocked, to share a bit of hard cheese and a crust of harder bread that a pitying baker had let us have for a copper. I thought of the estate I had left, the wine cellar well stocked, the larder always full, as I encouraged Anders to take just a bit more cheese, just another bite of bread. If he didn't start eating, he would not last, and if he did not last, I knew neither would I. He was as much a part of me now as Justice was a part of him. If Anders succumbed, all three of us were doomed.
As we ate, he again brought up my plan to contact the Crows, the argument made fresh by our latest information.
He started as he usually did, claiming that our current existence was tolerable, saying, "We can go north. Yes, that makes sense. The further from, well, anywhere, the better. Perhaps we could make it all the way to Rivain. We've come so far already. And it really isn't that bad, is it? Trading?"
I don't know why this time, of the many times that we had had the conversation, that I snapped. Perhaps it was my awareness of our dwindling resources. Perhaps it was the nearness of that Crow. I put my hand over his and squeezed harder than I intended, watching him wince. "We cannot continue to be unsuccessful merchants and still eat. I've kept this from you, but now you must know. Almost every deal we've made since we started to buy goods to replenish our stock has cost us rather than profited us. You are not blind, damn it, you must have seen this! I don't know how real merchants do it, but I am no merchant and I've been dipping steadily into our reserves and I am worried…"
I trailed off, feeling guilty. Guilty for not sharing this earlier and guilty for the harsh accusatory tone I had adopted. It was hardly Anders' fault that I was a piss poor trader, but his willful blindness and forced optimism had worn me down.
He turned his hand under mine so that we could grasp palm to palm, and said consolingly, "I am sorry. Of course, I should have known, I just didn't want to know. I'm afraid that I was indulging in a fantasy, one of us becoming successful merchants and living a quiet domesticated life in some small city. Foolish of me. Please forgive."
It was what I loved so about Anders and what made me sometimes want to strangle him, this empathy and humility. His willingness, unlike so many others I had known, to admit his own faults. The man had no ego, was happy to live his life and to give to others without feeling a need to defend or justify. I took his cheeks between my hands and kissed him tenderly, whispering, "The fault is mine, all mine. There is nothing in you to forgive. I am sorry. I should never have…"
He cut me off with another kiss, which lead to another. We stood on our opposite sides of the table without breaking our clench and stumbled like some clumsy beast to the narrow straw mattressed bed.
I pulled up his tattered robe, delighted to find him hard and proud. That part of him at least had not changed, and the brief rest had given us both a hunger that travel had blunted. I cupped the treasure of him between my hands and blew softly, charmed to see the rigid staff bounce in anticipation. My tongue snaked out, pointed and eager, to lap at his dark head then run down the length until I buried my mouth in the blond curls at the base. This small part of his glorious golden hair, at least, was still available for my enjoyment.
Using only my mouth, careful of my teeth, I took first one ball then the other fully in, savoring their heaviness and rolling them about, sweeter to me than any candy. As my mouth was busy, my hand grasped his rod, squeezing from root to tip, then back, thumbing the end, working each finger independently.
It was not long before he was pulling at my hair, thrashing, begging me to enter him, so much like old times that I wanted to cry in the midst of my joy. In Kirkwall we had a selection of scented oils and gels for lubrication, now I was reduced to spit, but at the moment grateful for even that. I threw my robe over my head as Anders pushed himself up against the headboard and curled his legs almost to his shoulders. Of all things, he liked to watch the most, as I disappeared within him.
I hesitated, wanting to extend the tease, pushing my cock into that fine sensitive space between balls and the hole that was my ultimate goal, pulling it up to poke and nuzzle the golden sack. He moaned an begged and threatened until I gave in, as we both knew I would. For me, the first entry, that moment when I breached his defenses, was almost as sweet as the climax. I had developed many techniques from coy to violent. It was a small sort of role playing that we did and made the act that bit more delicious. I paused, thinking for a moment, and decided that this time I would be the unstoppable force. Adding a bit more spit, placing myself carefully, I pushed with the strength of my hips and legs, not quickly, but powerfully, driving myself into him steadily without withdrawing until I was buried my full length.
The ploy had the desired result, as it always did, but it was not something we tired of. I watched as first his eyes, then his mouth grew wide and before I could move further he had grabbed my head and was doing his best to consume me, starting with my tongue.
I don't remember much after that until I awoke on the floor, the bed broken, the bedclothes strewn about the room and an irate landlord pounding on our door. Anders was half on the shattered bed, oblivious, his expression blissful.
I quickly rose and threw my robe over my nakedness, then went to the door before our host found someone to knock it down. Opening it as little as possible, I reached into my marsupium and withdrew our last gold sovereign. As the innkeep held out a greedy paw, I pulled back, catching him by the ragged collar of his jerkin and hissing, "I will pay, more than it is worth, for your silence as well as for the damage. If any, and I mean any, gossip or rumors about what went on today should be spread about, I will be back and take more than this sovereign back in compensation. Do you understand me?"
It was a calculated risk, showing my strength like that, but I had not misjudged my man. His greed overpowered any other concern, and he croaked, "Yes, yes, very well, I understand, now give." I handed over the gold, thinking about the upbraiding I would receive from Anders for my precipitate action. I wasn't sure myself if it was the right move, but we really couldn't afford to have the whole village in an uproar over some noise and a broken bed.
When I softly closed the door and turned, I was relieved to see Anders still sleeping, more deeply than he had since the event that led us to flee, and probably for months before that. He had a broad smile on his face and looked very young, very vulnerable, despite his shaved head. Had I had any residual belief left in the Chantry's Maker, it would have been shattered in that moment. My gentle mage, healer, champion of his people, forced to run and starve. I sat at the table, my head in my hand, and wept, wondering what we would do when the money finally ran out.
