Thank you, Mary, for being a miracle-worker beta and for making this chapter readable!
NSFW content in this chapter.
~o~O~o~
After the first six tunnels had been explored, the two new expedition leaders sat on the floor of the main chamber, studying the warden maps, while Torbal prepared the oxygen apparatus. Thirin was already using his, and, after a few of the other workers had complained of shortness of breath, Fletcher didn't want to take any chances.
"You honestly expect me to wear this thing?" Isabela complained, flouncing over to Fletcher and Anders, who looked up from their maps. "I look bloody ridiculous!"
Fletcher bit his bottom lip to restrain his smile; Isabela's apparatus didn't quite fit properly, as her ample, now-unstrapped boobs prevented it from being properly secured to her chest, and the small water tank sat under her chin, forcing her to walk with her nose in the air.
"Look, Isabela; we didn't count on any women coming along, did we?" Fletcher replied, his voice a semitone higher than usual. "I'm afraid you'll just have to make do."
Giving an exaggerated pout, she attempted to fold her arms, but, finding no room for them, she placed her hands on her hips instead. "Well, I'm going to need some help securing the straps, then; I can't reach around the back of me. If I try, I'll have someone's eye out."
Instantly, half a dozen of the human workers surged forward, and then stopped dead as she held a hand out. "Fenris, will you help me, please?" she asked sweetly.
The elf, who stood behind Fletcher, gave her a look of warning, and she laughed and shook her head. "Look, Fenris, I know that you and Hawke are an item. All's fair in love and war, as they say, and he beat me fair and square; by the looks of it, I was never even in the running." She glanced at the other humans, who had followed her around like a puppy since discovering her true identity. "You're the only one I trust not to have wandering hands, Fenris; contrary to popular belief, wandering hands are not always desirable," she said to the elf, ignoring Anders's derisive snort. "Help a girl out, won't you?" She batted her eyelashes and Fenris sighed wearily.
"Very well." Fenris walked stiffly over to the pirate, and stood behind her while he wrestled with the straps.
"Thank you, Fenris. Nice to see there's a gentleman among you," she said with a pointed look at the human workers, who averted their gazes and dispersed, some of them grumbling. "So, how are things going between you and Hawke, Fenris?" she whispered, getting straight to the point. "I'll bet you don't get much privacy in here, do you? I've seen you both sneaking off now and again. How do you manage to stay so quiet?"
She heard a sigh from behind her, and the straps were pulled tight, causing her to lose her footing slightly. "Maker! I can see who the dominant one is in this relationship! Or maybe I'm wrong? You never can tell. Sometimes it's the one you least expect."
Getting no reply, she persisted, heedless of the tautness of the straps in the elf's hands. "So, am I right, Fenris? I'm betting you're in charge. Hawke may be bigger than you physically, but I can tell how strong you are. Well, am I right or not?" Met with silence again, she turned around, causing Fenris to lose his grip on the straps, and they unravelled, hanging down at her sides.
"Cat got your tongue?" she asked the irritated-looking elf.
"You are like a child," he accused. "Relentlessly asking questions with no pause for breath! Why do you need to know these things? Of what consequence are they to you?"
"I need to know these things because I need to get inside the heads of my characters!" she answered, as though Fenris should know. "It hasn't been easy writing about you two without asking questions; in fact, I've had to make a lot of it up."
Fenris's frown disappeared and he looked at her warily. "Writing?"
"Of course! The dwarf isn't the only one who writes stories, you know! There's nothing like a good romance story. I had a feeling about you two even before Hawke told me in that wonderfully possessive way that you were with him. Hm. Maybe he's the one in charge?" she mused, her eyes wandering up to the ceiling of the chamber. "He was quite forceful in the way he told me. No matter; in my story you take it in turns."
"Take…what in turns?" Fenris asked, fearing he already knew the answer.
Isabela leaned closer to the elf, and he took a step back. "Come on, Fenris; you're a grown man. You're not playing Wicked Grace, that's for sure."
Fenris gulped and moved behind her again, his hands fumbling with the straps, which seemed to have a will of their own all of a sudden.
"Would you like to know the title?" she asked.
"You're going to tell me anyway, aren't you?" Fenris groused.
"'Tunnels and Shafts: Love in the Deep Roads'," she declared with pride in her voice, and she could swear the straps shuddered in Fenris's hands. "What do you think? I'm also considering: 'Plundering the Deepest Roads of All', but that might be too subtle. Well?"
"You stated that 'there is nothing like a good romance story'," said the elf as the straps tightened along with his voice, "And that sounds nothing like a good romance story."
"Well, there's a bit of romance in there…Hawke asks you at one point if you need a hankie to spit into; that's romantic, isn't it? Well, considerate, at least. Not everyone would ask you that. Ow!" she exclaimed as the straps were yanked, hard, and she staggered back. "Well," she said, turning around. "Now I know who the dominant one is. Thanks for answering that so decisively," she added with a saucy smile.
"Are we done?" demanded the peeved elf.
"You've certainly done me up properly; I can hardly breathe," she replied, looking down at her comically top-heavy shadow.
"Good," he muttered, stalking back over to Fletcher.
"You'll be the first to read it, Fenris!" she promised, chuckling.
"No I won't," he called back, relieved that his reading skills had not yet progressed beyond children's books.
"Everything all right, Fen?" Fletcher asked as the elf approached, glancing up briefly.
"Fine," was his clipped reply.
Fletcher looked over to the Rivaini, who wore a fat smile, and guessed that his almost daily Soothing Session of Fenris's Jangled Nerves would take place early today. He really didn't mind, though; very few things gave him more pleasure than inveigling a smile from Fenris when a curmudgeonly mood had taken him, and Fletcher had the perfect remedy in mind.
"So, we're agreed, then?" he asked Anders and Varric. "We'll send the dwarves down tunnels seven, eight and nine, while the rest of us prepare lunch and get started on the laundry."
"Actually, Hawke, Bartrand has already taken off down tunnel seven," Varric informed him, his disapproval obvious.
"That's fine," answered Fletcher with a shrug. "Keeps him out of trouble. I don't suppose he told anyone who he'd taken with him?"
"Nope, although his cronies aren't around," Varric replied, referring to the handful of hardened dwarves who had had little to do with the humans, and had only taken directions from Bartrand. "They're still convinced we're holding the entire thing up."
"They can think what they like." Fletcher folded the maps up and gave them to Anders for safe-keeping. "Torbal?" he called, and the rotund dwarf walked over. "After you've finished with the oxygen apparatus, we're putting you in charge of the scouting of tunnels eight and nine, sparing two dwarves to make the still, of course," he grinned.
"You got it, Hawke." Torbal placed his finger and thumb in his mouth and let out a loud, high-pitched whistle, getting everyone's attention. "Thirin, you've done your share of tunnelin' for today. Grab a man and get to work on the still. The rest of you, come with me." He waved his hand, and the remaining dwarves followed him over to the last two tunnels, taking their breathing apparatus with them.
"Does anyone need a bath?" Fletcher asked the rest of the group. "Most of us are covered in dust, and I daresay the dwarves will need one when they return." The majority of the humans nodded or answered in the affirmative. "Right, Anders and I will get started, then. I know I could use a bath; I'm filthy," he said, casting a sly glance at Fenris, who shifted from foot to foot, a blush rising up from his neck in spite of his stony expression. "Who wants to cook?"
"Sebastian and I will cook," Isabela piped up. "Seeing as nobody has thought to properly introduce us, it'll give us a chance to become better acquainted."
Sebastian pushed himself up and walked over to the pirate. "I would be delighted, madam," he said with a small bow. "After you." He gestured toward the cooking equipment and followed her, unaware that Fletcher was biting the back of his hand to stifle his laughter.
"Uh…does he know the Rivaini?" Varric asked Fletcher. "I mean, really know her?"
"Nope," sniggered Fletcher.
"She will eat him alive," Fenris noted sourly, rolling his eyes at Fletcher's amusement.
Fletcher, Anders and Varric stood up. "We'll start the laundry after the baths," Fletcher announced, "but you can all wash your own smalls."
"Why don't we get the evening meal prepared as well as helping Sebastian and Isabela?" offered Sheldon.
"Good idea; we're having nug, aren't we?"
"Leave 'em to me, Hawke," said Thirin, cracking his knuckles. "Soon as I've got the still going, I'll prepare 'em."
"Thanks," Fletcher smiled as the relaxed workers took off to undertake their tasks.
Varric slapped Fletcher's arm and grinned up at him. "I shoulda put you in charge of this thing from the start. Look at 'em; one of em's even whistling!"
"I just hope Bartrand won't cause any grief," Fletcher replied thoughtfully.
"Bartrand's full of piss and vinegar; always has been. I can handle him, don't you worry," Varric reassured him, noticing Fenris fold his arms and stare ahead. "Uh…looks like the elf wants to talk to you. Think I'll hit the tub first, while everyone's working. Hey, Blondie!" he called, and Anders walked over to the bathtubs with him.
Fletcher went over to Fenris and stopped next to him. "Are you all right?" he asked the elf.
"Are you aware that…that woman is writing a story about us?" he asked tersely.
"Really?"
"A bawdy one."
"Ah."
"Ah?" Fenris turned to fully face Fletcher, his arms still folded. "Is that all you have to say? Do you not care?"
"Well…not…really," Fletcher answered cautiously, deciding it was best not to tell Fenris that Varric had also written a lewd story about them, having been warned by Bethany before they'd set out for the expedition.
"So it does not bother you in the slightest that we are being used, ridiculed in this way?"
Sensing a need to tread carefully, Fletcher took a deep breath. "But…it's not really us, is it, Fen? Isabela's just tacked our names onto two of her characters. It's fiction; nothing to do with real life."
"I am aware of what fiction means." Fenris turned away from Fletcher, who sighed, suspecting that Fenris's mood would not be remedied by a bath after all.
"I don't know why you're letting it bother you, Fen; I'm quite flattered, actually, that anyone would make us the subject of their story."
"You would be."
Fletcher swallowed down a lump of irritation and sighed again. "What's the matter, Fenris? What's really bothering you?"
"Have I not just told you?" answered the elf impatiently, turning to face him again. "Is it not enough that the entire expedition knows of us? Have you not heard the whistles, the catcalls? Have you not seen the glances as we emerge from our sleeping place at the start of each day? They are watching us, all of the time, and I have an idea of what they are thinking, as well."
"Who cares what they think?" Fletcher asked, taken aback. "Where has this come from all of a sudden, Fen? It never seemed to bother you before."
"Just because I do not speak of something, does not mean it is not on my mind."
Fletcher's mouth fell open and he stared at the elf in disbelief. "Well, I'm not a mind-reader, am I? I thought we'd agreed to talk about things? Why didn't you tell me this was bothering you? And why is it bothering you, anyway?"
"I do not expect you to understand," Fenris said, his voice low and rough. "Clearly, I am in the wrong, as you appear completely unfazed by this, so there is no need for further discussion."
Fenris began to walk away, and anger, fast and sharp, pricked at Fletcher's skin. "Are you ashamed of me? Of being seen with me? Is that what it is?" he demanded, fairly certain that wasn't really the case, but there was a part of him that was hurt by Fenris's behaviour.
Fenris halted, his arms held stiffly at his sides. "I knew you would not understand," he accused.
"Then make me understand! Talk to me!"
Fenris shook his head and quickened his pace, walking over to the human workers who were preparing supper for later.
"Fenris!"
"What the bloody hell just happened?" Fletcher muttered, bewildered and angry. He stood for a few minutes trying to make sense of their conversation, and looked over to where Fenris was quietly helping the workers. Things like this had happened before: something had been on Fenris's mind but he'd felt unable to share it with Fletcher because it was painful for him to speak about, and so he'd lashed out. Did he hope that Fletcher would drop the subject, or that Fletcher wouldn't want to talk to him? Did he want to be left alone or was he, in fact, desperate to share his feelings?
Isabela's rude story seemed to have been the trigger this time. Or was it the lack of privacy? Fenris had spent a large portion of his life alone, and for such a private man, being surrounded by so many other people must be disturbing. Fletcher once again looked over to the elf, who had taken himself off, alone, to prepare vegetables.
He wanted to be alone, then, Fletcher realised. An idea formed in his mind as he remembered the reports of the six tunnels that had been scouted so far. One of them had been deemed completely safe, and was also detailed extensively on Anders's map. He'd wait for the reports from tunnels seven, eight and nine and would see if his idea could be put into place.
In the meantime, he'd begin work on the simplest of the balms he planned to make for Fenris; at least that way he'd have an excuse to start up a conversation with the elf when he was ready. Also, Fletcher found the monotonous action of pounding herbs soothing and distracting; although he suspected he knew the reason for Fenris's fractiousness, still, some of the elf's words had stung him. He went and sat at the mouth of tunnel two – the tunnel he and Anders had agreed warranted further investigation – and took out his crafting materials.
~o~O~o~
When the tunnel scouts returned, and, following the mid-day meal, Fletcher called the dwarves together to report on their findings.
"How was tunnel seven, Bartrand?"
"No good," answered Bartrand dismissively. "There was a collapse."
"It collapsed while you were there? Was anyone hurt?"
"No," Bartrand and his cronies replied, almost in unison, which struck Fletcher as being strange since some of those dwarves had never so much as looked at him, let alone spoken to him. What Fletcher found really peculiar, however, was that there was not a speck of dust on any of them. He nodded slowly, considering the possibility that he was being lied to. "Okay, then," he said evenly.
"Torbal? How about eight and nine?"
"Nine's out, Hawke; we had dust and pebbles raining on us, so I got us out of there quick," said the dust-covered dwarf.
"Good," Fletcher nodded.
"Eight's safe, but it goes on for miles; no telling how far it goes. Might be worth a look, though."
"It's a shame about tunnel seven," Anders said, looking over the warden maps, "as that one goes quite far in. Tunnel eight goes for about two miles before it splits and branches off; after that it's like a maze."
"I think we should split up," Fletcher suggested. "One group takes tunnel two, and the other, tunnel eight."
Anders nodded, shuffling through the maps. "Yes. I recommend we allow a few days to travel through the tunnels, maybe a week to explore, and then I'd say we should all report back here in two weeks?"
"Any objections to that?" Fletcher asked the group, and, when there were none, he called Anders away to speak in private. "Who do we put in each group? There are going to be arguments, aren't there? And who takes the maps? I think you and I should split up so there's a healer in each group."
"You can have the maps, Hawke," Anders replied. "I've looked over them so often I know these tunnels like the back of my hand. I'll take tunnel eight; that's the one that goes down the deepest. If we run into any darkspawn, I'll be able to steer the group away from them, hopefully."
While Anders and Fletcher made plans, Bartrand had taken several of the dwarves, with the exception of Varric, Torbal, Vonim and Thirin, aside, and they were still huddled together when the mages returned.
"We're taking tunnel eight," Bartrand barked at Fletcher. "Everyone get ready."
"Wait," Fletcher said, annoyed that Bartrand had taken it upon himself to choose a tunnel, but then the thought occurred to him that if Bartrand took the dwarves, Fletcher would be able to take almost all of his friends with him. "There are only eleven of you. You need two more so there's an equal split. Anders and Varric will go with you, as they're partners; that way, you'll also have a healer."
"Partners were your idea, Human," growled Rasel, "and we don't need no mages."
"You bunch of shit-talking simpletons," Vonim scoffed. "Where d'you think I'd be if it weren't for the mages?" He clapped Anders's shoulder and glared at Bartrand. "They did a damn fine job of almost saving my partner, as well, but I guess he was too far gone, Bartrand. You morons wanna be led to your deaths? Be my guest."
Another dwarf, Gaar, stepped forward and pointed at Vonim. "We can't have humans heading up a Deep Roads expedition, Vonim! It ain't right! You gonna be the one to write home and tell 'em two mages led us to glory and riches? I wouldn't be able to show my face again! It ain't gonna happen!" He then faced Fletcher. "I'm sorry, Hawke; you're all right, but you shouldn't have been down here in the first place. None of you humans should."
"How's that leadership thing going, Nancy Boy?" Bartrand sneered at Fletcher, and some of the dwarves laughed. Fletcher, who did not possess a huge ego, didn't offer a retort. Fenris, however – whose nerves were already stretched thin - had other ideas.
"Take your gaggle of fools, then, and lead them to their doom," the elf spat, unsheathing his sword and walking over to Bartrand, placing the tip of the sword at the dwarf's throat. "And if you malign him again, I shall hasten your introduction to your Stone. Begone!"
Bartrand, clearly unnerved, swatted the sword away and stepped back, rubbing his throat. "Get ready," he ordered the other dwarves, his voice wavering slightly. "Take a month's worth of food, just in case we run into trouble. Wouldn't want it said I don't think of people's safety."
"Sodding idiots," Thirin grunted as the group of rebellious dwarves followed Bartrand. "They're all gonna die. And don't think you're having any of our booze!" he shouted after them, receiving a few obscene gestures in return.
"How do you feel about this, Varric?" Fletcher asked the dwarf, his eyes still on Fenris as the elf sheathed his sword and glared at Bartrand's back.
"Ha! Good riddance, I say; this way, I won't be woken up every morning by that asshole's grating voice. I've seen as much of Bartrand as I care to during this expedition."
Fletcher nodded absently and looked down at his friend. "There was no collapse in tunnel seven, was there?"
"That's what I thought, Hawke. If I know my brother, he's found something down there he doesn't want us to see, but I say he's welcome to it. I reckon we'll find something ten times better," he said, slapping Fletcher's arm. "What's the plan then, Hawke?"
Fletcher gathered the remaining workers and he and Anders formulated a plan. His own, personal plan of splitting the group had almost worked perfectly; the new group was slightly larger than he'd wanted, but he hoped Fenris would appreciate there being fewer people around, even if Isabela was among them. The next part of his personal plan was to find somewhere he and Fenris could spend private time, or where Fenris could be alone, if that was what he wanted. Fletcher had anticipated some problems due to lack of privacy, and should have known that Fenris might be the first to show signs of disquiet. He secretly vowed to make Fenris's comfort, and not finding treasure or riches, his top priority for the moment.
~o~O~o~
Bartrand's group had taken off before the evening meal, leaving plenty of nug to go around. Sadly, the grog in the bathtub was not yet fit to drink; even Vonim, a hardened drinker, had declared it too rough, and he and Thirin had added a few more ingredients. After Fletcher asked the group's opinion, it was decided that they'd depart the following day after their laundry had dried. Hopefully by then the booze would be drinkable and they'd be able to have a toast to the next leg of their journey.
While Varric, Anders, Sebastian and Torbal started their nightly card game – this time joined by Isabela and Vonim – Fletcher, feeling weary, decided to have an early night. He placed his bedroll a way inside tunnel two, but did not take Fenris's, leaving the elf to decide where he slept. Fenris had taken himself over to the far side of the chamber after supper, during which he'd hardly said a word, and was seemingly engrossed in a book.
Fletcher removed his boots but kept his robe on, and lay down, covering himself with a blanket. Unlike some, whose troubles or problems kept them awake at night, Fletcher's worries exhausted and drained him, and he fell asleep almost as soon as he'd closed his eyes.
He awoke sometime later and listened: all was quiet, and he guessed that everyone else had turned in. He then became aware of quiet breathing from behind him, and he turned onto his back. There, behind him, was Fenris, sat against the wall with his knees drawn up to his chest, and his head bowed. Fletcher squinted, unsure if the elf's eyes were open or closed. He certainly wasn't dressed for bed; he wore his full Guard armour, minus his gauntlets, and he had not brought his bedroll in.
"I am not ashamed of being seen with you," Fenris uttered quietly without looking up.
Fletcher exhaled and pushed up onto his elbows, and he watched Fenris for a moment, and how the shadows cast by the flickering fire danced over him. "How long have you been here?" he asked the elf softly.
"I don't know." Fenris moved his head up and rested it against the wall, looking at the opposite wall. "You were snoring when I entered; I did not want to disturb you."
Fletcher brought himself into a sitting position and crossed his legs. "Do you need to talk?"
Fenris hung his head again and sighed. He knew that an apology wouldn't cut it this time; how many times could he say 'sorry' before it became meaningless? No, he would have to explain himself fully, even though he had no idea if Fletcher would accept it this time.
"I understand what you have done," the elf began quietly. "You have decreased the size of the group. I would not be immodest enough to believe that you did that for my sake, but-"
"Of course I did it for you."
Fletcher heard the breath catch in Fenris's throat, and the elf looked up slightly, but not at Fletcher. "I see…in that case, I am grateful."
"Is that…what it was? What was troubling you? Too many people? And I-I can have a word with Isabela, if you like; I know she can be a bit, well, boisterous, sometimes, and you're not used to that. And if you want, I'll try not to hang around you so much," he added with a nervous laugh. "If you need some space, just let me know. I won't be offended."
"Is…that what you want?" Fenris asked uncertainly.
"No, it's not what I want. What I want is for you to be happy."
Fenris closed his eyes and sighed heavily.
Fletcher shuffled a little closer to Fenris and cautiously took one of his hands. "I can't make you happy, though, unless you tell me what's making you unhappy. The real reason, Fenris."
"The real reason?" Fenris asked, his eyes wide, knowing he owed it to Fletcher to be completely honest, as much as he feared that this time, Fletcher would finally tire of his neuroses and tell him he simply wasn't worth the bother.
Fletcher nodded, moving over to the wall. "May I sit next you?"
"Of course you may," whispered the elf.
Fletcher settled next to Fenris and mirrored his posture, keeping a hold of his hand. "Come on then; out with it," he encouraged.
After a pause of several minutes, and after shaking his head a few times, Fenris drew a deep breath and turned a little closer to Fletcher. "I feel…pressure," he admitted, but Fletcher, unsure of his meaning, frowned and waited for clarification. "You…" Fenris took another deep breath. "You and I are…becoming…closer, aren't we?" His eyes moved to Fletcher, who nodded and remained silent. "All I can think about is the first time we…" He scowled, angry at himself, and shook his head again.
Fletcher inhaled sharply and then released a shaky breath. "Fenris, I'm so sorry…I never wanted to make you feel pressured. This is my stupid fault, inviting you to watch me bathe! What was I thinking?"
"No." Fenris squeezed Fletcher's hand. "You are not to blame. This…pressure is of my own making. You have been remarkably patient with me…I could not have asked for more from you."
"Look," Fletcher pushed himself up, "forget all of this bath nonsense. Let's take a step back. The last thing I want is for you to feel crowded or pressured or that you have to do anything. You don't."
"I…don't want to take a step back," the elf confessed. "I have seen you bathe, and I-I cannot just forget that. You are…a fine-looking man, Fletcher." The shy smile that Fletcher adored returned to Fenris's face, and the elf hung his head again. "It's just…"
"Are you…afraid?" ventured Fletcher gently, stroking Fenris's hand with his thumb.
Fenris shook his head. "I do not fear your touch; I would welcome it, but I fear what an encounter between us would elicit," he said, his voice hushed. "If I were to…re-live or remember something, I-I am afraid that…I would hurt you. When-when that woman told me of the content of her story, I was reminded of what we have discussed recently and I felt…I just felt this immense pressure building inside my head." Releasing Fletcher's hand, he rubbed his temples. "I should not have taken it out on you. I should have discussed it with you, but…we were surrounded by people. Had I taken you somewhere private, there would have been catcalls and…"
He swivelled round and fully faced Fletcher. "When we…I do not want anyone else to know, to guess. It is not because I am not proud to be seen with you. It is because I believe that such acts should remain private between two people. Perhaps you disagree."
"I don't, Fen. I agree with you completely, and now you've explained how you feel, I think it's even more important that we don't plan anything. You'll just have it on your mind all the time. I thought…if we planned it, took it in stages, you might feel more comfortable with that, but I got it wrong. I'm sorry."
"Please, do not apologise," Fenris whispered, laying his head on Fletcher's shoulder. "You were correct in saying that you are not a mind-reader. You are doing your best in difficult circumstances…and with a very difficult elf."
Detecting a hint of wry humour in Fenris's voice, Fletcher said seriously, "Glad to finally hear you admit that; I didn't want to be the one to say it."
"I would not have argued, had you said it," replied the elf, glancing up at Fletcher, and they smiled at each other.
"Makes a change," murmured Fletcher, pulling him close.
"It does," chuckled the elf, before drawing a sharp, deep breath and releasing it quickly; Fletcher recognised something other than a release of tension in that sigh. "We…are alone, now," he said quietly, reaching up to stroke Fletcher's face. "Perhaps-"
"No, Fen. This is not something you should feel you need to get out of the way," Fletcher asserted.
Slowly, Fenris lowered himself to the ground and lay on his back, his hands folded across his belly. "I…want to…get it out of the way. Forgive my choice of words, but I must know if I am capable of…without-" He held a hand out to Fletcher, who reluctantly took it, but did not lie down. "If-if I attempt to hurt you, you would be able to overpower me, or escape."
"I would never overpower you!" Fletcher protested. "And I know you wouldn't hurt me. I know, Fen."
"Please," Fenris implored. "I need to know if I am…I need to feel…normal. Just for once in my life. I would trust no other but you in this."
Fletcher groaned, feeling pulled in two different directions. He didn't want Fenris to rush into something he wasn't ready for, but how could he turn down a request like that? How could he refuse to help Fenris feel normal?
With a sigh, he lay down next to the elf and wrapped his arms around him. Fenris held on tightly and Fletcher could feel the tension in him.
"Are you sure about this?" he asked the elf, lightly kissing his forehead. "Really sure?"
He felt Fenris's arms curl around him and the elf relaxed against him. "I am ready," he whispered against Fletcher's neck.
Fletcher closed his eyes and brought a hand up to stroke Fenris's hair. Fenris was always so conscious of being in control, but, in this situation, Fletcher would also have to rein himself in. This would be the first time Fenris had experienced the sexual act in a loving way.
Fletcher would not take his own pleasure. This was about Fenris.
Fletcher gently rolled Fenris onto his back and brought his hands up to the elf's face, cradling him, and placed a feather-light kiss on Fenris's lips.
"What-what should we do?" Fenris asked hesitantly, his eyes half-closed as Fletcher's warm breath caressed his mouth.
"We are not going to do anything, love." Fletcher moved his hand down and took one of Fenris's, slowly moving it to the elf's groin, where he let it rest, bringing his own hand back to Fenris's face. "You are."
"I…don't understand." Fenris's eyes closed as Fletcher's lips again brushed against his and he swallowed hard, his breathing shallow.
"I think you do," Fletcher whispered around another soft kiss.
"You-you want me…?"
"Yes."
Fletcher released Fenris's face and sat up, and slowly pulled his robe above his waist and then over his head, discarding it to the side. He was completely naked beneath and Fenris's mouth fell open, his breath coming out in short bursts as Fletcher reached for Fenris's cuirass and began to loosen the clasps.
"This is all I'm taking off, Fen," he reassured the elf. "Just so you're comfortable." Fenris nodded quickly, relieved and grateful for Fletcher's understanding, and he began to assist the mage.
With Fenris's breastplate removed, Fletcher lay on his side and stroked Fenris's arm, gently pulling him down beside him. He once again took Fenris's hand and moved it to the elf's breeches. "You only have to say the word, Fen, and we'll stop. You're in charge, here, all right?" Fenris nodded again, wordlessly holding Fletcher's gaze.
Fletcher took Fenris's other hand and placed it against his own chest, and an almost pained expression came over the elf as he ran his fingers through the fine, dark hairs on Fletcher's chest.
"Kiss me, Fen," Fletcher susurrated, his voice strained as he fought to stay in control, and he pulled Fenris close, feeling the air rush out of the elf's lungs as they came together. Fenris's free hand roamed the expanse of warm flesh along Fletcher's back, down to his waist and grazing his buttocks, and Fletcher felt Fenris's other hand begin to move as it slipped beneath his breeches.
"That's it, my love," Fletcher whispered, gently kissing Fenris's nose, his thumbs stroking Fenris's face before one of his hands were taken and moved to the waistband of Fenris's breeches.
"Please," beseeched the elf, nipping at Fletcher's mouth; this was the first time Fenris had taken pleasure with another and he was greedy for it, voraciously so, and Fletcher was pulled down for a hungry, demanding kiss, his hand being urgently pushed beneath Fenris's waistband, and Fletcher squeezed his eyes closed and steeled himself when his hand found Fenris's hardness.
"Slowly, love," he cooed.
"No. Please; I need you," Fenris pleaded, desperation in his voice.
"All right, all right," said Fletcher softly, his hand circling Fenris's length, and the elf shuddered, his hands gripping the soft flesh on Fletcher's back. "That's it, Fen, hold me," Fletcher breathed, all of his concentration on Fenris's pleasure as he found a rhythm, and he bit his lip hard, inhibiting a whimper, when Fenris's nails dug into him and warm fluid poured into his hand.
"It's all right," Fletcher panted, stroking the now-limp elf's hair, slowly removing his other hand from Fenris's breeches, feeling the elf push against him as one final spasm rocked Fenris's slender body. "It's all right," he repeated, peppering the elf – his elf - with tiny, soft kisses as Fenris lay trembling and panting beneath him.
One of Fenris's hands jerkily moved to Fletcher's own groin but Fletcher steered it away, laying it over the elf's chest and stroking it. "Shh," Fletcher intoned with a kiss to Fenris's forehead. Fenris mumbled something in protest, but he was too drowsy to raise his hand with Fletcher's covering it.
After a moment, the elf's breathing slowed and he curled against Fletcher's chest, not daring to open his eyes for fear of losing the sensation, the moment, for fear of it all having been a dream. He felt large arms envelop him and he buried his face in the warmth and softness of Fletcher's musky skin.
"How do you feel, Fen?" Fletcher asked, bringing him back from the edge of sleep, but the mage's voice did not jolt him; it was warm and deep and it hummed in his ears, sending a fine tremor along his body.
"I…I feel…" Fenris's breath moistened Fletcher's chest and Fenris nuzzled into it, feeling his body lighten as sleep once again returned to claim him.
"I feel…normal," he slurred softly. "Normal. T-thank you, Fletcher. Thank you."
Warmth coursed through Fletcher's body and he once again kissed Fenris's forehead, closing his eyes with a huge, indolent smile on his face.
"Goodnight, Fen," he murmured, but Fenris was already asleep.