The mage was an infuriating, alluring bundle of trouble.
The blonde was infuriating because of his stance, his belief that mages should be free and unchained from their responsibilities and rightful place under the caring watch of others. He argued that mages were people too, and deserved to live as others do. Even now, after years of knowing Fenris and parts of Fenris' story, he still did not see that mages were notnormal, and as such could not be treated as other people.
Fenris could not forget the forced atrocities he had seen, nor the accidents. He still could smell the scent of burned animal flesh, an accident that had been caused by a young mageling who was still trying to learn control. He still feltthe zap of electricity from an undertrained elf who had panicked when Danarius had stalked into the room. And he still remembered the slaves that had died to keep him, his master's project, alive and breathing. He could no more erase the sight of the pale bodies piled up, the memory of the scent of decay and death assaulting his nostrils, as he could heal these scars on his body.
Granted, mages were still people, just inherently dangerous. A man could pick up a sword, but he can just as easily put it back down again. A mage could never put down his magic, could never fully give up being what he was, unless he was made Tranquil.
Mages, despite what Anders claimed otherwise, were not normal people, and they never would be. He had tried to tell the mage this from day one, but it would seem that this particular life fact would not penetrate Anders' skull. Even with what they were to each other now, Anders still refused to see reason.
And the healer was alluring because…well, that statement spoke for itself. Even in the beginning, Fenris did admit that the man was compassionate; if you were wounded, he would heal you - even if you were firmly anti-mage, as Fenris could attest on numerous occasions. Add to that Anders' penchant for refusing payment for services rendered from a very desperate population, and his admittedly good looks…yes, Fenris thought idly. He could see where Varric had been coming from with the whole 'tragic romantic hero of an apostate'.
He would never admit it without a great deal of coaxing, but some of the books he enjoyed learning to read most were those simple children's tales of courage and bravery, and of the hero saving the day. He really enjoyed the one with the griffons in it; a tale of the Grey Wardens, riding their loyal griffons and raining glorious death from above. Fenris liked those stories; probably because he knew he wasn't such a good man, could never make those kinds of choices or sacrifices. A hero, however, did what needed to be done to help others, even if the cost was incredibly high.
He just hoped this particular story wouldn't end the way the dwarf claimed it would. Fenris wasn't exactly sure what he had with the mage, but he was attached enough to not want the 'hero' to die.
The 'hero' grunted in his sleep, his long legs kicking slightly as he dreamed. Amused, Fenris reached out, gently running his fingers down the back of the mage's neck. Anders made a contented sound, and his legs stopped their running.
Tugging the other man closer against his body (it was notcuddling), Fenris drifted back to sleep, relatively happy with the way things were.
It had been a simple errand; they had both signed up to help clear out a den of supposed blood mages in a derelict corner of the city, conveniently close by. Fenris had signed up because it provided money; Anders had signed on with the hope of helping the 'misguided' mages.
"I mean, blood magic is wrong, no doubt about it," Anders chattered as they waited at the rendezvous point for the other hired hands. "But if they are cornered, they'll panic and use it. If we talk them down-"
"Would you?"
"Would I what?"
"If you were cornered," Fenris repeated, glancing at the healer from under his bangs. "Would you resort to blood magic?"
Anders hesitated. "Not for myself, no. I'd like to think I could use other, less damning means to get myself out of trouble."
Fenris mulled over that as he tightened his gauntlets again. His first fight after recovering from his injuries had been exhilarating, but rough on his body. This time it wasn't Templars or guards he would be facing; mages were, and always would be, more dangerous.
Eyeing Anders, he voiced a question that had been nagging him.
"What about someone else?"
Anders bit his lip, and with the abrupt arrival of the leader of their misfit group, the mage didn't get a chance to answer the elf's question.
Fenris didn't mind; he was dreading what the healer would have said.
It was a rough and brutal fight, but shorter than expected. Anders hadn't even gotten the chance to offer the trapped men a peace offering; demons had immediately spawned out of the darkness, and the healer had been forced to fry one of them if he wanted to keep his head.
Fenris, at first, had been thrilled with the rush that came with battle, the sense of purpose and calm stealing over him like a comforting, warm blanket. It didn't matter that they were mages, that there were demons here; they cut and bled and fell like anything else. His blade was an extension of himself, his footing sure and swift. His body was his own once more; damaged, yes, but still in one whole piece. Demons and men fell to his sword, and he danced and spun around the battlefield.
It wasn't until after they had left and made their way back to their room that he realized something was off. His back was slowly starting to throb, and any movement made with his arms, legs, or neck was starting to become too much. It took most of his willpower to follow Anders upstairs instead of making a beeline for a handy chair to rest. By the time they were inside their room, he could barely move without pain registering in all corners of his mind.
He glanced aside at Anders, measuring and calculating. The mage looked worn, but not necessarily exhausted. Fenris debated on not alerting the other man to his problem; he could tend to himself, couldn't he? All he had to do was bend down and-
And bite his tongue against even more pain. No, the armor was not coming off.
Resigned to his fate, he did the only thing he could do.
"I…Anders," he muttered.
"Fenris?" the other asked, already in the process of taking his blood soaked clothing off. "What's wrong?"
"I need some help with my armor," the elf said quietly. "I, I can't-"
"You're not hurt, are you?" There it was- that concern that was the same yet different from what he gave other patients Fenris had seen him tend to. The concern was genuine; it was the level of worry and tenderness in the other's eyes that made the elf realize just how much Anders trulycared for him.
It was a little unnerving, but not as much as it used to be.
"No, just very sore," Fenris replied, wincing as he held his arms away from his sides, trying to help the other man as Anders started to pull and tug and unbuckle his armor.
"You're still not used to the weight and all the fighting," Anders sighed. "You're still building up your strength and stamina. I shouldn't have allowed you to-"
"To what?" Fenris gasped in relief as the weight was lifted from his chest and back; the pain was still there, but on a lesser scale. His muscles were Not Happy with him. "To go and fight? You could not have stopped me."
"True," Anders chuckled behind him, his warm breath making Fenris shiver. He stilled, leaning back slightly against the gentle fingers that stroked his bare shoulder.
"Pants?"
Fenris shook his head. "They can stay on."
"Where do you hurt?"
"Back, shoulders," Fenris replied, letting the mage gently push him toward their bed.
"Lay on your stomach," Anders commanded. "I'll give you a massage. Non-magical," he immediately added with a laugh at the wary look Fenris gave him. "I'll just use my hands, alright? Let me put some clean trousers on and we'll get started."
Nodding, the elf crawled onto the covers, trying to ignore the pain that came with even the simplest movements of his body. He relaxed into the soft mattress with a groan, turning his head to the side so he could watch Anders work from the corner of his eye.
The mage moved with quick efficiency, digging some salve out of his bag and coming over beside the bed, in line of Fenris' view. He set the jar on the bedside table, giving the elf a measured look.
"Do you mind if I…?" he made a hand motion towards Fenris' back that took a moment to translate.
Fenris turned his head the other way, no longer looking at the healer. "Do what is necessary," he said.
"You don't mind having a mage at your back?" Anders asked, even as the bed dipped under his weight. "Knowing what I am capable of? Knowing what I've done?"
Fenris shuddered as he felt the other man gingerly crawling over his legs, perching himself on the elf's calves. He could feel the body heat rolling off the healer, could feel the tension of the other man; he was waiting for an answer, ready to leave if that was what Fenris wanted.
"If it is you, I do not mind."
"Thank you," Anders said quietly, shifting above the elf. The sharp, cool smell of the salve made Fenris' nose twitch, and then he let out a soft sigh as warm, slick hands descended and rested on the nape of his neck.
Fenris let out a soft whine as the mage's fingers dug in, painful at this point, making the elf's shoulders scrunch up closer to his neck instinctually which made everything else burn which made him writhe even more-
He froze at the feel of lips lightly brushing his trembling shoulders.
"Relax," Anders said gently. "I know it hurts, but you have to stay relaxed or it won't help. Rubbing the salve in will ease the tension a little."
Nodding, Fenris slowly, cautiously, relaxed his posture, eventually bearing his nape fully to the mage and burying his face down into the sheets.
It still hurt, but the salve warmed his skin, easing some of the tension along the way, while the mage's fingers and palms did the rest. His back was what had been bothering him, but as the tension eased in his neck, some of the pain in his back lessened as well. He relaxed further into the bedding as Anders worked his fingers deep into the elf's muscles, coaxing the pain and stiffness from them and leaving warm and loosened muscles behind.
Those blessed, long, strong fingers were making a fool out of the elf, but he found himself not caring in the slightest. It was only him and Anders- what did it matter if every stroke, every movement that the mage pressed into his skin made him whimper and whine like a pathetic dog? Only Anders could hear him, only Anders wouldever hear him make these noises. Those hands slowly erasing away pain and leaving warm, gentle pleasure in their wake- strong hands, calloused fingers, hands that healed gently and told him so much about the mage. Fenris loved them, as much as he could love a body part.
He wondered, idly, if the other man had ever played an instrument. The way the pads of those fingers dug and stroked along the gaps in his backbone made him wonder if, perhaps in another lifetime, Anders had played something- a lute, perhaps?
Fenris twitched, hips digging into the mattress when Anders reached his lower back. The mage chuckled, but continued his work, fingers digging in and drawing a breathy moan from the elf. Unconcerned with his behavior or actions, Fenris arched more into the touch, seeking more.
"Glad you're enjoying this almost as much as I am," Anders said, sounding amused.
"You enjoy this?" Fenris breathed, sighing when Anders dug in a little harder into the muscle. "You are doing all the work."
"I love making you unwind," Anders whispered, drawing another shudder from the elf- the healer's voice had become heavier, huskier. "I love that you trust me enough to show yourself like this, that you trust me enough to help you." His fingers drifted, stroking Fenris' right buttock gently, but hard enough to make the warrior shudder again.
"And I love touching you. I'm getting as much out of this as you are."
Fenris turned to look over his shoulder, eyeing the healer. Anders had that same look in his eye as he had had that night he had…displayed himself. Fenris' cock twitched, already all too willing due to the effects of the massage. Flushing slightly at the reaction that memory brought, Fenris licked his lips, thinking.
"How…do you see this ending?"
Anders smirked. "Do you really want to know the answer to that?"
Fenris hesitated. He didwant to know the answer- he was just unsure what would happen if…it went further than what they currently had.
He respected the healer a great deal, and he certainly cared enough to not want to hurt the other man. This mage, formerly the bane of his existence, had proven to be Fenris' most valued friend. And friends didn't hurt each other.
After what had happened with Hawke…well, Fenris wanted to avoid a repeat performance. Anders certainly didn't deserve thathappening to him, and Fenris didn't want just a one night stand with the man.
The mage's expression softened when the elf did not answer and Fenris was surprised when he reached out and simply started to caress his cheek. When Anders continued the motion, Fenris closed his eyes, leaning into the gentle touch.
"I see this ending here," the mage murmured, shifting and rolling off of the warrior. Fenris wriggled closer, spooning up against the human. "I see this…taking time, patience. And I intend to enjoy it."
The elf let out a contented sound as Anders slowly wrapped his arms around the warrior's torso, hands splayed over his belly, his face nuzzling the back of his neck and his hair. Timidly, Fenris reached back, jerkily stroking the mage's face. His movements became smoother, more confident as the mage stayed put.
This…this was nice, Fenris realized. He was pain-free, his muscles almost gooey, and this man was here with him, holding him gently and closely, like any lover would.
"You are a saint," he snorted.
Anders laughed. "Me? No, no. Just patient. And I know when to appreciate the small things in life."
Fenris shifted a little. "Such as?"
He felt Anders shrug. "Waking up, alive, is a good start. Having food in my belly. You still alive and well. Petting that bowlegged cat that lives downstairs. You know, the little things."
"Did- do you yearn for more?"
"Who doesn't?"
Fenris pulled away a little, curling further in on himself. "I didn't, for the longest time." He rolled over, fully facing the curious-looking apostate. "Slaves do not look forward to the future- all they worry about is the next minute, the next hour, and what that and the whims of their master will bring. A slave does not dream of happiness, a family, or love. They just exist, for their master, by their master, because of their master."
Honey brown eyes blinked down at him. "When did you start wishing for more?"
Fenris snorted, eyes closing. "When do you think? When Hawke came into my life."
He could feel the tension curling in the mage's frame at the mention of his former lover. Fenris opened his eyes, capturing the gaze of the mage in his calm one.
"I am mending, my healer." He smiled, reaching out and brushing aside a strand of hair. "I would not even be alive if it were not for you. I do not believe I have said it before, but thank you for not letting me die."
Anders opened his mouth to say something, but Fenris silenced him with a finger landing firmly on the mage's lips. Leaning in, he removed the finger, his lips gently brushing against the healer's. After a moment, Anders was kissing back, just as slow and soft.
They might have progressed further, Fenris reflected, if it wasn't for that damn assassin.
"Excuse me, love birds," he sounded amused. "But I need help on an assignment. Now. You can ravage each other afterwards, if I get to watch."
Fenris thought that the massage had helped a great deal; he was fast enough throwing the pillow that it actually hit the smug looking assassin right in the face.
AN: School is a bitch, and should have another update soon. That is all.