...aaaand this story has now hit the point where I better switch it over from a T rating to an M. Yes, there are smutty bits ahead. I'll try to remember to warn for them as they occur so that those of you who'd rather not read about two men having a healthy physical relationship with each other (or fantasizing about such) can skip over them. Which, in this chapter, means "read the first half, and skip the part following the horizontal rule".


Anders sighed and leaned to the side, cheek resting against cupped hand, other hand busily sketching on the parchment spread flat on the desk behind him. Another sketch of his cat took shape on the paper, bringing a slight smile to his lips.

In the couple of weeks since they'd received word from Aveline, things had become... strained, somehow, between himself and Sebastian. He wasn't sure quite why, though he knew on his own part things like his growing fascination with the prince – no, to be honest, his growing lust for the man – had contributed in no small part. It was difficult to relax around someone who was making regular appearances in your more heated dreams. Especially when his fair complexion made even the slightest blush all too obvious.

Blight it, why couldn't he have conceived an obsession with someone who it was at least possible to imagine having a real relationship with. One of his guards, most of them reasonably handsome men. A servant, like that pretty maidservant he'd seen cleaning in Sebastian's rooms a couple of times when he'd been there at times other than lunch. Dugall would have been a more sensible person to fixate on than Sebastian, and he was straight as a ruler. Even Fenris would have made more sense, though he was pretty sure any indication of interest from him would be met with the glowing blue fist of painful sudden death.

He was still wondering if Fenris and Sebastian were involved in some way. Sebastian certainly seemed to be monopolizing the elf's time of late – when he wasn't with Anders for their discussions on freedom, or his lessons, he was almost invariably with either his horse or Sebastian, as far as Anders could tell. Sometimes both, the prince being quite fond of riding himself.

It bothered him how jealous it made him feel, that Fenris had excuses to spend time with Sebastian that he himself didn't. Even if he'd pretended to a sudden interest in horses, he doubted that would get him long rides alone with Sebastian like Fenris had. Well, not quite alone, he corrected himself, lips quirking with sudden humour. The pair of them and never less than a half-dozen guards, he was sure. Not exactly the right company in which to have an intimate little moment.

Anyway, he had no business being jealous of the pair of them. No business lusting over Sebastian.

His eyes fell on the parchment in front of him, and he blushed when he realized he'd been sketching a scene from the last night's dream, in which the blue-eyed prince had again featured in a starring role. Blushing deeply, he hastily dropped his pen, crumpled the parchment into a ball of paper, and rose to his feet. He tossed it toward the fireplace, muttering a curse as it bounced off the surround and rolled across the floor rather than landing in the fire as he'd intended. Before he could retrieve it, a silvery form streaked out from under his desk and landed on the crumpled ball, then a paw batted it across the floor and Ashes was in full-out pursuit of it. Anders grinned, watching the cat's antics as he played with this latest delightful toy, then shook his head and walked over to the stairs.

He'd have his supper, and a nice hot bath, and then early to bed, he decided.


Anders dripped a little scented oil into his bath – balsam, he'd come to learn this scent was called – and carefully capped and set aside the little ceramic container of it, then stepped into the tub and lowered himself down to sit, sighing in pleasure as the warmth of the water penetrated. He grimaced and rolled his shoulders, arching his back as the heat made his scarred flesh itch and tingle for a moment; the nerves there had never been quite the same after all the damage. Then the sensation faded, and he leaned back in the bath, letting his head drop back against the shaped lip of the huge marble tub.

He just soaked for a while, letting his mind drift pleasantly, enjoying the luxury of the bath. For a luxury it was, this big marble tub and all the hot water he wanted whenever he took the time to fill and heat the boiler. He could have cheated a little, he knew, and just filled the tub and heated it magically, but part of the enjoyment of this unexpectedly luxurious little bathing chamber was the labour of filling up the boiler, patiently waiting for the water to heat while he did other things – ate his supper and played with the dogs out in the snow for a while, in this case – then filled the tub and luxuriated in it.

Though he had no objections to using his magic to reheat the water when it started to cool too much. After which he picked up the bar of soap waiting nearby and gave himself a good cleaning. Hair first, followed by ducking under the surface to rise out the lather, slicking it back out of his face before continuing. Face, neck, shoulders, arms, and hands were easily enough dealt with, then the awkward folding and stretching to reach and clean his feet, including between every toe. Then up his legs to his stomach and chest, and down again, to his more sensitive spots, finally putting aside the soap and lazing back in the tub, the water still pleasantly hot and just a little milky-looking from the soap dissolved into it.

He looked down at himself, at his body disappearing down into the water. His condition had improved considerably since Kirkwall; he'd put on a little weight, yes, but only just enough to look healthy instead of all gaunt and boney. One of the benefits of that damned Grey Warden hunger; he'd have had to overeat by a phenomenal amount to actually become overweight. He spread his hand out on his belly under the water, feeling how taut it was; the work in the garden in the summer and fall, and all the playing with the dogs, and occasional horseback riding, had put him in pretty good shape. He was probably in the best shape he'd been since Amaranthine, really.

He tilted his head back against the rim of the tub again, sighing. No, those weren't memories he particularly wanted to resurrect, they'd spoil his otherwise good mood. He closed his eyes instead, and found himself thinking about lunch with Sebastian and Fenris today, and how hard it had been to sit there and try to act normally when he felt like blushing every time he looked at the prince. He'd spent most of the meal staring down at his plate, only to have Sebastian asked him in a concerned voice at the end of the meal if he was feeling all right.

Maker, why why why was he so damned fixated on such a stupidly unobtainable person! He seemed to make a habit of it; look at how long he'd pined over Hawke before the two of them had finally gotten together. And that was something else he didn't want to think about, he decided, wincing. Hawke. Whose love he'd had so briefly, only to destroy it along with the chantry in Kirkwall.

He tried to turn his thoughts in a pleasanter direction, thinking about things like playing outside in the snow with the dogs, or lying stretched out on the couch upstairs with a book purloined from the castle library and reading, Ashes stretched out purring on his tummy. His smile widened, remembering Ashes luring Fenris into playing with him briefly during lunch today, the cat lunging at the ends of the scarf hung around the elf's neck, Fenris' quiet smile as he flicked the fringe in and out of Ashes' reach. He smirked, remembering Fenris' shocked, half-angry, half-amused reaction when Sebastian had compared the cat and the elf – both green-eyed, pale-haired and graceful, with nastily sharp weapons on their fingertips, the prince had pointed out.

He wondered if Sebastian had thought that up on the spot, or had thought of it earlier and just been waiting for an appropriate time to pull it out. He remembered looking at the prince, lost for a moment in his wicked grin and dancing eyes, and how he'd had to abruptly find something else to look at when the man turned and glanced at him, knowing he was blushing and unable to stop it.

He felt his cock twitch, down under the water, at the memory of that crooked grin, those warm blue eyes. For a moment he froze, flushing with embarrassment – and then uttered a particularly vile curse and let his hand slide further down his stomach, down to touch himself. As explicit as his dreams had become of late, he didn't think jerking off to thoughts of the prince could possibly make his embarrassment around the man any worse than it already was.

Trying not to think too much about just exactly what he was doing, he lightly wrapped his hand around himself. He closed his eyes again, tilting his head back further as he stroked himself to fullness, images from his dreams rising easily before his mind's eye, of a naked Sebastian, flushed and wanton and wanting. He changed his grip, using both hands on himself now, thumb and forefinger of one hand wrapped around the base of his shaft, remaining fingers gently massaging his balls and the sensitive skin just behind them, while his other hand took up the long pulling strokes, sometimes pausing to palm over his swollen tip. He bit down on his lower lip, all too aware of the little sounds of pleasure escaping him, echoing off the marble tub and stone-tiled walls, the lapping of the water against the sides of the tub as he braced his feet against the hard stone and thrust up into his own hands.

The echoes made it almost sound like there was a second person in here with him, their little sounds of passion an echo of his own. He imagined it being Sebastian's voice, crying out as their bodies moved together. Him in Sebastian, or Sebastian in him...? No, it didn't matter, just that it was the two of them, together... his back arched, a low cry escaping his throat as he came, seed pumping out into the warm cloudy water, water slopping out on the floor from the force of his motion. He collapsed back afterwards, panting and limp for a moment, then slowly rose to his feet, stepping out of the tub on unexpectedly shaky legs. He moved away from the puddle around the tub, towelling himself dry and pulling on his waiting nightshirt and loose breeches before staggering out of the room and into his bedroom to collapse into bed.

He dragged the sheets up over himself and was asleep before Ashes and Ganwyn had even finished settling into their accustomed places around him.