[For Gone-Batty, who has inspired my Fenders in so many ways…]
Anders had never been so grateful for a drink. It was only a small sip, but seemed to sooth every part of him. When the glass was pulled away he looked imploringly at the elf and was surprised when Fenris relented. The snifter was brought back to his mouth and he was permitted to drain the contents. Throughout he had kept his hands by his sides, afraid to make any move that would anger his tormentor.
The elf looked at the empty crystal goblet and casually threw it over his shoulder to shatter on the tiles, pleased when he heard Anders groan. He knew from bitter experience that the way to break a slave were small kindnesses followed by small cruelties. It was not beatings that would wear away the spirit, they were easily tolerated, if highly unpleasant, it was hope and hope dashed that would finally destroy the will.
His back still turned, Fenris began removing his clothing as he said, "Clean that up before you cut your delicate toes." He quickly undressed and almost fell over laughing when he turned. Anders was sweeping diligently, a broom in one hand, a dust pan in the other, and a blue gingham apron covering his nakedness. At the elf's laughter, he looked up and blushed an appealing pink, stammering, "It was on the broom. I always wear it when cleaning, just an automatic habit."
Still bent over and sniggering, Fenris said, "It's lovely. Keep it on, I think it will add a certain piquancy to our activities." Walking to where the mage now stood, loaded dustpan in hand, the elf reached out to check for the erection he hoped was still there. Of course if it was not, if the mage had used Fenris' moment of inattention, then there would be a price, which would be lovely too. The elf was starting to realize that for the first time he could remember, whatever happened was to his advantage.
The mage was still hard and gritted his teeth at the touch, not knowing if he was yet allowed release. Fenris slapped the shape behind the colorful fabric and said, "Good boy. Keep it just that way.
"Now, that last time, you did something interesting. I expect you were experimenting. I like experimentation, but this time I will direct you until I am no longer able. You will then continue in whatever way you think will please me most. I hope, for your sake, that you guess correctly.
Anders waited passively as Fenris considered, then said, "Start with the chest and the knee, making your hands meet wherever they come together."
Summoning his magic, Anders touched the two spots specified, then almost straightened when he felt a hand run up his now exposed ass. It was something the elf had never done before, but their relationship was somewhat different now. As the lyrium began to glow that deep, almost midnight, blue, he heard Fenris spit and a thumb was pushed into him. Anders liked both men and women, but only as a man. He had never allowed anyone to penetrate him and at the feel of that alien appendage in his body, he leapt away, covering his buttocks with both hands and scrambling to a corner.
Fenris laughed with dark delight. "Ah, lovely," he said. "Something that you object to. Well that will add to the fun. You know that hiding in a corner will just not do, but this time only, I will forgive you. Now come, we were only beginning."
Anders, his hands still on his wounded pride, contemplated his options: return to the elf or be made Tranquil by the Templars. Tranquility was having a certain appeal, but he was not quite yet ready to abandon his life, no matter how sordid it had become.
Stretching out an elegant hand, Fenris beckoned with one long thin finger. Clutching his apron, the mage rose to face the inevitable. He shuffled towards the elf, his head down and his hands fretfully working the fabric. Fenris pulled him closer, tipped up his head and placed his mouth on the lips pulled into a grim line, licking rather than kissing, and then shoving the mage away roughly, only to catch him by the hand and jerk him back in a savage parody of a dance. He gathered up the neckline of the apron so that he was half choking Anders, and snarled, "You really do want to lean to behave. When I call you, you come. When I place my mouth beside yours, you open, when I tell you to present yourself to me, you do so, without hesitation. Is that understood."
The mage considered until his ruminations were cut short by a hard slap. "Immediately!" the elf raged. "That means your answers as well." Anders put a hand to his stinging cheek and contemplated murder. If he had thought he had any chance at all to get away with it, there would have been a dead elf in his clinic now rather than the grimacing, but all too alive, fiend who faced him. "You have approximately one second." Fenris reminded.
Still rubbing his jaw, the mage replied, "I understand."
"Elaborate," the elf demanded.
"I will obey you, quickly, completely, to the best of my ability. Whatever you say, I will immediately do. I put myself and my talents at your disposal," he thought for a moment. If he were going to be forced to say all this, he wanted as much benefit as he might be able to get from it. "I will leave myself open to you."
Fenris nodded, saying, "We shall proceed where we left off, and this time I expect no girlish coyness. I shall insert any part of my body, or anything else that takes my fancy, into any orifice you possess any time I wish. And at times, if I am displeased, I may choose to not use an orifice, or at least not one that you now possess, so contemplate that the next time you are feeling rebellious."
As the cursed elf was nattering on, Anders had approached him and placed his hands, once again bending to reach the knee. He hoped that at least this might shut Fenris up. He was surprised when no hand came to tease him, or worse.
As he poured magic into the laces of lyrium they again began glowing a deep purple. Fenris, his breathing already quickened, said, "Right hand up, let it run up the vein. Yes, that's right… a bit higher." Anders' hand was now cupping one firm buttock, his thumb stroking a tendril of the marking while his palm sat over a fat strip. He noticed a strange sensation as he increased his magical output and watched the pattern start to pulse aquamarine; he was enjoying the contact, enjoying watching the elf. Before the ritual had been done for Anders benefit—as a bribe and to gain his own release, but now denied that earlier opportunity to relieve his own tension, hard and needy, he felt more than a small stirring of pleasure as his cock quivered, thumping against his bare stomach.
Despite his own rapture, the reaction had not been lost on Fenris. He let his head fall back and mused. Did he wish to allow the mage this pleasure in an act that should be all for himself? And if he did not, what would be the best action to prevent it? He certainly was not going to satisfy Anders before they began as he had when he was the supplicant. He looked down at the telltale movement against the gay fabric and allowed himself a small smile. It was just possible that if the mage found that he too benefited from the act, that it would be better for Fenris as well, which was all that he ultimately cared about. If allowing Anders a bit of enjoyment was the price for a more ecstatic orgasm, he was wiling to be generous. On the other hand, if things were the same as they had been before, he would find a way to prevent this small defiance.
Anders had his eyes closed, the corners of his lips turning up. His breathing was deep and regular as he waited for Fenris' next instruction.
"Up, between the breastbone and the other hand on the back of my neck," the elf ordered. He suspected that this would set up a circuit between his heart and the nerves of his spinal column, and he gasped as he realized just how true that was. Anders was all but gushing magic into him now and the colors quickly went from blue to green to yellow, the light blinding if anyone had been there to see.
Breathing heavily, having lost his calm rhythm, Anders increased the power even more. He was draining himself beyond any sane limit, but he didn't care—the sensations now coursing through not only his painfully rigid cock, but his whole body were like nothing he had ever imagined. He seemed to be in tune with the elf's body, working it from yellow to orange, then holding there, allowing the intensity to build, hearing Fenris' panting as he struggled for breath. It was more intimate than any coupling he had ever had, with man or woman. Although their bodies were not joined, their energies, their very life essence, had merged. If life were what made a being itself, there was now only one being, one life, in that dim clinic.
Anders struggled, waging a mighty battle for control, but finally it was lost and a great surge of energy, every bit of magic left in his shrinking reserves, flowed from him into the lyrium tracings and then back. Some small part of him that had maintained the ability to reason realized that instead of diminishing, his magic was increasing as it passed through the lyrium in the elf's body and returned to him. He suddenly had more magic and his disposal than he had ever felt before and he poured it all back into Fenris' thin frame. The elf was now glowing a fiery crimson pulsing with scarlet.
The circuit continued to pass power from one body to another as both their temperatures increased, the feelings beyond pleasure or pain. It was then that Anders' training asserted itself and he realized that he must disengage or perish. He slowly moved his hands away, watching as the energy pulsed in the space between them and the elf. That seemed to be all that was required. With a great feral scream, Fenris' came, reaching out and wrapping his hand around Anders' stiff rod, smothering it with the checked fabric. The touch was enough and Anders felt himself explode as well, staining the apron, as he struggled within Fenris' firm grip.
He staggered for a moment, then collapsed as if his bones had melted along with his lust and his will. He felt a thump as the elf fell on top of him, but could not even raise a hand to push him off. There was simply nothing left of Anders physically, but still he felt the expanded store of magic coursing through is limp form. As he lay there helpless he was already desperate for more. He realized that he would do anything to repeat what he had just experienced. It was better than any drug, any sex, any experience he had ever had by so many orders of magnitude that there simply was no measure of it. What would he do if Fenris now withheld himself, out of cruelty of spite? He felt terror. He was helpless and absolutely within the elf's thrall, more so than a simple threat of death or Tranquility could ever make him.