In The Hanged Man, Fenris braced himself against the bar and took a long swallow of something that was probably ordinarily used to strip paint from the walls and burned all the way down. He coughed once, drank down the rest, and asked for another.
He would have preferred one of his fine Tevinter wines, but those supplies would not last forever, and he was not looking to relax tonight. Fenris needed something to shut down the thinking part of his brain for a little while. The second glass seemed to do the trick, already blurring and dulling the reflexes of his normally-sharp mind.
The debate Fenris was having with himself was really only for show. He had already made his decision some time ago. After what had occurred last night, in Hawke's manor, there was really no turning back.
He only needed to justify it to himself, to make it not seem such a terrible mistake.
He had not intended to become beholden to another, not ever. That aim was probably broken the day he had fallen into Hawke's band of adventurers. Since then he had done a great many things he had sworn never to do, including tolerating the presence of mages and the use of magic upon his person.
It had happened slowly, without his notice, that he had come to belong to this group and to let them command him. To let her command him. He was not so bothered about that fact. But it did worry him that he was not bothered. What had happened to his desire for independence, for absolute freedom?
He had sworn himself never again to be used against his will. But here he was, at their beck and call. How ever long he had held out against their enticements, the result was the same.
He did not fear now that they would misuse him. They were not mages. Their affection for one another was sweet and good. Even he could recognize that, even if he'd never seen its like before.
And he did not fear so much that he would abuse them. Had he not resisted their considerable charms, even when they were vulnerable and naked before them? Surely he could control himself. What's more, there were two of them, and they were formidable women. They could protect each other, if needs be.
So if Hawke and Isabela wished to use him for their pleasure, he would allow it. It was not against his consent if he was, in the end, willing. And eager. Was it still bondage if he was eager for it?
This kind of thinking was making his head hurt.
In this case he had chosen his taskmasters. That, at least, was a choice - wasn't it?
He liked them, after all. Very much so.
The alcohol was not helping. It only tangled his thoughts into a confusing snarl.
The elf sighed and shook his head. Normal people did not seem to be so troubled with such things. They fell into and out of liaisons with each other with such casualness! Tears and awkwardness may come up at the end, but they seemed to emerge none the worse for wear.
But he was not a normal person, and likely never would be. Never could he be so casual in his affections, or in their loss. Fenris held tightly to what little he had.
To come to care for someone and then to lose them - some instinct told him that such a loss would destroy him.
The opposite bind had proven true as well. He had once hoped that perhaps he could live without intimate company, and forget entirely about the needs of the flesh. Like the Starkhaven princeling did, with his vows of chastity. What an utter failure that had been! Even before the girls had begun their seduction he had burned for them, steadily and without relief.
It would not be possible for him to go on alone forever, he knew it now. Not without loneliness and longing, feelings he had not even recognized as his until Isabela and Hawke had offered to relieve him of them. Now that he knew these for what they were, they seemed an impossibly heavy burden.
Fenris abandoned the bar and stepped outside, leaning against the wall of the Hanged Man and watching his own breath cloud the night air. The alcohol had steadied his nerves and warmed his chest, but had done nothing to help him forget his troubles.
How much easier it would have been for him if he could forget. Forget everything that happened in Tevinter, and the foulness that had been planted in him there. But after losing everything once he could not resist clinging hard to every memory, no matter how painful.
He could only hope that he did not inflict this pollution inside him on the couple, sweet Hawke and sly Isabela. He wondered if perhaps he should warn them of it. But if that were a requirement, he would not even entertain a notion of this liaison. He would never speak of his shameful past to anyone, would cut his own throat first.
He would simply have to manage it. If it could not be managed, he would remove himself from their company, whatever the cost to himself.
No less anxious, but more resolute, Fenris walked back into the Hanged Man and proceeded into the hallway that lead to Isabela's room.
They were, as they had always been, waiting for him.
But not idly, of course.
He could hear murmurs and laughter from beyond the door. Unimagined delights waited for him here, if he could only enjoy them.
If his presence did not naturally despoil their beauty.
In the library, the night before, he had taken a risk in offering himself to them. It had been... wonderful. All of his doubts had dissolved under their touch. But perhaps it was too good to be true. His burdens had returned in full force afterwards, after all.
In the end, he had to trust that they knew what they were doing.
Fenris opened the door quietly, not wanting to interrupt.
Hawke and Isabela were fully engaged with each other on Isabela's serviceable bed. The both of them were utterly naked. The smaller, fairer woman lay atop the voluptuous Rivaini with her head nodding between her legs. Her position was reversed so that the woman beneath her could return the favor.
Fenris entered the room as quietly as he could, his eyes widening at the sight. They were endlessly fascinating to him, the way they took their pleasure without demand or punishment. Each woman was so bewitching, and in each other's presence their beauty was magnified tenfold, as if by magic.
Isabela spotted him, of course. She met his eye without pausing her clever tongue between her lover's legs, and winked at him.
That look, playful and pleased to see him, had an intoxicating effect much stronger than his drink at the bar. It made him a co-conspirator in their pleasure, a sense that would gradually banish his discomfort.
In command as always, Isabela reached out a hand to Fenris, gesturing him closer. Her intentions, as usual, were very clear, even if her reasons were not. She wanted him to join them, fully this time. To reveal himself as they had revealed themselves to him.
Fenris was still reluctant to so reveal himself. He was certain that he did not have within him the things they wanted.
But whatever he did have, it was theirs. Completely theirs.
Author's note: one more installment. Full-on H/I/F pr0n. For real this time.