undwarfy | Open post

Fenris was drinking himself when Varric spoke, and barely managed not to cough at his word choice. He did not, however, keep his amusement hidden. He was smiling when he placed his cup back on the table, wine choked past the laugh that had tried to escape. "Ask. Consider it part of the pot, as you've gotten my last coin."

Varric himself had to laugh at Fenris's reaction. It'd become easier, lately, making the elf laugh- which in turn made it easier to laugh around him. Maybe it was about secrets, or walls coming down, that made it easier.

"So Hawke and I have a bet going," he said, in a tone that made it ambiguous as to whether such a bet existed. "If your markings go all the way down to your business or not. Inquiring minds, you know."

He snorted, the previous laugh halfway escaping. "I should ask what the winner receives and ask for a portion," he drawled, "especially as I'd think the word of one bettor wouldn't be adequate for the other. I could easily tell one of you one thing, and the other the opposite."

But while he spoke, he started to pull off one gauntlet and then the other, leaving his long-fingered hands bare.

"I can't say I ever thought my 'business' would be the subject of a gamble."

"Call it intellectual curiosity," he said, his eyes lingering on the elf's exposed skin for a moment too long.

Varric snapped to, drew his attention back to the table, and started kicking off his boots. The boots always came off now; no sense in getting the bed dirty.

His pauldrons joined his gauntlets on the table, leaving his arms bare from the shoulders down. Those were markings Varric knew well by now, their swirls and arcs familiar, as were the ones they led to on his chest and back. But the ones he asked about...

"I can sate your curiosity well enough to say that there were no parts of me spared from Danarius's intent. I am marked where you imagine." But, after a pause to take a drink, he added, "Though I doubt my word would be enough to settle your bet."

So that was a yes. Varric's eyes went a little wide, but not in a hot damn I win the bet kind of way. His face looked a little sick, and a little sad. The markings weren't nearly as fun to think about now that he knew how much pain Fenris was in.

Varric took his own drink, watching Fenris remove his pauldrons. The last couple months had been strange even by his standards, and it was pushing at things he thought he knew about himself.

Like how much he didn't mind helping Fenris. How often he thought about that first time, and how many lines they'd crossed. The way Fenris's eyes lingered on him sometimes, and how his own eyes found the elf's lean form too often. The simple, perfunctory nature of their usual tattoo-poking sessions was... it worked, of course, it got the job done, but it didn't leave a mark in his mind like that first time.

So here he was, asking about things he shouldn't ask about. Shit.

"I don't know," he said lightly, after draining another glass of wine. "I think Hawke would trust you."

Light. Easy. Not pushing or being weird or...

Edited 2018-02-20 11:21 (UTC)

"Since it is Hawke, you're probably right."

But...

But.

He still woke up to images sometimes of pale but callused hands on his skin, between his thighs, his own fingers splayed against chest hair he'd dared to touch once and it had been once, yet the thoughts wouldn't go. He'd been treating Varric as a friend ever since, even if his traitorous subconscious didn't seem able to let it go at that.

"You, however, have seen practically all of me. If you require confirmation, I trust you."

The statement meant just what it sounded. If Varric needed to see, Fenris would let him. Wouldn't really even think twice about it, for all the combination of thought and memory would leave him... vulnerable.

The offer hung in the air between them, drawn taut like a bow-string. Varric met Fenris's wide green eyes, not sure of what he should say.

Saying yes would be- it'd be too much. Saying no...

After a long moment, he asked a question. "So, you're saying your dick always hurts?"

He can truly think of no greater torment.

The bluntness had him biting his lips to stop the impending laughter. He cleared his throat instead and said, "As I told you that the markings do always hurt, yes, that is what I am saying. It does always hurt. Everything there does always hurt."

He had said moments before - Danarius marked him everywhere. The man had been determined. And cruel.

Damn. That's just- damn.

"Damn," he said intelligently, before dragging a hand over his face. All this phallic talk was making his head hurt and he didn't quite have it in him to just get out there and give Fenris an answer.

So instead he let the moment pass before saying, "Alright, pants off, handsome."

It was the same kind of casual, off-the-cuff remark that he always used in these situations. Business as usual, probably. Except for the mental images dancing in his head.

"Straight to business, as ever, I see." But it wasn't a protest. He stood and started disrobing as he always did, tunic taken off and now, after weeks of experience, laid across a chest. His pants followed. And then he, clad in smalls, as always, went to lay on his stomach on Varric's bed, already eager for the relief that was soon to come.

Now that he'd learned what it was to live without that constant ache, he wanted it with every fiber of his being. He still coped with it between times, but during and after the act, Fenris actually lost some of his tension. Noticeable, he was sure, to Varric by virtue of the fact that, in Varric's company, he smiled. He laughed. Both of which were surprising.

"You know me," he said mildly, watching Fenris undress. There was always a part of him that enjoyed the expanse of smooth, dark skin marked with those swirls and dots- beautiful as they were problematic.

Varric shrugged off his jacket and knelt on the bed next to Fenris. Normally he simply ran his hands over the elf's skin quickly, but today- today, he had certain images in his head, and wine in his veins, and the elf was so very lean and long and intriguing.

Instead, Varric started tracing a line on his back slowly, well aware of the effect it would have on him.

Oh, that wasn't fair. That measured movement of Varric's hand had him sighing and pressing his face down against the pillow. This was going to be like that first night, then, he thought, and add to the torment of his dreams. But could it be called torment when it was so sweet a thing that led him to some of the strongest climaxes he'd had in his life?

Fasta vass, he shouldn't be thinking about that now. For all that was the only thing Varric's touch could put him in mind of, so slow and warm.

"Varric..."

Whether it was plea or warning was open to debate. But it was a near-moan of his name either way.

"Shhh," he shushed softly, effectively sealing the deal for what kind of night this would be. Maker, he did not mind hearing his name like that.

His fingers traced slowly, gently, with that soft, slight-pressure, dragging quality that had undone Fenris so thoroughly last time. He didn't trace both halves of Fenris's back symmetrically, either- no, he did one side at a time, the better to drag this out. All the while, Varric's eyes were on Fenris, watching his reactions as the dwarf dragged his finger down the elf's spine, down to the hem of his smalls and dragging them down very slightly.

All it took was that one finger to make Fenris's back arch, his hips instinctively lifting just a bit off the mattress, and when his touch went further? No complaint, no plea to stop. There was a soft whimper instead. Was he doing this? Really?

A thousand questions pushed one way, another thousand pushed the other. Enough to deadlock, and enough to leave him open to whatever Varric decided to do. In the end, it was the ongoing fantasy and deeper want that decided him. Permission in a moan.

That moan shot right through him, making his mouth go dry and his cock take interest. But he wasn't- he didn't think he was quite ready for that. So he teased a little, dragged the smalls down a few centimeters, then abandoned them to work his way up Fenris's calves.

Dragging, slowly, teasing again. Wanting to hear those sounds again.

The way he'd grown used to, the quick and businesslike stroke of hand over skin, didn't tend to elicit this reaction from him. It was too simple and efficient in its purpose. Despite the lack of pain lasting for days, it wasn't this combination of relief and tease that left him sighing with want.

Tugged down that way, his smalls showed off the upper curve of his arse to great effect, showing a modest handful, well-formed with muscle that was currently being neglected in favour of a whole new caress that made his toes curl. "Mmmh... yes," he sighed, just in case a word was needed more than the unspoken agreement from before.

Varric kept on like that until he'd covered Fenris's entire back half; it was good, seeing him squirm like that, seeing his toes curl and hearing him moan and sigh. It was good and it made his skin warm, entirely separate from the way the lyrium made his fingertips tingle and teeth hurt.

Eventually, though, it came time for that command, delivered a touch more huskily than usual. "Turn over."

Varric had always had a little gravel in his voice. When it went deeper like that, though, Fenris couldn't help a shiver. Goosebumps rose all over him and he obeyed quickly - not because he was trained to but because he wanted to.

He wanted to do so many things, though. He wanted to reach out and grab Varric by the belt to hold him still for an insistent kiss. He wanted to get that tie out of his hair and sink both hands into it. He wanted to get his mouth on Varric's skin and show him exactly how appreciative he felt.

But he also wanted Varric to keep doing exactly what he'd been doing and touching him all over.

Between the touching and the teasing and the voice, Fenris was already more than half hard and obvious in his nearly-pointless smalls, the fabric itself growing threadbare from age and use so it showed a hint of darker skin beneath. And through it all, he asked for something, anything, with a single, low word: "Please..."

"Don't worry, Elf," he answered softly, voice still low and a bit gravelly. "We'll get you taken care of."

Sounded lame, but it was the only thing he could think of that wouldn't be weird or dump cold water on the mood. Still, seeing Fenris already at the point of pleading sent a thrill through him.

Seeing him half-hard was even better. Varric started in at his chest, a swirling mark that grazed near a nipple; this time, he let his nail scrape lightly, and lingered around the nipple on purpose. After that, he followed the lines up the middle of his chest, touching the lines at Fenris's neck delicately and running two fingers up his chin to those unfairly gorgeous lips.

His brain simply stopped working in the trade tongue. The touch to his nipple had his back arching, the fingers along his throat and up to his lips had his mouth falling lightly open, as if he expected, or even wanted, them further. His tongue flicked against one fingertip. The words that left him were obviously Tevene, but one word - one understandable word - punctuated it all: "Tease."

Half-hard was not accurate anymore. The more Varric touched, the more obvious his arousal became until that scrap of smalls might as well not even be there for how needy he'd become. Either Varric was going to have to excuse him or he was going to dare and take care of his 'business' right in front of him. Already his legs were slightly spread, toes curled into the sheets. He'd restrained himself weeks ago, kept from lifting up his knees and offering himself. He wasn't sure he could keep himself so controlled this time.

When Fenris's tongue touched his fingertip Varric inhaled sharply, his eyes caught like a butterfly in a net. He never imagined himself here, but it was too entrancing to back away and too addicting to stop.

It was addictive to hear Fenris's sounds, to listen to him murmur helplessly in Tevene, to grip fingers and toes into the sheets with restraint. Then Fenris said something, something in common- something Varric actually had to respond to. A moment of truth: back out or keep going? Retreat into the familiar, or follow what his body (and his subconscious, and the images that crept into his mind whenever he'd touched himself the last several weeks) wanted to do?

It was easy. Easy as following that line on his neck down his shoulder, to trace over Fenris's arm with a touch more gentle than teasing.

"Surprised?" he asked softly, letting a fingernail scrape lightly over a pulse point. People were always surprised by what a tease Varric was, and he didn't know why.

"Yes." But then, after he sighed out a deep, needed breath, he amended it to, "No. Not that you tease. That you touch me this way at all."

Of all people, he wouldn't have guessed Varric. He and Isabela had had their romp. If Merrill hadn't been a mage and could claim a little more street smarts, he might have had some interest. Anders - no. Hawke, he'd considered. But Varric, he'd always thought of as little more than a friend until that first time. And then, he'd assumed it was curiosity that had taken him over. Not this intent to tease.

"Maddening," he moaned, his hips shifting. His writhing had pulled his smalls over his rear, leaving them clinging to his erection in the front and tugging downward, proving that this elf, at least, was hairless all the way down.

"Consider us both surprised, Broody," he said conversationally, finishing up Fenris's arms and moving down to his feet.

Varric rather liked the little dots on his feet; they were kind of cute, in a "pain magic carved into his skin" kind of way- just sitting there, a little trio of polka dots on his ridiculous bare elf feet. He touched those first, then followed lines up the elf's legs: this time, he touched symmetrically, as the legs weren't the most interesting real estate.

Soon enough his fingers were on Fenris's thighs, following those swirls that seemed designed to tease: now curving up to sensitive skin, now shying away, now licking close to his smalls again. Now again he moved slowly, holding Fenris still if he writhed too much.

Then the legs were done, and he had to finish the chest and stomach. The other nipple got the same attention as the first- gently scraping fingernails, and more lingering than strictly necessary. Soft caresses over the ribs, with half a mind to tickle- just for a moment.

Stomach, hips. Those lean lines of bone and muscle that pointed the eye down and down- there was almost nothing to the imagination anymore, but he couldn't tear his eyes away from those delicate looping marks that swirled down, threatening to meet in the middle.

He traced them delicately, entranced by Fenris's need, his moans, his still-clothed erection. He licked his lips and bit, eyes fixated on the elf. Wanting to see him desperate. Needing a little push that would make him obey the wishes of his subconscious, his lyrium-humming fingers, his own erection that wanted to see more, wanted to touch.

As his fingers crept downwards, he watched Fenris. Couldn't help himself.

His toes had curled and then splayed as Varric's hands had wandered his thighs, especially the sensitive skin inside that rarely saw light, and was rarely touched except by a bathing rag (or lonely hands wishing--)

The fingernail at his nipple had him gasping, throwing back his head, and when those hands wandered downward, further and further toward the lowered waistband of his smalls, his control evaporated. His hips pressed upward, lips parting to let out a pure beg of a sound. Varric had stopped short last time. Fenris didn't blame him. Some small, still-sane part of his mind was telling him there was no way he wouldn't shy away again, but if he did, Fenris would have no compunction against taking himself in hand, right then, right there. He even reached for himself, but found Varric's arm before he found his own skin.

And that made him look up, look to Varric's eyes with his own pupils blown wide from arousal. He didn't push. Didn't force. But he did whisper, "Please..."

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