A huge thank-you to both Mary and Carrie for their input into this chapter, and a special thank you to Mary for beta-ing two chapters in 24 hours, and for doing her usual excellent job. I'd be lost without her!
Are there any artists out there? I'd like to commission a traditional/digital painting (would also consider 3D) of Fletcher & Fenris to go with the story, and have approached a few artists registered at deviant art dot com , but have had no luck as I'm not registered with . If anyone would be interested, and would accept payment in deviant points, please get in touch!
~o~O~o~
After scouting parties had been sent down the various tunnels leading off the main chamber, it was determined that the collapsed tunnel was the most direct route to the depths, and so the expedition workers put all of their efforts into making it safe. The tunnel was wider than any of the others, which allowed easy transportation of provisions, though its mouth wasn't large enough to accommodate the carts, which had to be unloaded and left behind. After a mile or so, the tunnel widened considerably and led to a veritable network of chambers and other tunnels.
It took ten days for the tunnel to be made safe and for all of the produce and equipment to be transported to the new site, and, after a few heated discussions with Bartrand, Fletcher finally convinced him to allow the non-dwarves to pitch in. Although the humans tired more easily than the hardy dwarves - which led to a lot of banter - they did their share, and by the time the group had settled in, a few new friendships had formed.
Something Fletcher was grateful for was that there hadn't been time for much infighting, even among the dwarves; a few slanging matches had been had, but there had been no slurs on houses, nor the challenges or death threats that inevitably followed.
Another thing he was glad of was that the dwarves seemed to have acquired a respect for Fenris: not only because of the elf's veiled threat to the group when Sebastian was heckled, but because Fenris worked as hard and long as any dwarf, and had impressed them all with his strength, something they hadn't expected to see in an elf.
By now, it was well-known that Fletcher and Fenris were a couple. While travelling through, and camping in, the tunnel, the two of them had enjoyed little to no privacy, and did not flaunt their relationship in front of the others, but the looks and brief touches they exchanged did not go unnoticed. This also led to some needling from a few of the dwarves, but it was generally good-natured. A handful of them, though – notably the older dwarves and Bartrand – gave the couple a wide berth. The exceptions to this were Varric, of course, and Thirin and Torbal, whom, having befriended Fletcher and Fenris, didn't seem to have a problem with their tastes. The humans also didn't react much, as same-sex relationships were much more common among humans and elves than among dwarves, or at least were more socially acceptable.
Anders had kept his word to Fletcher and had stayed out of his fellow mage's affairs. Anders's newfound politeness and aloofness proved rather disconcerting to Fletcher, however; it just didn't seem in Anders's nature to keep such a firm lid on his emotions, and, although Anders had interacted normally within his own small group, he hadn't made any attempt to befriend any of the other workers. He had grown his beard out, as had Sebastian, and Torbal had jokingly offered to plait their beards once they were long enough. Fletcher had remained clean-shaven for Fenris's sake, even though opportunities for a quick kiss had been few and far between, and by the time camp was set up in the new chamber, Fletcher was just about ready to throw the elf over his shoulder and run away with him.
Bathing and washing had been difficult and awkward while working in the tunnel, as well as embarrassing for some. All of the dwarves, and a few of the humans, had quite happily strolled around in the nude and washed in front of the group, while the others were slightly more reserved. Of the rest of the group, Fenris, Anders and the mute human – Sutton - would not allow anyone to see them undressed and a makeshift screen was set up for them. While Fletcher, Sebastian and the rest of the humans didn't mind going topless, they covered themselves while washing their lower regions. After ten days of quick, furtive washing, most of them were desperate for a good bath, and, once camp was set up, this was left for Anders and Fletcher to arrange.
Only two tubs had been brought through from the first chamber, so the mages were kept busy creating and heating water; it was simply not practical to wait for the large amounts of water needed to boil. A time limit was imposed, and soon, most of the workers had bathed. Fenris and Sutton had insisted on bathing alone, without a neighbour in the adjoining tub, and did so behind a screen; Fenris had requested that Fletcher stand guard on the other side of the screen while he took a cold bath.
Last of all, the mages took their own baths. Creating and heating large amounts of water was a significant drain on their mana, so they treated themselves to a longer soak than the others had been allowed. Realising just how much they depended on the mages, most of the other workers didn't complain about that, although Bartrand naturally had something to say, not that they cared. Anders didn't seem to mind Fletcher seeing him naked, but he placed the screen next to his tub so that none of the others could see him.
Fenris, who had stayed away from the spell-casting before and after taking his own bath, found a quiet spot to sit in, and took out Hector, the Lazy Dog, the other book Fletcher had gifted him with. He had been reading it in secret, hoping to surprise Fletcher by reading it to him once he'd learned it. After reading for a few minutes, his concentration was broken when he heard Fletcher's voice; the bathing mages were talking, and Fenris glanced up.
From where he sat, he could see half of one of the bathtubs, partially obscured by the screen, as well as a soap-covered leg, which was bent at the knee. Fenris knew it must be Fletcher; the leg in question was far too dark-haired and chunky to belong to Anders. Although the elf hadn't seen Anders naked, he had seen him in just a shirt and leggings, and the possessed mage was surprisingly thin, even fragile-looking, beneath his long coat.
Fenris's eyes quickly darted around the chamber. No one else was close by, nor was anyone paying attention to what he, or the mages, were doing. His eyes wandered back over to the bathtub, and his stomach knotted as Fletcher's hands moved up and down his leg, distributing the soap evenly. Fenris's eyes fell to his book and he gulped, feeling hot. He suspected that Fletcher wouldn't mind Fenris seeing him naked, but, if Fletcher was not aware of his scrutiny, then it was wrong.
Still, Fenris could not help looking up again from his book.
In the tunnel, when Fletcher had walked around wearing nothing on top, Fenris had found himself looking at the mage when he was certain no one else could tell. At first, he had compared Fletcher with Danarius, the only other man Fenris had seen unclothed. The two could not have been more different: Danarius was old, lean but flabby, and his skin was mottled and covered in scars, old and new, from self-inflicted wounds. Fletcher, on the other hand, was solidly built, and looked as though he was once quite muscular as his shoulders were wider than his hips, and his torso tapered downwards in a vague V-shape. The only evidence of occasional overindulgence was his slightly-protruding belly, but he was not fat as he'd once claimed. His skin was pale, almost milky, and, when splashed with hot water, it flushed pink for a time. It was also very clear, with not a scar in sight. His arms were quite hairy, and his chest less so, but still a fine sprinkling of dark hair covered his front, a line of which ran below the waistband of his leggings.
Fletcher was so different; so pure, so good-looking, as opposed to the ugly, grubby magister. Soon, Fenris had stopped thinking of Danarius at all, and had found the image of Fletcher's body hard to eradicate from his mind. That image had tortured him at night, when, sharing a blanket with Fletcher, he'd been unable to touch him because they'd been surrounded by the others. For the first time in his life he had felt a deep, burning longing that demanded to be sated. Now that he and Fletcher were free to choose where they slept that night, the longing and frustration had only increased. He simply didn't feel he could ask for what he wanted, especially as Fletcher wanted them to wait before moving onto the physical side of their relationship.
Fenris had never, in his memory, willingly engaged in sex; in fact, during, and after the act, he had always concentrated on something else: he'd recite one of the child slaves' nursery rhymes in his head, or Danarius's guest list for the following night's dinner. He had done everything he could not to be engaged in the act, at least not in mind or spirit; his body was not something he'd had any control over.
Now, though, it was the only thing he could think about. And there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.
The splashing of water was heard as Fletcher pushed himself out of the tub, and Fenris's eyes once again fell to his book, though the words blurred as his focus wavered. With another furtive glance around, he slowly looked up in time to catch sight of a fully-naked Fletcher, who faced towards Fenris as he towelled himself. Fenris's heart started to hammer and heat washed over him as he looked down again, not at anything in particular, his breathing quickening.
He scrambled to his feet, his pack held strategically over his middle, and slipped out of the chamber, seeking out a place of solitude.
There was only one thing to be done. He would have to be quick. Finding a quiet, dark place, he placed the pack down and, listening carefully, he closed his eyes and took himself in hand, thinking of the man he loved, and noiselessly brought himself to release. After a moment to catch his breath and steady his legs, he fumbled through his pack for a cloth, cleaned himself off and re-entered the chamber as quietly as he had left.
Fletcher, who had slipped on a fresh robe and was busy towelling his hair next to where Fenris had left his book, grinned as he spotted the elf, who had seemingly appeared out of nowhere.
"Fen! There you are! Call of nature?" he asked casually, ruffling his damp hair with his hand.
Fenris mumbled something about relieving himself and sat upon the ground, feeling his cheeks flush anew as he moved the book out of sight.
"What have you there?" asked Fletcher, though he already knew.
"It's a secret."
Laughing, Fletcher sat next to the elf and stretched his arms above his head. "Ah…revenge, eh? I really enjoyed that bath. I feel all sleepy, now. How was yours?"
"Cold," answered the elf, "but I feel better for having taken it."
"Well, I'm hoping to get to work on that balm. We should have a bit more time, now that everything's been moved in here."
"Do not rush yourself. I have been taking cold baths for almost four years, now; I am accustomed to them."
"But it's getting colder, Fen; can you feel it?" asked Fletcher, pulling his fur jacket over his shoulders. "It'll keep getting colder, as well. Most of the tunnels leading off this chamber go downwards. Here, take this." He rummaged through his pack and gave Fenris a pot of balm. "Use this before you bathe, at least until I can come up with something that will allow you to bathe in warm water. It's a warming balm; it'll put even more of a glow in those cheeks of yours." Fletcher kissed Fenris's hot cheek, and the elf smiled, his eyes darting around.
"Thank you," he said as he took the pot from Fletcher, tilting his head slightly as he admired Fletcher's freshly-washed hair, which had formed into tiny ringlets.
"Are you aware that you blush when I kiss you?" Fletcher quietly teased.
"That is impossible," refuted Fenris with a shake of his head. "Elves do not blush."
"You elves don't do a fat lot, do you?"
"Apparently not," laughed Fenris, and, feeling warm and relaxed, he once again glanced around before planting a soft kiss on the mage's lips.
"Thank you," Fletcher whispered. "That'll keep me going for a while. And you're definitely blushing, now."
"I am not," claimed the elf, his burning cheeks telling otherwise.
Fletcher shuffled closer and clasped the elf's hand, looking into his eyes. "I love it when you smile like that, you know, and when your face flushes. You're quite handsome. I'm a very lucky mage."
Now completely at ease in Fletcher's company, Fenris leaned back against the wall and stroked Fletcher's hand as they grinned at each other. "And I am a very lucky elf."
"Hawke! Get over here! Quick!" Torbal shouted from across the chamber.
"Bastards," muttered Fletcher, pushing himself up. "Load of sodding bastards!"
"Popularity is such a curse," Fenris commented with a chuckle.
Looking over at Torbal, Fletcher could see that the dwarf stood next to Thirin, who was seated, clutching his chest.
"Shit. Stay here, Fen; I might need to cast." Fletcher jogged over to the two dwarves and crouched down next to Thirin.
"Can't…breathe. No sodding air in h-here," gasped the elderly dwarf, fanning his face with his hand.
Fletcher loosened the ties at the top of Thirin's shirt as a small crowd gathered. "Would someone fetch Anders, please?" he called out, his confidence in his own abilities having taken a battering after losing Reijyr.
"I'll go," Sebastian volunteered, quickly heading over to the bathtubs, where Anders was getting dressed behind the screen.
"Have you had any problems with your breathing before, Thirin?" asked Fletcher.
Thirin shook his head and gulped. "The air's so stale down here. I can't…can't take a deep breath."
Fletcher glanced up at Torbal, who nodded and took off as fast as his chubby legs would carry him.
Fletcher clasped Thirin's hand. "We're going to make you some oxygen, Thirin. Don't panic; you'll be fine. Nothing bad's going to happen to you, I promise. Just keep taking those breaths, nice and steady." Fletcher's soft voice and assurances settled Thirin a little, and he sat next to the dwarf, stroking his back while Torbal hurriedly prepared the salt mixture and Sebastian approached Anders's location.
"Get out!" Anders cried out, and Sebastian leaped back, having unthinkingly stepped behind the screen.
"Anders, I'm sorry…Maker! What is…?"
"Why do you think the bloody screen's up?" a furious Anders shouted, his voice trembling. "I didn't want anyone coming behind it! That's what screens are for!"
"F-forgive me, Anders," a shaken Sebastian blurted out, averting his eyes. "You're-you're needed; one of the dwarves has been taken ill."
"Just give me a minute, all right?" Anders snapped. "Where's Hawke?"
"He's there, but has asked for you. I…I will leave, now."
Sebastian slowly walked back to join Fletcher, and stared over at the screen, his face flushed scarlet.
"Templars," Fletcher said quietly. "I'm sorry, Sebastian; I should have warned you."
Sebastian's eyes widened and he squatted down next to Fletcher, his voice soft. "The Templars did that to him? I find that hard to believe."
"Did what?" Varric asked from behind Fletcher.
"Shh, he's coming," warned Fletcher, and he stood up, Sebastian taking his place at Thirin's side as Anders approached.
"Anders, mate, Thirin is a bit short of breath. Torbal needs your help charging one of the oxygen generators. He's over there." Fletcher pointed at Torbal, and Anders warily eyed the small group before nodding curtly and walking away.
Despite prodding from Sebastian and Varric, Fletcher refused to elaborate further on what Sebastian had seen, as he was annoyed at Sebastian's off-hand dismissal of his words.
With Anders's help, the oxygen generator was prepared, and soon, Thirin was breathing easier.
"We'd better get some of these ready, just in case," Fletcher said to Torbal, who nodded his agreement. "We won't charge them until they're needed, though; no point in wasting the charge." He then walked over to Thirin. "Any better?"
"Aye, Hawke; you're a good lad. Your friend, too." Thirin turned around and gave Anders a thumbs-up, and Anders nodded, solemnly returning the gesture.
"Still rather eat your own crap than have anything to do with magic?" Fletcher grinned at the dwarf.
"I happen to like the taste of my own crap, Human; it tastes better than that lumpy slop you served us a while back."
"That's the closest I've ever had to a compliment from a dwarf," Fletcher laughed. "I'll take it." Thirin chortled and shook Fletcher's hand; Fletcher then slapped his shoulder and walked away. "Anders," he said, jerking his head.
Anders stared balefully at Sebastian before following Fletcher to a quiet corner, where the mages sat down.
"What did he say to you?" Fenris demanded of Sebastian, having arrived next to him.
The Chantry brother didn't answer immediately, and slowly walked away to where Anders and Fletcher couldn't see him, followed by Fenris and Varric. Sebastian took a deep breath and shook his head. "He has…a brand on his chest," he whispered. "It must have been horrifically painful…I can't even imagine…"
"A brand? What kind of brand?" Fenris asked, frowning deeply.
Sebastian shook his head again and closed his eyes for a second. "The kind that would be used on an animal." He opened his eyes and looked over in the direction Anders and Fletcher had gone. "Hawke claimed that the Templars were responsible, but I don't-"
"Well, that explains a lot," Varric spat angrily. "Those bastards! No wonder the poor sod hates them so much!"
"You don't understand, Varric," Sebastian replied. "The Templars are a dedicated Order, Maker-fearing, righteous and upstanding…they exist only to protect us from the evils of magic-"
"Choirboy, sometimes your naivety astounds me," Varric answered wearily. "Just how evil do those two kids seem to you?"
"I wasn't necessarily referring to Hawke or Anders, Varric," protested Sebastian, but even as he spoke, he remembered that Hawke was a blood mage; he then thought back to how strenuously both mages had fought to save Vonim and Reijyr's lives, and he sighed, feeling conflicted.
"And as for those Templars," Varric went on, "think about it. They have complete power over the mages in their care. Power corrupts, Choirboy. Some of them are bound to go wrong."
"If a templar was indeed responsible for this, I must bring it to the attention of the Grand Cleric," Sebastian sighed, not knowing what to think.
"I don't think that'll do any good; seems to me it happened in Ferelden," said Varric. "Blondie told me and Hawke that they locked him up for a year, in solitary, when he tried to escape. He shut up pretty damn quick when I asked him how it had been. I don't know the whole story, but I'm pretty sure Hawke does."
"A year in solitary?" Sebastian exclaimed. "That would never be sanctioned in Kirkwall, I'm certain of it."
"Are you sure?" Varric asked. "You spend a lot of time in the chantry, but how often do you, or the Grand Cleric, visit that Gallows place? Do you really know what goes on in there? Does anyone? I'm not one to get involved or take sides, but I hear stories."
"From Anders, you mean?"
"From lots of people."
Shaking his head again, Sebastian moved to where he could see the mages; Fletcher sat close to Anders, who had his head in his hands. Fletcher seemed to be doing most of the talking.
"No matter where it happened, if a templar did…that, he or she must be brought to justice," Sebastian said quietly, turning to Varric. "On our return to the surface, I will speak to Elthina, and I will bring her to the Gallows. If abuses are being committed, we will root out the perpetrators."
Varric sighed, again struck by Sebastian's naivety, but he smiled and slapped the archer's arm. "Good luck with that. But you should speak to Blondie first; at least get a mage's perspective before you get the Chantry's."
Sebastian nodded, appearing troubled. "Perhaps when he is calmer. I will leave him be for now. Excuse me," he mumbled, going for a walk around the chamber, leaving Varric and Fenris alone.
The elf also excused himself and returned to his and Fletcher's spot, crossing his legs as he sat upon the ground. Picking up his book, he caught sight of his arms and ran a finger along one of his lyrium scars. In a way, he was branded, just as Anders was, and his scars were the very reason he'd refused to bathe with anyone else: to avoid the questions, the stares, the pitying glances.
Fletcher caught the elf's eye as he looked over at them, and Fletcher nodded at him, letting him know that everything was fine. Fenris nodded back, but his eyes were on Anders. The droop of Anders's shoulders - his eyes cast to the ground, and his hands squeezed so tightly together they had turned white - were so familiar to Fenris, and he wondered if Fletcher had been right when he'd asserted that he and Anders had more in common than they would admit. What had Anders endured? Were his claims about the Templars' brutality true? Had Fenris misjudged him as he'd once misjudged Fletcher?
Seeing that some of the workers were seeking out their sleeping places for the night, Fenris decided he'd better find a spot for him and Fletcher, and, stowing his book away, he stood up and gave the mages their privacy.
~o~O~o~
Fletcher found him a while later. Fenris had set up their bedrolls just inside one of the smaller tunnels, after first checking with some of the dwarves that it was safe. Although dark, a faint glow from the fires in the main chamber illuminated the tunnel, providing just enough light to see by.
"How is he?" Fenris asked as Fletcher sat upon his bedroll with a sigh.
"He's talking with Sebastian and Varric. He felt bad about going off at Sebastian like that, but Sebastian approached him first."
Fenris nodded and joined Fletcher on the ground, noting that the mage appeared tired and tense. "Fletcher…what is wrong with Anders?"
Fletcher grasped the back of his neck, roughly massaging himself. "He's very mixed up, that's what. He…well, some of the templars at the Tower in Ferelden gave him a hard time."
"Sebastian informed us of the mark on his chest," said Fenris.
"Ah…well then, you can see what I mean." Fletcher winced as he tried to tackle a hard knot in his neck, and Fenris got to his knees, moving behind Fletcher.
"May I?" asked the elf, placing his hands on Fletcher's shoulders.
"Oh, that would be wonderful. Thank you, Fen."
Without speaking, Fenris moved his hands to the nape of Fletcher's neck and his thumbs pressed down, moving in small circles. Fletcher's head fell back and he moaned softly, a blissful smile forming on his lips as some of the tension left him. "Oh, Fen…that's just…you're so…have you done this before?" Fenris felt the mage tense beneath his hands, then, and Fletcher turned his head back a little. "Did you used to do this for…you know?"
"I did," answered the elf calmly, and he heard Fletcher take a deep breath. "But I want to do this for you. Be at ease."
Fletcher exhaled, reached for one of the elf's hands and brought it to his mouth, kissing it, before he released it and allowed Fenris to continue. "The Templars really had it in for Anders," he told the elf. "He made them look like fools, constantly escaping from the Tower. After his sixth escape, some of the templars decided they'd had enough. They couldn't make him tranquil as he was a harrowed mage, so they locked him up and did what they wanted with him. For a whole year. Most of it was psychological, to break his spirit and such. They branded him to show he was the property of the Templars."
Fenris's hands stilled, and Fletcher looked back at him, his gaze intense.
"How did he escape again?" Fenris asked, not meeting his eyes.
"There was a disaster of some kind at the Tower, during which most of the other mages and templars were killed. He was lucky to get away. He's had it hard, Fen. I know I don't always understand him, but…well, maybe I should cut him some slack. Sometimes I forget what he's been through."
Fletcher faced ahead, and Fenris resumed his massage as the two shared a thoughtful silence.
"This is a nice little spot you've found, Fen," said Fletcher after a while, and Fenris sensed he wanted to move on from the subject of Anders for the time being. Although Fenris was disturbed by what he'd heard about Anders, Fletcher was his priority. Fenris snaked his arms around Fletcher's neck and rested his chin on top of the mage's head.
"You have a great deal on your mind, don't you?" asked the elf. "You are always worrying over someone. I would worry over you if you weren't worried about something."
"Well, look at us, understanding each other and everything!" Fletcher chuckled, and he clasped Fenris's hands tightly, his eyes closing as he leaned back. "Aw, Fen…you can stay there forever if you like. This is lovely."
"I would gladly oblige, but my knees are starting to ache," said Fenris.
"Selfish git." Fletcher tutted, and, hearing a soft snigger from behind him, he released Fenris's hands, and the elf moved to Fletcher's side, sitting next to him but facing in the opposite direction.
"Alone at last, eh?" Fletcher grinned, reaching for Fenris's hair and twisting a lock around his finger. "You owe me ten days' worth of kisses, mister."
"I believe you used one of your quota earlier," Fenris teased, his eyes shining with mirth.
Fletcher shook his head and grabbed Fenris around the waist, pulling him close. "You can forget that. Come here." With a smile, Fletcher lowered his lips to Fenris's, and they shared a delicious, languorous kiss. A few times, Fenris went to pull away, but Fletcher wouldn't relent, nipping at the chuckling elf's mouth whichever way he turned. After a while, Fenris had to stop in order to breathe, and barely managed to draw a breath before Fletcher was upon him again. Eventually, breathless and dizzy, they pulled apart, both laughing.
"You are either trying to suffocate me, or eat me," Fenris scolded him with unconvincing sternness. "I cannot decide which is worse."
"I didn't hear you complaining a minute ago, Elf," Fletcher rebuked him with a feeble-looking scowl, moving closer to Fenris, who leaned backwards, having to brace his hands behind him.
"You hardly gave me the chance, Mage."
Fletcher swivelled his hips, bringing himself alongside Fenris, and playfully pushed him onto his back, using minimal force. Fenris began to laugh as Fletcher leaned over him, nudging the elf's nose with his own. "I'm giving you the chance now, Elf," he whispered. "Would you like to make a complaint?"
"Will you listen if I do?" Fenris chuckled.
"Hmm? What did you say?" Fletcher very slowly brushed his lips against the elf's, and Fenris sighed, his stomach in a tight ball as a tiny shudder travelled through him. Fletcher released his lips and gazed down at him, bringing his hand up to stroke Fenris's cheek. "You know something, Fen? I don't think I've ever been as happy as I am right now."
Fenris gave him a beautiful smile, his huge green eyes heavy-lidded and serene. "Nor have I," he replied softly, a slight hitch in his voice, and he cleared his throat. "Now, you had better fulfil the rest of your quota, or I really will complain."
~o~O~o~
After Fletcher had made a sizeable dent in his kissing quota, a swollen-lipped Fenris went in search of tea, while Fletcher made a small fire in the tunnel. When Fenris returned, Fletcher noticed that the elf, who had been insouciant and mellow when he'd left, had reverted to his more natural state of slight hesitancy and watchfulness, and Fletcher kept an eye on him, but didn't mention that he'd noticed the change in Fenris's demeanour.
Handing Fletcher his tea, Fenris set his own mug down, distractedly poked the fire and paced a little in the small space before picking up one of his books, not knowing which.
"Everything all right, love?" Fletcher asked lightly. "Tired?"
A disgruntled huff came from the elf, and Fletcher, keeping his smile in place, shuffled over and patted the bedroll next to him. Fenris paused for a moment before shooting Fletcher a wide-eyed look and cautiously sitting down next to him, putting the book down.
"Something…has been troubling me," the elf said in a quiet, uncertain voice.
"You've hidden that well," Fletcher observed, leaning back on his hands. "You didn't seem too troubled before you went to fetch the tea." He winked at Fenris, who rolled his eyes and sighed. "Well, unless you've changed your mind about me and have decided to take up with Bartrand, I'm way too happy to let anything else bother me."
"Please, do not make light of this," Fenris said querulously. "I have done something I should not, and I have kept it from you. I am trying to tell you." Fenris frowned heavily and stared ahead. Fletcher, certain that whatever it was couldn't be as grave as Fenris believed, leaned forward and touched Fenris's arm, stroking it.
"Tell me, then. Whatever it is, let's get it out in the open."
Fenris cringed at Fletcher's choice of words, feeling horrible for ruining their evening, and he groaned, looking down at his hands as he toyed with them. "When…when you…bathed earlier, I…caught sight of you." Fenris shook his head quickly, as if dismissing his own words. "No, that is not entirely true. I…watched you. Deliberately."
Fenris tensed, every one of his senses heightened, waiting for a disapproving sigh, for Fletcher's hand to withdraw from his arm, or, possibly worse, a half-hearted, disappointed assurance from Fletcher that he didn't mind.
"I know, Fen."
"You-you know?" Fenris's head snapped to his left, where a calm, relaxed Fletcher looked back at him, nodding slowly. "But, how? You could not see me, surely?"
"That hair of yours is pretty conspicuous, even when the rest of you is hidden in the shadows," said Fletcher with a mild smile.
"Then why did you not say something? Why did you not look at me, make it known that you had seen me?" demanded the elf.
"Fen…judging from the way you're reacting now, if I'd looked at you, your head probably would have exploded. It really wasn't a problem."
Fenris stared at the mage, his mouth half-open. "It…wasn't?"
Fletcher, who had a good idea why Fenris had disappeared after watching him bathe, shook his head and slipped his arm through Fenris's. "This is all new to you, isn't it?" he asked kindly.
"New? What is new?"
"Having sexual feelings for someone?"
The elf's eyes moved away from Fletcher and his posture tightened. "I…I'm…"
"It's perfectly normal, you know," Fletcher reassured him.
"Normal? Surreptitiously watching another taking a bath is normal?"
"Why not?" smiled Fletcher, taking one of the elf's hands. "It wasn't as if you were watching me with any sinister motive in mind. We…care about each other, don't we? What's wrong with you taking pleasure in looking at my body? I was actually pretty flattered, you know, not to mention…well, excited."
An incredulous laugh rushed out of the elf's mouth, which abruptly halted as Fletcher's words sunk in, and he realised what Fletcher meant by Fenris taking pleasure. Fletcher knew, and, what was more, he didn't seem to care.
"I'll be having another bath in the morning, you know," Fletcher confided, warmth in his voice.
"W-what? Why would you tell me that?" spluttered the elf, his mouth forming an almost-perfect circle.
"Well," Fletcher slipped his arm out of Fenris's and put it around the elf's shoulders, "I just thought I'd let you know. Do with that information what you will."
"It almost sounds as though you want me to watch you again," Fenris replied quietly, a very strange sensation taking hold of him.
"I didn't necessarily mean that," Fletcher teased, his smile showing in his voice. "All I'm saying is, if you're around when I'm taking a bath tomorrow, and you feel weary and need to sit down, andif your eyes happen to wander in my direction, then I won't be able to do much about it, will I? I'll be in the tub."
A shy laugh bubbled up through Fenris's chest, and he glanced at Fletcher, his mood brightening as a warm flutter filled his belly. "I…don't understand how you are not offended, why you seem to be...encouraging me?"
"Well, it's simple, Fen. You're experiencing some unfamiliar feelings, and you're not sure how to deal with them, or how to feel about them. I think you should explore those feelings. But you should explore them on your own, without any influence from me. That way, you'll feel completely safe and in control. And maybe, when you feel ready, we can explore them…together?"
Sitting very close, they both smiled but didn't speak for a little while. Eventually, Fenris hung his head and laughed quietly. "I…" He nodded, and laughed again.
Beaming, Fletcher stroked Fenris's shoulder and rested his head against the elf's. "Maybe I'll see you at bath time, then, if you're not too busy?"
"Maybe," whispered the elf, and he closed his eyes, his entire body tingling with anticipation. He then took a very deep breath and moved away from Fletcher slightly, reaching for the book that lay at his side.
"Hector, the Lazy Dog?" Fletcher asked. "We haven't started that yet, have we?"
"We haven't, but I have," Fenris announced proudly, opening the book at the first page.
Fletcher gasped dramatically, his hands flying to his mouth, and Fenris failed miserably at affecting a scowl, a reluctant smile breaking through as he shook his head.
"What a shock!" Fletcher exclaimed, and moved the book over so it sat on both of their laps.
"Your acting is quite atrocious," Fenris stated.
"I have no idea what you mean," sniffed the mage. "Now, let's see what you've learned. I need to know if I still have a job as your teacher or not."
He pulled the elf closer, and felt an arm wrap around his back. With Fenris's dour mood successfully banished, Fletcher kissed the elf's hair and waited for him to begin.