Anders couldn't believe this was happening. He tried to tell himself this was a dream; all just some random fantasy playing through his sleeping mind. And yet...

And yet Fenris' lips were warm and somehow soft against his, and wasn't that strange? The elf was always so hard and prickly, and yet his lips were warm and soft and gentle and Anders couldn't help but respond. It had been so long since someone had treated him with gentle kindness; so long since there had been intimacy of any kind with anyone and he'd missed it, Maker he'd missed it so much and he was starved of affection worse than any stray kitten, and he found himself responding without thought, his lips parting in a breathless, desperate moan that was an entreaty for more, more, more.

And Fenris responded willingly, claiming Anders' mouth with his own, his tongue delving in and tasting of Anders as he pushed him back onto the bed. And Anders lay back obediently, deliberately not thinking of consequences or anything other than here, than now, than this. When Fenris reached for the ties of his shirt, Anders pulled them loose, helping Fenris to strip him out of the worn garment then lifting his hips as the elf tugged at his pants before reaching for Fenris as the elf stripped off his own tunic.

Then Fenris' head dipped towards Anders' groin and the blond man cried out as the elf swallowed him down. When Fenris reached between Anders' legs to cup his balls, Anders let his knees fall apart, moaning yes and please and oh Maker now with soft, breathless cries when Fenris' fingers ghosted lower over his perineum and circled his entrance.

Fenris took him slowly and gently, a handful of oil to ease the way, and Anders came apart and undone beneath him, his moans little more than breathless exhalations. He was almost silent as he came, back arching off the mattress as his hands clenched into the folds of the sheets beneath them; his head thrown back, eyes closed, mouth wide in a voiceless cry before he collapsed back onto the bed, helpless and spent. Fenris followed him over the edge, his own cry hoarse, guttural and far too loud after Anders' near-silent unravelment. He fell forward, arms braced either side of Anders' shoulders, and fought to catch his breath.

Anders lay still, his own chest heaving raggedly as his heart raced still, only slowly calming to something approximating its normal resting beat. He opened his eye slowly and stared up at Fenris as the elf panted over him. Fenris opened his own eyes and stared down at Anders, and then he smiled, a fond look in his eyes.

Anders blinked. "Why?" was all he managed to gasp out. Fenris chuckled.

"Mage-"

Anders opened his mouth to object, the words "Not a mage" coming automatically to his lips; but Fenris laid a finger across them, silencing him.

"Hush," he said softly, then replaced his finger with his own lips, kissing Anders gently. When he drew away, Anders was staring up into his eyes, a confused look upon his face that was shortly replaced by a look of discomfort as he squirmed slightly beneath Fenris.

"I can honestly say that's the first time anyone's tried to help me recover from a hangover by shagging me near senseless, but couldn't you have let me use the bathroom first?" he asked plaintively.

Fenris jerked back, abashed. "Venhedis, mage – Anders, I – forgive me -" He sat up and helped Anders upright, and Anders had to hide a grin as the elf continued to babble uncharacteristically. And was he - blushing?

Anders would have enjoyed this all the more if he didn't desperately urgently need to relieve himself. "The bathroom?" he prompted, gritting his teeth as he stood up.

"Fasta vass - yes, down the hall, second door on your left as you go towards the stairs," Fenris gestured to the door.

When Anders returned from the privy, he was quiet and thoughtful. He found Fenris had donned his pants and was building up the fire in the fireplace, and there was bread and cheese set out on the table. He retrieved his own pants and tugged them on.

When Fenris turned around, Anders was leaning against the bedpost of the dilapidated four-poster bed, his arms folded, the former Warden staring not quite straight at him.

"So..." began Anders slowly.

"So...?" echoed Fenris, slowly getting to his feet.

"So, that was... what?" asked Anders. "You hated me when I was a mage, but now I'm not a mage you want to fuck me? Is that it?"

"Vishante kaffras - no, Anders!" exclaimed Fenris as he took a step towards the blond man. "I don't – I didn't hate you. Have you not heard a word I have said? Any of them? I never hated you. And this is not because you have lost your magic."

"Would you have kissed me if I were still a mage?"

"Anders..." Fenris took a step towards him, and Anders finally turned his head to meet the elf's gaze. He smiled sadly.

"Would you still want to touch me if I were to regain my magic? Would you be able to stand to look at me?"

Fenris closed the space between them in a few short strides, reaching up to cup Anders' face in his hands. Anders held still and allowed him, though his arms remained folded across his chest.

"Anders... this is not about your magic."

"Isn't it?" asked Anders flatly. "You couldn't stand my touch before I lost my magic. Now you can't keep your hands off me."

Fenris snatched his hands away as if burned, his face falling. Anders winced and glanced away. The elf's kicked-puppy expression was hard to face, and Anders felt a wrench of guilt in spite of himself.

He swallowed hard and dropped his gaze to the floor. Dammit, he was the one who felt he'd been used here. Too much was happening too fast. The tainted lyrium, the templars, Hawke's suggestion that maybe he was still a mage, then losing his patient and now Fenris acting like this and being most unFenris-like; and despite the healing potion he still felt hungover and a little queasy – which was probably down to a combination of the lingering after-effects of the magebane on top of the tainted lyrium-poisoning compounded by sleep deprivation and exhaustion, both physical and emotional. The excess of wine on top of all of that was probably the last thing his body needed.

And dammit but he'd missed the routine they'd fallen into together over the past two months. In the desperate searching for new meaning to his life after losing his magic, the calm familiarity of daily breakfast then sparring practice had been a grounding influence at a time when he felt adrift and aimless.

And if he were being honest with himself then yes, he'd missed Fenris himself. The elf had a habit of getting under one's skin. Before he lost his eye, Fenris' presence had been an irritation, a constant needling barb, though in his own way he'd almost enjoyed the almost-banter between them. It was familiar, and sometimes he'd almost had the feeling it was as amusing for Fenris as it had been for him – well, as long as they avoided the topic of magic and mages' rights, at any rate. And after? His presence had been a reassuring constant. He'd grown used to it; come to welcome it, looking forward to it. When Fenris had shown up at the clinic unlooked for, Anders had felt a genuine warmth and relief.

Yet he couldn't shake the nasty feeling that the change in Fenris' demeanour towards him was down solely to the loss of his magic; he had the feeling that the elf would be delighted if he never regained his magic, not understanding how even now, Anders still felt only half alive, as though he had lost a limb – lost far more than an eye. How could he dare to believe there was anything between them, when it could all be wrenched away if he regained his magic?

And Fenris had undeniably used him. He had been weak and vulnerable when Fenris kissed him; he was certain it would never have had happened otherwise – he wouldn't have let it happen. (Wouldn't he? Was he really so sure?) Fenris had taken advantage of him -

A hand came to rest lightly upon his arm and he glanced up, startled, to find himself staring directly into a pair of intent green eyes. He would have flinched back, but the bedpost at his back checked him.

"Mage. I would have kissed you even if you still had magic. I will not turn away should you regain it."

"I wish I could let myself believe you," whispered Anders. And Maker, he wanted to. He wanted to feel Fenris' hands threading into his hair again, feel the elf claim his lips; he wanted the elf to take him again, feel him moving deep inside him once more -

And then Fenris drew him down, one hand cupping the back of Anders' head as he threaded the fingers of his other hand into the soft blond hair and claimed Anders' mouth once more, and Anders couldn't restrain the desperate, needy moan that he breathed into Fenris as he slid to his knees, tilting his head back as Fenris deepened the kiss.

This is wrong, it's going to end in ruin, I can't do this, he told himself even as he whimpered, tugging at Fenris' pants. He broke off the kiss only to take Fenris' stiffening length into his mouth. Fenris groaned encouragingly; one hand still clenched in Anders' hair as he braced himself with the other hand against the bedpost. Anders clutched at Fenris' hips and closed his eyes as the elf thrust into his throat, and he abandoned all thought once more for the here and now.

Maybe the elf was using him. Maybe it would all end in tears. But for now he was tired of being alone, and he couldn't find it in him to care. Let Fenris use him; he didn't want to think any more.

Fenris' fingers tightening in his hair warned him the elf was close again; when Fenris shuddered with a groan, Anders swallowed his spend then leaned back against the bedpost as Fenris pulled himself away on legs that visibly trembled a little.

"Anders." Fenris' voice was rough as he dropped to his knees before the former Warden, but his hands were gentle as he cradled Anders' face between his palms. He rubbed a thumb across Anders' cheek. "Tears?" His brow creased in concern.

Anders hadn't realised he was crying once more. "I want to trust you," he confessed. "I want to trust this isn't a dream. I want to trust that nothing would change if- if-"

Fenris smiled gently then leaned in to kiss him lightly again. "I swear that this is no dream," he murmured. "I would -"

He got no further as the sound of the door of the ruined mansion being slammed open carried clearly to them, echoing up from the corpse-strewn foyer downstairs. They stared at each other, and then Fenris lit his brands reflexively.

Anders gasped; as the lyrium energy surged along the brands cradling his face, he felt an unmistakeable answering surge of energy racing through his blood. He could feel with that internal sense he had feared gone forever. It were as though the elf's blazing brands had opened once more the door to the Fade that had resided within him since his powers first manifested when he was twelve. It was quicksilver and lightning, a heady rush of power that set his skin tingling with a thousand pinpricks of energy, his senses heightened.

"I feel it!" he breathed. "Fenris, I can feel it!"