With thanks to WellspringCD, my awesome beta reader, and to all who continue to read and comment.
Fearghal lay on his back, eyes closed fighting back tears at the memory of Rory. He had been trying so hard to avoid memories; not just of Rory, but his parents, his family. Those memories were buried in a deep well, full of pain, one that he couldn't afford to reach into right now. He tried to find the anger again, to keep the memories at bay, but Rory would not be denied.
Fearghal found himself thinking back to that night. His family had been abed when they got back to the castle and Fearghal had smuggled Rory into his room. It had quickly become plain that Rory was not inexperienced. Fearghal felt himself harden and stifled a groan as he remembered how Rory had accepted his surrender and made Fearghal his. Fearghal hesitated, listening carefully; Alistair's breathing was soft and steady. Fearghal unlaced his breeches and softly began to stroke his straining erection, reliving that night.
Fearghal and Rory crept past the unoccupied guest rooms. Fearghal raised a finger to his lips and signalled Rory to wait, then crept into the vestibule that led to the private family quarters. The doors to both his parents' room and Fergus's room were closed. Softly Fearghal crept to the doors and listened. He heard his father snoring; from behind Fergus's door came a low laugh and a higher-pitched giggle. Fearghal grinned to himself. Fergus and Oriana sound like they're having too much fun to worry about what anyone else is up to.
He crossed quietly to his own room and gestured to Rory to follow him. Moments later they were safely in Fearghal's room. The servants had been in earlier to light the lamps; they wouldn't be back tonight unless summoned. He turned to Rory, suddenly unsure of himself. He'd wanted this so badly for so long now, he was afraid he was going to mess up somehow.
As Fearghal hesitated, Rory stepped close.
"I've wanted to do this for such a long time, Fearghal," Rory confessed, leaning in to kiss him.
Fearghal's legs turned to jelly at the slow, sensual kiss, exploring but not demanding. Part of him wanted to grasp, to snatch, to tear greedily at the man who had been the object of his desire for so long, yet the kiss was so deliciously slow, so full of promise, he never wanted it to end. Instead, he struggled to restrain the passion that blazed through him and returned the kiss, tentatively exploring Rory's mouth with his own.
Fearghal's arms came up and he clasped Rory to him, gasping at how glorious that hard body felt pressed against his own. That gasp frayed some of Rory's self-control and his tongue plunged into Fearghal's mouth, the kiss now hungry and commanding. Rory's hands skimmed over Fearghal, then he was tugging Fearghal's shirt free of his breeches and his hands were underneath it, hitching it up higher and higher. Aching with desire Fearghal ground his pelvis against the other man, feeling Rory's hard erection through the cloth of their breeches.
Fearghal whimpered as fingers grazed over his skin. He released Rory and tore himself away from the searing kiss; he ripped his shirt off over his head, then grasped Rory's shirt and started pulling it up. Rory raised his arms, allowing Fearghal to pull the shirt off. Fearghal reached out only to find his wrist caught in Rory's strong fist.
"Nah-ah, you yielded to me, remember?" Rory reminded him with a sly smile.
Fearghal swallowed nervously. This wasn't what he'd expected at all; he was used to being the one in charge. He gazed into Rory's eyes, normally so green, now almost black with desire. He nodded slowly, and relaxed his arm in Rory's grip. Rory leaned in and kissed Fearghal lightly, his mouth moving along his jaw and down his neck, occasionally sucking, sometimes nipping lightly with his teeth.
Fearghal trembled as Rory's hands resumed their exploration. The other man's hands and mouth seemed to be all over him and he was awash with sensation. Fingernails scraped down his back and a hand briefly cupped his backside, then was gone, moving on. Rory's mouth suckled, nipped and teased at the skin on Fearghal's shoulders, his chest, his arms. Fearghal whimpered; he desperately wanted to reciprocate but every time he tried, Rory withdrew, tutting at him. Fearghal growled, torn between passion and frustration; he was unused to being so passive.
Fearghal's insides lurched as he felt a tug at the laces of his breeches. In moments Rory had them untied and pushed them down, along with Fearghal's small clothes, exposing Fearghal's erection. Fearghal held his breath as long, slim fingers fluttered down his chest and on over his belly. Rory slowly lowered himself to his knees, his mouth trailing kisses in the wake of his teasing fingers. Fearghal gasped as Rory ran his tongue from the bottom of his shaft to the top.
Unable to resist, Fearghal reached out and ran his hand through Rory's hair, pulling Rory's head towards his twitching cock; he was surprised at how soft and silky the flaming red hair felt under his fingers. Rory looked up at Fearghal, his eyes smouldering and ran his tongue over his lips, then dipped his head and covered Fearghal with his mouth. Fearghal groaned and thrust his hips forward. Rory's head dipped lower, his cheeks hollowing as he sucked; Fearghal's legs quivered as he looked down, drinking in the sight of his cock buried in Rory Gilmore's mouth. Fearghal groaned loudly as he felt callused hands reach round and caress his backside, firm fingers parting his cheeks.
"Rory, I'm... I can't..." rasped Fearghal as his fingers clenched in the silky red hair and his hips thrust as he came in Rory's mouth. Fearghal shuddered and moaned as Rory sucked hard, milking him.
Fearghal almost sobbed as he came. The immediate physical need was sated, but not the deeper need; not the longing for Rory, the longing to be held by him, to be comforted and reassured. Fearghal's breath came in broken gasps as he choked back tears.
~o~O~o~
Alistair was hovering on the edge of sleep when he heard Fearghal groan softly. He listened carefully, it had almost sounded as if the other man was in pain. Soft rustling, another low groan, more rustling. In the dark Alistair frowned. What is he ...? Oh, Maker! He's... Alistair gulped. He remembered lying awake in the dormitory and hearing similar noises; he remembered lying awake and making similar noises.
Alistair felt a throb of desire at the realisation that Fearghal was wanking; he almost groaned as his own cock responded. He clenched his jaw in an effort to stay quiet; if Fearghal realised he was awake... well, Alistair wasn't sure what he'd do. He couldn't help wondering what it would feel like if it was his hand stroking Fearghal's erection or, conversely, as his own hand wandered down under his small clothes, how it would feel if it was Fearghal's hand encircling him. He choked down a whimper. Trying to keep his own breathing steady, Alistair caressed himself; over the years in the Chantry, he'd become practiced at doing this quietly. Alistair felt his orgasm build at the soft noises coming from Fearghal and at the sound of a ragged moan from the other man, hot, sticky liquid spurted into his hand. Alistair was startled at gasping breaths that issued from Fearghal; it almost sounded as if he was crying. Guilt at intruding on Fearghal's privacy warred with a desire to reach out to the other man, to try and comfort him.
~o~O~o~
Alistair groaned when something shook his foot.
"Time to get up, Alistair," said a cheerful voice.
He opened one eye and saw Bennet's face grinning at him, then shut it again.
Bennet shook his foot harder. "Come on, sleepy head. Tea's mashed and breakfast is on."
"Yeah. I'm up, I'll be right out," grumbled Alistair.
He emerged from the tent into the gloomy morning. The sky was grey and the air cold and damp. Once he was upright, he was presented with a mug of strong tea by a disgustingly alert Bennet. He was slightly surprised to see Fearghal tending the porridge. Fearghal doled out porridge to everyone.
Leliana murmured appreciatively. "I do like a man who can cook."
Fearghal snorted. "It's porridge; it's not exactly cooking."
Bennet laughed. "He's being modest. He does a fair fry up and mashes a mean brew," he said raising his mug in a salute to Fearghal.
Fearghal just rolled his eyes and ate his porridge.
Once breakfast was finished, they started to break up the camp and pack their gear up. Alistair helped Bennet take down the tents and fold them up.
Bennet glanced around to check where Fearghal was, then jerked his head at Alistair. "I'll be setting out back to Highever today, lad. I wanted to ask you... " he paused making sure that Fearghal was still out of earshot.
Looking slightly embarrassed, he continued, "... will you keep an eye out for Fearghal? I know you haven't seen him at his best, but really, he's a good lad at heart." He stopped frowning.
"I'm worried about him. I've never seen him like this." He shrugged sheepishly. "Anyway, if you'd just watch out for him... "
He stopped as he saw Fearghal walking over to them. Alistair nodded briefly in agreement, then bent to the task of folding up the tents.
Alistair started handing out packs; he, Fearghal and Sten would carry the packs with the tents in, while the two women had lighter loads. He turned to Bennet and held out his arm. "Goodbye, Bennet. May the Maker watch over you."
Bennet grasped Alistair's forearm. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Alistair. Maybe, once all this is over, Fearghal will bring you up to Highever. My missus is a grand cook and you've an appetite to do justice to any meal." Bennet grinned.
Alistair grinned back at him, ignoring Fearghal's scowl. "I'd like that. In the meantime, safe journey."
Alistair dropped the Bennet's hand, shouldered his pack and turned, heading down towards the road. He sincerely doubted that Fearghal would ever take him to Highever, but he was touched by the invitation. He liked the big Highever man.
The rest of the group murmured their goodbyes to Bennet and followed Alistair, leaving Bennet and Fearghal to say their goodbyes in private.
Fearghal was horrified by the sudden lump in his throat. He coughed awkwardly. "Well, Bennet... "
Bennet held his arm out and Fearghal grasped it tightly. "You take care, Bennet. Like I said, don't take any risks."
"I won't, m'lord. And you, I hope you'll come back to us soon," replied Bennet, his voice suddenly thick. He clapped Fearghal on the back then gave him a little push. "May the Maker watch over you, Lord Fearghal."
Fearghal turned and looked over his shoulder at Bennet; his voice almost breaking as he returned the traditional response. "May he watch over us all."
Bennet watched as Fearghal joined the rest of the group and without even glancing at them, set off up the road at a blistering pace. Fearghal's gait was stiff and his posture radiated tension. Bennet found himself wishing that he hadn't agreed so readily to Fearghal's suggestion that he co-ordinate some resistance to Howe in Highever. He worried not only for Fearghal, but also his companions. The young lord was eaten up with anger and bitterness, unable to grieve for his family and friends. It i'nt right, something's got to give sooner or later... probably better for all of 'em if it's sooner. Bennet watched the group with a heavy heart until they disappeared from sight, then headed down to the road and back towards the North Road.