undwarfy | Open post

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.

Just as slowly and gently as lips moved against lips, he started to move his hands. Varric's tunic had many little fasteners to get out of the way, and he worked them free one at a time. There was skin he still wanted to touch, a bared chest he wanted to explore. How much of Varric's clothing could he take off before there was protest? He was more than willing to find out.

Soon enough, those deft fingers were at the laces of Varric's pants. Not exactly a thorough job at undressing him. There was a perhaps understandable reluctance to part Varric's hand from its stroking.

Varric kissed him throughout the undressing, and only moved to briefly shrug his arms, one at a time, out of the tunic. He moved as efficiently as possible and resumed stroking immediately, giving his cock a gentle twist with his palm rubbing over the head as apology for moving.

There was no protest from him as nimble fingers worked at the laces, nor when his pants started to open. If need be he would help kick them off, but for now he was content to let Fenris take the lead.

That extra bit of attention made Fenris' hands stop and his breath catch, hips moving to follow the caresses. So distracting in such a perfect way. He moaned into Varric's mouth, unable to hate how easily he was manipulated. It felt too good for him to complain, even a little.

But once he could, one hand did slip down, beneath Varric's trousers, and... presumed.

Presumed to follow the curve of Varric's rear and give it a slow squeeze, nails skimming skin when he let go. Oh, he liked doing that. It was going to be hard to keep his hands off now that he knew how good Varric's ass felt in his hands.

Varric made a low, rough noise and kissed Fenris harder, his hand squeezing just a little bit tighter. Oh, he liked making Fenris moan like that, the way he had under that extra bit of touching. He was having a hard time of his own with keeping his hands off- and now, with concentrating while Fenris's own hands wandered.

So he deepened the kiss even more, and nipped at the elf's lip less than gently.

"Mmmh--" Apparently that was welcome. Fenris chased that bite with lips and tongue, insistent with every brush of lip, every dab of a lick -- and all the while, he pushed down at Varric's waistband, fighting to get those pants out of the way. This had been the subject of too many fantasies. He had decided time and again how it would happen, but the reality was always, perpetually, different. The reality was hope and eagerness and need as his hands sought skin, kneading Varric's thigh as the dwarf teased him with those kisses and the knowing touch of his hand.

It was when he pulled Varric's lower lip into his mouth, nipping and sucking, that he fit his hand to the hardness between Varric's leg, giving a slow squeeze. Maker's balls but soon, if he had his way, he'd have his mouth on that, and he looked forward to that moment.

"Ah-" At long last, a real moan tore from his lips, desperate and hungry.

It felt like years he'd been on this bed, teasing Fenris, touching Fenris, watching Fenris, doing everything to Fenris, while his own needs, his own reaction went entirely ignored. To finally, finally have a hand where he wanted it most was enough to make Varric moan deeply into the kiss, giving a low almost-growl at that slow squeeze.

One hand tightened in Fenris's hair, pulling his head back to expose that long neck. With a groan Varric dove in, biting hungry, open-mouthed kisses along his neck, not content until he left a mark and Fenris made a noise.

Finally.

When Varric's mouth found his throat, that hand in his hair, he moaned aloud and had to hold on to him, shivering with the pleasure of it. His skin, between the marks, was smooth and unmarred thanks to quick healing and potions, but Varric had seen him bruise before - and that was something his mouth could easily do.

And it was encouragement for Fenris to be even more blunt with his attentions. He pushed his hand beneath Varric's smalls, skin finding skin and, with a shift of his wrist, stroking it, pulling his cock free of his skivvies for Fenris' touch. The hot, hard length more than lived up to Fenris' fantasies, making him decide that someday, he fully intended to be pinned to the bed with this cock inside him.

Varric moaned and thrust his hips against Fenris's hand, growling against the elf's long neck. The attention made him gasp and made his blood run hot, igniting a desire to see Fenris fall apart as completely as he wanted to.

So, he kissed and bit his way up Fenris's throat until he found the elf's ear- then caught it in his teeth and tugged lightly.

He had gotten moans and groans and whimpers and begs. When he bit at Fenris' ear, Varric finally got a cry, the elf's control, all that will he spent to keep quiet, falling apart in the face of that sensation. Not even Isabela had paid much attention to his ears, but Varric's bite had him thrusting against his hand and whining in Tevene. "F-fasta-- Close, fucking-- please," he bit out at last, panting between words, the words disjointed as his distracted brain flailed at Trade grammar.

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