If Anders was honest with himself, he was getting a bit tired of running. He was getting more than a little tired in general. This did not bode well for his future. It was easy to get lost in the field, the tall sheaves of grain the same shade as his hair, the dark rich earth close to the color of his robes, wind whistling past, making the motions of his running less obvious to those looking for him. As he expected, his escape earned him only a temporary reprieve. He was still being pursued, including now by his mage rescuers.
If he was honest again, he wanted the mage welcoming party to find him and take him in almost as little as he wanted Sebastian to hand him to the Divine. Based on the reverential way the mages spoke of him and his past deeds, he feared they would expect him to lead some sort of mage resistance. While he was known for his manifesto, few understood just how much Justice contributed to it. Anders felt deeply unequipped to sustain a mage rebellion. He was no strategist, just a man with strong opinions.
He was a man with strong opinions who wanted to live more than he wanted anything else. So even though he owed the mages a debt, he would rather pay it later. As in, later if he lived to see later. He half thought he was running to find a quiet place to die. Some smaller voice inside told him there was something out there he was running towards. Running towards by outrunning villains and saviors both.
He had stopped caring whether any of it made sense. Every quick step was a strain on his heart now.
Anders took several odd turns in his route to confuse his would-be pursuers. He actually saw the red robed Terrie in the far distance once, following an abandoned trail into another patch of woods. Good. From a gentle hill, he saw Sebastian on the black horse headed down the road to Starkhaven. Even better. Anders thought he saw Alain entering a cozy farmhouse, Ellie perhaps already inside. Perfect.
So why could he not shake the sense that he was still being followed. And why wasn't Fenris with Sebastian? Had they split up? Yes, that must be it. Had to be. Anders could feel Fenris getting closer.
Wait. Anders could feel Fenris getting closer? When did he start feeling Fenris? While running? Earlier, on the horse? In the Chantry? He was running towards by running from. Outrunning everyone except the only person capable of keeping up with his mind. Running toward Fenris by running away from him.
He hadn't noticed it at first, being far too busy worrying about saving his own hide. But there it was. It was as small and ever present as Anders imagined the compass inside a bird's brain was, that tiny directional arrow telling them north from south during their migrations. Justice was gone. Anders couldn't even bring himself to mourn him this time, the cheating liar. He should, however, feel that same sense of unaccustomed loneliness. He didn't. Now there was this… other thing. Fenris. Instead.
Thinking of Fenris reminded Anders to check the compartment on his belt. He hoped but hadn't dared to check. But it was true. Fenris had stashed a small shiny metal key there. To remove the mage collar in Sebastian's presence was a death sentence. To remove it while running was an impossibility. To remove it while running from Fenris and running to Fenris and running for his life made perfect sense somehow.
Anders placed his back to a tree. He fumbled with the collar around his neck until he found the keyhole and unlocked the clasp with his long nimble fingers. He looked over the collar curiously, considering whether he might find it useful later. His mouth scowled as he decided that, either way, he did not want the cursed thing anywhere near him. He threw it to the ground and stomped on it. He thought to crush it with a force spell for good measure. His attempt to cast yielded only an excruciating pain in his chest.
That again. Maker's balls. Tentatively, Anders flipped on his gentle healing panacea. This caused him no pain. He reasoned that he might be mana constrained, compared to his time with Justice. He could test the limits of his casting later. For now, it was enough that he would heal slowly as he continued onward. Would his aura heal Fenris as well if he grew close enough? Anders found himself hoping that it would. Fenris was clearly unwell. Anders was still a healer at heart, albeit an apostate mending on the run.
Fenris was following him. Anders was getting steadily slower, tiring. Fenris was getting faster, no doubt recovering from whatever had happened to him in the Chantry at Wildhaven. Fenris was so much faster than him. Smart, too. Twice, Anders was forced to adjust his path forward after sensing based on direction that Fenris had taken shortcut that would bring them into closer contact. Just to top it off, the whistling wind turned harder, dark clouds threatening rain. The downpour would turn the fertile fields to slush temporarily, smoothing the grains and pushing down leaves, making him all the more visible. As the heavy drops began to fall, Anders felt emotionally defeated. Yet Fenris had stopped following him.
What was it Fenris had said once? Something about turning to face the tiger? If Fenris was bound to catch him and was gaining strength while Anders weakened, it was better to force a confrontation now. Based on Fenris' actions, he wasn't entirely sure what the elf wanted from him. He needed to find out. He had a million justifications, but ultimately, he couldn't explain himself. He just knew he had to stop.
Unaware that his right hand was pressed gently against his chest, he lumbered on. Anders followed the call in his head to Fenris' position. This must be what Merrill felt like, finding her way around after arriving in Kirkwall with her sad little ball of twine. Anders knew that a wood cabin just inside a copse of trees was the place the moment he saw it. It was in poor repair, smoke blowing from the hearth.
Though he still did not entirely understand why, Anders stood on the front stoop and smoothed the wet hair behind his ears. He brushed the water off his feather pauldrons. He stomped his boots, dislodging the sticky mud from their soles as best he could. Taking a deep breath, he opened the door. Unsurprisingly, it creaked on its hinges. The fire blazing in the hearth was the only light inside.
Anders knew where Fenris would be long before he saw him there, sitting in a tall, square backed wooden chair in a far corner near the fire. The warrior's legs were spread indolently, his back curved forward, his sword propped against the wall beside the chair within reaching distance of his hand. The firelight glinted over his lyrium brands, highlighting a few brown feathers and the metal of his armor, lighting an eye that glared unblinking at the door. As his eyes adjusted to the dimness, Anders noted that the elf's hair spiked wetly, almost translucent in the light, concealing a quarter of his face. The elf's mouth was straight save for a single knowing smirk on the side of his face below that one glowing eye.
Fenris was waiting. He was waiting, because he had felt Anders coming. This was many shades of wrong. Anders felt his heart thud in his chest. He startled visibly when lightning flashed, followed by thunder. The smirk on Fenris' lips curled a little higher as the elf watched Anders dripping uncomfortably.
It was time to haul out an old school tactic. He would try on the old renegade apostate charm. Why not?
Anders took two steps in and closed the door behind him. "What's wrong, honey? Having a bad day?" As he walked further into the room, Anders thought he saw the elf's brands gently lighting up.
Fenris released an awkward, somehow sad chuckle. "You could say that." He put his lyrium branded hands, still covered by metal gauntlets with pointy fingertips, onto the wide arms of the wooden chair.
"Yeah," Anders sympathized. "Me too." He started to walk towards Fenris slowly, trying not to move so suddenly that the elf would reach for his sword. "And you know how it is in this household…" He gestured widely at the cabin. As he walked closer, he noticed that Fenris' brands weren't actually lit per se. They were just… bright. Extra shiny. "Bad days can be…" It wasn't just the brands. Fenris' skin was… sparkling… lit up somehow… in the firelight. "Catching." Anders was now bending forward, head tilting.
His curiosity got the better of him. "Are you alright?" Anders' weak attempt at charm turned off at the same time his concerned bedside demeanor turned itself on. He shouldn't care. Fenris was chasing him. He was running away. He had by his assessment about two hours to live unless something changed. So why did he care if Fenris was injured or ill? Wasn't that more of an advantage than a problem, really? If Fenris looked fevered and exhausted and near death himself, wasn't that just a boon to his freedom?
Yes, that was it. Anders would like to assess the nature of his advantage. It had nothing to do with his hand clutched at his chest, his knees sinking as he approached the fire. He was not swooning at the sight of Fenris, the metallic tang in the air mixing with the smoke from the fire. He was not crawling forward, listening to the elf's belabored breathing and finding it undeniably sexy against the aural backdrop of the crackling fire. Not looking up at Fenris like a lost puppy, drawn forward in awe at the dark but shimmering figure that had something. Something he needed. Needed like life itself. Fenris was looking down at him, licking his lips, fingers tracing pinpoint lines idly into the wood of the chair's arms.
No, Anders was certainly not crawling to Fenris' feet. Not even if he wanted to. Anders was the medical expert here. He was in control. A couple of feet from the chair, he gathered himself and, with strength he did not know he possessed, he stood back up. He walked the rest of the way on his own two feet. Relieved. Then Anders leaned over the chair, inhaling deeply. He braced his hands on the chair's back.
Looking perturbed, Fenris asked, "What are you doing?" The gauntlets stopped moving. Fenris did not tilt his head. He looked up with one eye peeking through his hair, his expression an open challenge. The elf's nostrils flared as he inhaled deeply, blinking slowly, mouth opening as he took another deep breath. Anders felt the warrior's scrutiny, and his heart responded by beating like a frightened bird's heart. He could feel his life leaching out even faster, but he would not stop. He was a proud man. Unstoppable.
Anders said nothing. He simply moved his head down further, his nose now brushing against stray strands of white hair. He took another deep breath. "Yes," he murmured. "Closer. Not close enough." The mage placed his hands on the front of the chair arms nearest him, his fingers almost brushing Fenris'. The elf seemed unwilling or unable to move, his eyes growing unfocused as the mage leaned in. Anders felt warmth radiating from the elf's fingers, noticing only then that even his hair seemed to give off heat. "I'm afraid," Anders clarified, "that you have something I need on you. And I intend to find it."
Anders moved his head further down again, not touching Fenris but maneuvering his nose to place it in between the elf's shoulder and his ear. Fenris flinched back, annoyance writ over his face. Anders responded, not by moving his head or changing the angle of his face, but by looking straight into Fenris' eyes from where he was. The look was a challenge of sorts. Fenris took a deep breath, staring back. He clearly was bothered by Anders' behavior but was nevertheless determined to stay still and endure it. Fenris was as proud a man as Anders. He would not be moved. But perhaps he might yield all the same.
Bowing his head gently in submission, Anders leaned over to place his nose back where it was before in relation to Fenris' body. He took another long breath, this time letting it go in a shaky exhalation. Fenris sat pinned in place, hackles raised but refusing to move. It was getting to him too. Anders could tell. The elf's nostrils flared. He shifted uncomfortably in the chair, even though he moved as if infinitely weary. Anders caught it then, the scent of Fenris' arousal mixed with his own. It smelled… renegade spawn of Andraste… It smelled of lyrium and blood and musk and oil and leather and sex. It smelled of Fenris, and of what he needed. It smelled of blessed forgiveness for his sins and simultaneously like sin itself.
Unable to resist breaking the spell, Anders had to open his mouth. "The nose… knows," he laughed with half sarcasm and half genuine mirth, his voice like cold honey poured over steaming hot pancakes. He lifted his eyebrows to signal his profoundness, then waggled them suggestively. Fenris turned to look at him in open disregard, inadvertently bringing their mouths closer together. Anders leaned towards a kiss, one knee raising itself to the chair between Fenris' legs to aid in his balance. Skittish, Fenris moved his head back to the side, craning it at the maximum angle away from Anders that the chair would allow.
This action bore the long expanse of the elf's neck to the light of the flickering flames. Anders looked at the fire dancing along the lines of lyrium with fascination for several heartbeats. Then, with deliberate slowness, he angled down and ran the flat of his tongue, half on a lyrium brand and half off, up to the base of Fenris' ear. Fenris emitted the tiniest sound, nevertheless deep enough to thrum against Anders' tongue in the crackling heat. The mage lifted his face away gently to smack his lips, tasting the lyrium residue of his long lick. He could smell the lyrium in the air, too, now that he could recognize it. He felt every nerve ending in his body light up with wild craving, distracting him from the elf's elegant long ear.
Anders released a husky whine in frustration. "I need…" He angled back down, openly searching with his nose. Fenris' body was on fire, overheated with fever, and Anders shivered with his need for that heat. He paused upon reaching the middle of Fenris' chest. He shifted sideways. His nose attempted to nudge Fenris' arm away from his body. When the arm did not move, he grunted in annoyance and tried again.
Fenris put on an affronted air. "Are you insane?" Anders looked up, pinning the elf with his eyes, his own eyes glinting. "Yes," he said like a petulant child. "And you're not?" He didn't bother to apologize for his mad persistence. He just… waited. Fenris' breathing quickened even as he closed his eyes in resignation. He moved his arm, in what might have seemed a casual motion without the painfully tense context.
Anders' tongue darted out, swiping along a lyrium brand on Fenris' inner arm. The tongue travelled slowly up until it reached towards the elf's armpit. Fenris flinched, clearly uncomfortable. Anders pulled back, apparently satisfied enough to analyze his findings. He licked his lips again. "No," he said.
Fenris ruffled visibly, placing his arm back in position and shuffling his shoulders. Anders was forced to pull back until the motions slowed. Voice snide, he countered, "Go on. Tell me to stop. I dare you." He pushed his knee forward, pinning Fenris in place and demonstrating his awareness of the elf's reaction. If Anders was going to die, then he was going to go down fighting for what he wanted, what he needed. It was the same damned thing the elf needed and wanted, and he'd be damned if he was turned away.
Their eyes locked again. A minute passed. Fenris broke first. "We are both mad." Anders tried to keep his smirk less than triumphant as his eyes dropped to Fenris' chest, at the vertical level where his nose had left off. He glanced lower, briefly. Fenris startled as Anders dropped lower, kneeling obediently as if it were an old habit. "I remember this," Fenris said. Of course, that was impossible. Anders looked up into Fenris' narrow eyes glittering over a knowing smirk. A shift in his response. Green eyes flashed with the same heat that radiated from his skin. It became a shared joke. Dark and rich. Mad and almost dead.
Over the arm of the chair, Fenris gently slid two fingers over Anders'. Their hearts clenched together. Grunting, Anders slid down, angling to start anew from the ground up. His knee reluctantly abandoned its post in the chair. He sunk down to the floor, legs splayed to the side. Looking almost like a loyal dog at its owner's feet. Anders paused to take an unhurried breath before tracing a lyrium line above Fenris' toes toward his ankle. Fenris' foot flinched, causing Anders to respond likewise. Undeterred, he placed his tongue back and followed the line up to the juncture where they met the cut of the elf's trousers. Anders tasted his lips, analyzing dirt and sweat and wet grass, followed by a determination to move on.
Anders' nose followed the inside of Fenris' leg. Even though his legs were fully enclosed, Anders' nose twined along the way up as he followed one lyrium line flowing into another. Fenris held his breath as Anders reached his upper thighs. The mage didn't hesitate to draw his face beside Fenris' crotch, inhaling without shame. Grabbing hold of a slat between the chair legs, he curved his back inwards and followed down the bulge of Fenris' outlined cock and to his balls, where his nose nudged in gently.
"Andraste's hairy thighs," Anders sighed with a mix of ire and reverence. "You've got to be kidding me." The mage pulled back, dizzy and elated, a grin on his face almost post-coital in its lazy intensity. There. What he needed. Perhaps he was going to live. If so, he was also quite possibly about to get high.
"What?" Fenris closed his legs reflexively. He blushed, having been unaware until it was too late that he had grown achingly hard in response to all the attention. "You're saying your nose led you… there."
"You want me to explain it to you," Anders said, tilting his head sideways and then back. "I can't. I just know." He let his honest eyes speak for themselves, even though the silence stretched in the air.
"Impossible," Fenris said, shaking his head. The muscles in his thighs flexed in a fight or flight response.
"Not impossible," Anders reassured him with a hand on his thigh. "Deviant, perhaps. But I need this. You need this. I can tell you feel it too. But I'll walk out that door if you look me in the eyes and tell me no."
Fenris' hands gripped the chair until his gauntlets scraped deep into the wood. "You know I cannot."
"And I also know that's as close as we'll get to consent, you and I. So…" Anders moved his hands to the waistband of Fenris' trousers. "Forgive me," he whispered. His long fingers dug in, lifting the waistband up and over. Fenris lifted his hips and legs, looking to the floor. Anders smirked and continued shifting the trousers down, his mouth drawing forward inexorably to the damp spot on Fenris' smallclothes.
Anders' flat tongue slid out to run across the patch of ambrosia. His eyes rolled immediately to the back of his head, his breath speeding. Fenris' hips jutted forward as the tongue retreated, the low groan he held back in restraint forcing itself from his mouth at the lost contact. Anders looked up at him, shocked by the sound. If Fenris was disturbed or ashamed of this shared madness, Anders reveled in it.
Pupils growing dark, Anders waited until Fenris returned his unwavering gaze. Then without breaking eye contact, Anders hooked his nimble fingers over the smallclothes and brought them down, slowly enough to avoid startling the elf. Once the smallclothes and trousers puddled together at Fenris' feet, the elf gingerly removed one foot from the pile to spread his legs further, hunching his back to sit deeper in the chair. Anders finally dared a glance down, his breath catching in his throat at the sight.
The spell between them was suddenly broken, reality impinging on the surreal shared moment. Anders lifted an eyebrow, his rich voice filled with mirth. "Really?" He mouth opened in awe, making him pant.
"What?" Fenris started to close his legs again, abashed. Anders stopped him by placing a firm palm on each thigh, using the weight of his determined expression rather than physical force to make his point.
"You look like… candy," Anders said warmly. "I wish I was joking. But… Look at you. Maker." The blonde released a huff by way of appreciation. They looked down together at Fenris' cock, jutting proud and straight, unmarred skin the same dusky hue as the rest of his body, in startling contrast to the cherry head, somewhat larger around and perfectly formed. It was a typical elven cock, proportionate for its unusually tall body, remarkable only and entirely for its mouth-watering perfection.
"I suppose it does," Fenris admitted. He allowed Anders to gently push his legs apart fully. The blonde's open smile on wide lips eased Fenris' nervousness. Looking aside, he gave the tiniest smirk himself.
Anders licked his lips several times before snaking his tongue out again, wrapping its wide flat surface around the base of Fenris' cock and pulling it up slowly. His eyes rolled upwards again, lowering back afterwards to Fenris' face, noting that the warrior held his breath in anticipation. Anders' steady travel upwards slowed, and he lifted his tongue just as it approached the head. Fenris released his breath, confusion on his face. Anders blew warm air, watching with satisfaction as Fenris' cock twitched.
"You taste like cinnamon," Anders remarked. "Has anyone told you that?"
Fenris considered this a moment. "No," he answered. He looked a bit puzzled by the description.
"Hmm," Anders mused. "Isabela was holding out on me. Probably for the best, really."
Fenris chuckled, then stopped abruptly with a cough. Talk of their lives in Kirkwall served as a harsh reminder of just how different things had become, and how quickly. Fenris frowned, eyes turning aside in thought. Anders had grown so used to being the sole subject of attention that he immediately plotted how to get it back. Isabela was a sweet girl, but she had nothing on Anders. He would prove it.
He was grateful for the gift he was about to receive. He would give a gift of equal measure or die trying.