Here’s the little ficlet I wrote for Momochanners (inspiring the lovely picture in return.)
NSFW and all that, so it’s below the break. It is fairly rough in places, a bit purple and with a bit of cheez. (Have some wine, eh?) Sorry for that. As a continuity note, it takes place before Ghosts and Shadows, so the dynamic is a little different.
Hope you like. :)
If there is a future to be had…I will walk into it gladly at your side.
The words reverberate between us and the chasm is bridged in a matter of moments, closed when his mouth meets mine.
Lost between one breath and the next, washed into the heated brush of his lips and the lingering ripple of his fingers at the nape of my neck.
My words scatter as we pull apart; all I can see is the green of his eyes, some dark question lying within that I have no answer for.
Heat flares high in his cheeks, echoed by the twitch of my cock and the one half-raised brow in its direction.
The smile, when it comes, is brilliant.
I cannot help but wonder at it, some small part of me pleading to stretch this out, but so much time has been lost.
And I want him.
He gasps in my ear when my hand casually trips down his spine, ribboning the gap in the hem of his tunic. I bite my lip as he finds the erection trapped tightly behind my fly.
I catch a hint of mischief reflected in his face, but there’s a hunger there too. The humor collapses beneath the desire, shredding any last bit of self-control I have.
“Won’t take long,” I warn him. And it won’t. Three years with only my fist for intimate company pales in comparison to the insistent stroke of his palm.
“Doesn’t need to.” His words are muffled against my neck as he finds the pulse point. It’s thrumming so hard I’m surprised the entirety of Kirkwall hasn’t heard it. His teeth graze my chin, nipping on my lower lip. “This time.”
When our gazes meet again, I can see the madness whirling within, and I give up.
The chair topples over as I snatch at him; the wood shatters beneath our weight. We’re rolling on the floor, reduced to incoherent growls and snarling murmurs. The build-up of three years of plaintive looks and almost-touches, secret glances and deliberate avoidance explodes into nothing more poetic than primeval need.
Still clothed, still armored, I’m unable to do more than rub my groin on his thigh. The back of my mind dissolves into laughter at my former suave self, the mighty Champion of Kirkwall - reduced to merely dry-humping upon the tattered rug of a run-down mansion.
Given my normal state of affairs, I probably won’t look at it too closely.
Besides, he’s got his hand down my pants, squeezing me gently in the cramped confines of my trousers. Somehow I loosen them enough to wriggle partway free.
The minutes stretch out into the hollow slap of flesh, slick and hot and damp. His breath in my ear, shuddering and ragged. A groaning purr from my throat, swallowed when he kisses me again…
I come without warning, the orgasm rolling over me with an exquisite force. My hips jerk twice as I bite his shoulder. He feels so good. So Maker’s-bedamned right.
His rhythm slows, his movements shallow against my hip. I blink. He’s still hard as a rock, but his expression is rapturous, as though he’s recapturing some lost memory of his own.
Perhaps he is.
In the meantime, I’m sprawled on a dusty floor, my pants half down my ass, my belly damp with my release.
“Hawkeward,” I mutter, shivering as he shifts slightly.
He snorts, sliding his finger between my lips. I taste myself on him, and it’s an odd thing.
I don’t care.
I run my tongue down the length of his knuckle until he swallows hard and pulls away. “Maybe a change of venue is in order,” he agrees, his gaze raking over me.
“Has your bedroom been dusted in the last two years?”
Not that it matters. If I’m even looking at the furniture in the next few hours it will only be because he’s tied me to it.
“We can’t all afford to hire housekeepers,” he retorts dryly, helping me to my feet. We stare at each other, images of the last time we did this playing over and over in my head.
Ghosts and shadows.
…bodies entwined, peeling away our clothing like the skin of a ripe fruit, armor unbuckled with suddenly clumsy fingers. He leans his face against mine…I take him gently, thoroughly, making sure he’s so very aware of how damned attractive I find him…how long I’ve been waiting…
…and then he leaves me.
I exhale as that sharp little prick jabs into my heart. He sees it, because he cups my chin firmly, his tongue darting deep.
As apologies go, it’s subtle.
My head swirls as we stumble toward his bedroom. Somewhere along the way, the tension returns. He squints briefly down an abandoned corridor, but doesn’t share whatever he’s thinking.
His quarters are in slightly better shape than the rest of the mansion, and that’s not saying much. I’ve often wondered if the reason for his apparent disregard of domicile luxury is based on his previous life as a slave.
After all, what’s the point in making your own memories when you may have to abandon them to survive?
He’s never made an effort to truly live here, and with Danarius gone, he’ll have no reason left to stay.
He tugs my hair lightly. “Are you there?”
“I can leave you to it, if you’d prefer,” he says, uncertain. Whatever his admissions were earlier, there’s still a wall here between us. But I don’t want it shattered. Too much and he’ll flee again. But brick by brick…
The heat of our earlier interlude has paused, a stutter in the potential momentum.
I let a lazy smile drift over my face as I slump casually on his bed. “I’d rather you didn’t.”
He rolls his eyes, but eases beside me, carelessly undoing the straps of my armor before leaning in to nuzzle my nose. “I’d rather I didn’t either.”
Once free of the heavy trappings, the metal encasements which seem suddenly absurd in this place, I watch as he strips off his own. There’s a quietness about him, but the caution of our previous night together has fled.
The past three years have not been unkind to him. Certainly there are more scars than before, but none of us can claim otherwise. The lyrium lines are as I remember…pale against the dark skin. A spider’s web of memories stretched and taut. Beautiful.
I lean back, my cheek on the rumpled blankets as he climbs in next to me and it’s all…him. His scent. His warmth. The way he traces small circles on my chest, tweaking a hardened nipple.
I’ve been waiting for this. Waiting for him.
“Three years,” I murmur.
He exhales hard and I turn to kiss him. It’s small at first, fleeting, but time slows until everything is tender and deliberate and drawn out. Indulgent. He sinks into me even as he moves to straddle my hips, his cock stroking light on my belly.
“Did you ever sleep with him?”
An odd tone fills his voice and I raise a brow at him. “Sleep with who? Anders? That’s a tad possessive, under the circumstances.”
Something dark fills his gaze, a stranger lurking behind it. Some other self, locked away in the shadows of his psyche. I don’t know if I want to uncage it just yet…but I don’t mind rattling the bars a bit.
I yawn, arching my back to press myself harder against him. “He kissed me once,” I confess. “A few weeks after you and I…after you left.” I neglect to mention the pair of us were nearly blind drunk at the time…or the way the mage had stroked my cheek with the back of his hand. The trembling way he pressed me against the wall. The ache of longing in his gaze and the lump of sadness in my throat.
When he leaned in for more, I gave it to him…but only the once.
The invitation had been there, blatant and unavoidable…and if there had been no reason to hold back, I would have accepted what he was offering. A night of passion, perhaps. Maybe more.
But I couldn’t be what he wanted me to be…and to give less would have been an act of cruelty.
And I had my reasons.
A play of emotions flickers over the elf’s face. Hurt. Jealousy. Anger. Regret.
I cup his cheek, tired of this game. “I had my reasons.”
“I suppose you did.” His upper lip curls into a sneer, nostrils flaring wide. “I used to wonder if you had. If I’d thrown away the only good thing I’d ever known. The thought of it…of you two together…it drove me mad.”
“Did it? Good.” My mouth twitches. “He tastes like apples, you know.”
“Does he?” His fingers twist in my hair, sharp enough to sting. “By the time I’m done with you, you won’t remember what apples taste like.”
I have only a second to decide if that’s a threat or a promise, and then it doesn’t matter anyway. I’ll take whatever he has to give. And regardless of the rest of it, the edge of newfound freedom burns through him.
We’re all elbows and knees and awkward positioning, but there’s a certain charm to it. I want to tell him to remember this part, fucking on his broken bed beneath the glow of a dim fire. Gold halos and silver lines and his cock in my mouth. The soft sound of wet flesh and heavy breathing and the rhythmic creak of the mattress.
But he’s pumping his hips and I’ve barely got room for cognizant thought. His grip on my head is firm, gently demanding. He whispers something, his voice wavering when I swirl my tongue down the length of his shaft, moving lower to nuzzle his balls with quick licks.
A hitch in the rise and fall of his chest and I realize he’s been muttering my name, over and over. I press my cheek into his abdomen, the tip of his cock against my chin. A glance up his lanky frame reveals clenched eyes and a slightly trembling jaw.
He catches me staring, something sly passing behind his gaze. Without hesitation he steers me back to his cock. His ass clenches beneath my hands, all taut muscle and smooth curves as he thrusts forward, again and again.
A ragged gasp escapes him, a hint of anger threading the edges. The act has become less about sex, the intimacy painful in its rawness. This is a reclaiming of things lost.
And Fenris has lost so very much.
I go limp, relaxing my throat. He goes deeper each time, and the rhythm of it becomes endless, narrowed to each shunt of hip and slide of tongue, the scrape of lip and stubble, salt and lyrium and…him.
I do not think about apples.
He pulls out of me with a jerk, crying out as he comes, his body bent to lean on my shoulders. The hot rush of his release spatters my neck, my cheeks. It dribbles onto my tongue and I swipe it from my lips, holding him through each panting moan.
His spine curls into the bed, but he picks up a loose rag to wipe at my face. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know if you…Danarius would insist…I’m sorry.” I see the embarrassment spark up, chased away by some nameless emotion and I ache for him.
I capture his wrist to kiss it. “Don’t apologize. And…he…has no place here. Not in our bed.”
The words catch him by surprise. He lets out a sad chuckle, running a thumb over my cheek. “No.”
It’s a lie. The ghost of his past will undoubtedly shadow him for the rest of his life, but this is a start. I collapse onto the pillows, eyeing my pile of discarded clothes with distaste. Not that I usually minded walks of shame, but somehow I doubted I’d manage to stroll unnoticed through the streets of HighTown in nothing more than a sheet.
And not that it matters.
I pull him to me, and this time our bodies fit together perfectly. Long lines folded into each other as though they belong. As though *we* belong.
He kisses me once. It’s a sweet and delicate thing, but I taste the promise beneath it and that’s reason enough for me.
Reason enough for both of us.