undwarfy | Open post

"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..."

His eyes found Varric's also a little wide, both from uncertainty and arousal; they found his mouth open slightly and cheeks colored; they found him looking like Fenris was the most incredible sight in the world.

When he begged, Varric bit back a low, almost growling sound deep in his chest. Holy shit.

And yes, his hand did keep going to catch the fabric, pull it away altogether, to wrap strong and warm around his cock and start stroking slowly. All the while, his eyes stayed locked with Fenris's. Varric didn't want to look- not until seeing his reaction.

There were whores who did this for a living, practiced and perfected every act, who could not have managed the sheer pleasure in Fenris' reaction. The very first touch had him gasping, and from then, it was instinct. His arms lifted over his head, taking hold of pillow and headboard alike. His legs spread, giving Varric's hand all the room he could want. The sound he made was satisfaction and want at once. And after he caught his breath, he moaned his approval with a, "Varric, amasio, yes-!"

His hips moved with every stroke Varric gave, meeting his hand in an undulation that showed off every plane of his long, narrow frame, muscles flexing, markings seeming to move over his skin.

Holy nug-fucking shit. Varric didn't think he'd ever seen anything quite so erotic in his life: the long, lean lines of his body, those flexing, fluid undulations against his hand, the breathless moan that ripped from those perfect lips. Varric drew in a ragged breath and kept moving his hand (slowly), just to see the elf fall apart under him.

Now that he'd seen that (incredibly arousing) reaction, he allowed himself to break gaze and take in the sight of him. Oh, it was perfect: two white lines, glowing faintly even in the light of his room, swirling up the length of his cock, culminating in a trio of dots on the head. God damn, he thought, internally wincing at how much that must have hurt. But it was undeniably beautiful. And beyond that- shit, Varric swore he could see some markings on his balls, through the threadbare fabric of his smalls.

He moved to drag the smalls down, but the worn, tattered fabric ripped when he pulled a bit too hard. Then, with a shrug, Varric ripped the damn things off and- yep, there were markings on the poor guy's balls, too.

"Shit," he swore softly. As intimidating as it was to think of fondling another man's balls (really, Tethras? that's where the buck stops?), he wasn't sure if he was up for that at this exact moment in time. Later, maybe, after he'd thoroughly destroyed what few boundaries he still had.

For now, he was content to touch Fenris, and admire. And, maybe, use his free hand to push some hair out of Fenris's eyes, so he could see his face better.

Fenris' white hair was never in perfect order. always a little ragged, always slightly out of line. Here, his hair was mussed, ruffled from how he'd moved against the bed. Varric's hand actually put some order to it, and brought his attention ever so slightly away from the hand moving on him. He thought he'd heard something tear, but that didn't matter in the long term. What mattered was looking at Varric, knowing what he intended to say, but purring his words instead. Again in Tevene, arousal stealing the trade tongue from him. The words might have escaped being understood, but their meaning couldn't be.

There was a light deep in his eyes, unmistakable desire as his gaze raked over Varric. He stroked his own hand over his chest, pinching one nipple before pushing it further. The lower his hand went, the more he tipped back his head until his fingers were splayed over his inner thigh, far from interrupting Varric's touch.

Maybe now, Isabela's satisfaction was more easily understood. There was a sense of abandon about Fenris when he was so aroused and pleasured, a pure relinquishing of all of his sense of propriety in favour of sex and all it could bring. And never did he seem to have anyone else in mind. It was only Varric in his mind and thoughts as his hand moved and he spoke lascivious Tevene. It was only when he could pause Varric's hand with his own wrapped around the wrist that he could speak intelligibly again, promising in his low, now breathless voice, "I want to use my mouth on you."

Varric wasn't an inexperienced man by any means. Give him a gorgeous woman of any stripe and he knew his way around with his eyes closed and hands tied. But this- another man - for all that some things were the same, enough was different that he felt like a tongue-tied virgin for the first time in many, many years. Certain things were obvious enough (they had all the same parts, and Varric definitely knew how they worked), but enough was different that when Fenris turned his gaze on him, Varric felt drawn in almost helplessly, powerless to do anything but watch a slender hand rove, green eyes bore into his own, to listen to that low, growling, ludicrously sensual voice wrap around Tevene like a filthy thing.

When their hands touched he drew in a sharp breath, and Fenris's words pulled a small noise from him as he caught up with the undeniable reality of the situation.

Yes, it was a dose of reality. Yes, it was almost shocking to have Fenris suddenly take an active role in this, rather than being a passive object of Varric's curiosity. Did that change how badly he wanted it, or how the words made his cock ache?

Hell no.

"Maker's breath," he swore, trying to move his hand again. (Hey, making him speechless was fun.) "Sure, okay."

That sounded stupid and he knew it, so moving his hand seemed like the best way to smooth over the moment.

His laugh - low and heated - faded in favour of moaning when Varric's hand started to move. For weeks now, he'd been touching himself, imagining this. Exactly this, except for how his fingers caught at Varric's belt, how he held on, tugged - not sure if he wanted to split Varric's attention or simply relish what he had.

He made at least one small choice, letting go of the leather strap in favour of tugging on fabric, getting it out of the way so his fingers could dip beneath Varric's waistband to touch skin. "Amasio," his voice rumbled, hand quickly finding its way to Varric's back, nails touching, not quite scraping, just as he'd promised. A graze of nails on sensitive skin.

Someday, if he was able. Someday he would teach Varric every trick he'd learned through the years and show him just how good this could be - when he could think past the immediate. Already the lack of pain and the complete pleasure of Varric's hand on him were pushing him closer and closer to a climax he'd hoped for for so long.

Varric found himself being pulled on, tugged, at, until his kneeling position gave way to lying down next to Fenris, braced on one elbow, the other hand still stroking.

It was- a surprise to be this close. Surprising and almost intimidating. There was something more intimate about being so near his face than having a hand on his cock. Something more intimate about a kiss than a touch.

"Mm," he hummed, nails on his back drawing out a pleased sigh. This felt good, and Varric could see Fenris getting close, but some selfish part of him didn't want this to be over yet. He slowed his movements, slower, until it was a teasingly slow thing with his palm smoothing over the head at the end of each stroke. He didn't want Fenris to come yet, but he did want to make him moan. It felt more exciting like this, when he was only inches away from the elf's lips.

"Mhn, torm-- Driving me mad," he sighed, having to force himself to speak in a language Varric knew, and though they were near enough, Fenris didn't try to kiss him. Not yet. What he did was press his forehead against Varric's and let their breath mingle, his own scented with elfroot and wine. When he licked his lips, his tongue nearly wet Varric's as well, but the miss was still a miss.

This close, though. This close, he could get his hand at Varric's belt and started undoing it with quick, efficient motions that soon had it laying open. All the simpler for both hands to find the skin beneath. If Varric was going to tease, he could do the same.

So close that Varric almost chased his lisp when Fenris moved that tiny bit away. The closeness made his blood roar and chased heat over his skin, brought tense desire to the surface so that he moaned when nimble fingers brushed his skin.

That free hand carded through Fenris's hair, their noses touching, lips almost brushing.

Finally, he couldn't take it, and closed the distance between them with a low groan.

Fenris' contented moan said it all, his lips easily and eagerly parting under Varric's, tongue touching his lips. This, in particular, was a line he'd wanted Varric to cross. Kissing was intimate, and in a way Fenris didn't take lightly. His body went still while his mouth moved, fingertips pressing against Varric's skin just to keep a tactile anchor to a world he was swiftly finding inferior so long as he had Varric touching him this way.

This was more than just pleasure the moment lips touched lips. Whether it meant the same to Varric, he wasn't sure, but a kiss, for him, always meant more.

There was a reason he'd been hesitant to move in closer and unsure about initiating this kiss: kisses were more intimate, and while Varric had had his share of fun in life, he tended to save certain things for people he had some kind of connection with.

Fenris was one of his best friends, and it was a damn sight more than "some kind of connection." Some of that poured through the kiss, in how his lips parted, how slow and languid the kiss was, how gently he stroked their tongues together, how deeply and slowly he explored, moaning softly into the kiss. How his hips rocked against Fenris's hand, seeking more, but keeping with the gentle rhythm of their lips.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject