undwarfy | Open post

[ It's not what he expects (actually, what he expects is probably that mug to the head, after all). But it's not an unreasonable request, either.

Anders' mouth works, his lips twitching as if they can't quite settle into just one expression, and he sits back in his seat, pulling his hands back into his lap. ]

My father?

[ Right on the second count. ]

He wasn't exactly what you'd call a kind man. Though he wasn't precisely cruel, either. Just... hard. He liked things a certain way, and - you know the rest.

[ Anders shrugs a shoulder, almost wishing he had taken that drink after all, if only for a way to break up the flow of talk. ]

Needless to say, when I turned twelve and burned down the barn by accident, he couldn't sell me out to the Templars fast enough.

[After a long silence (where usually Varric would interject witty commentary or surprising insight) he gets up and pours a drink, putting it in front of Anders without comment.]

Makes you wonder if they ever gave a shit at all.

[It's not a question. It's a commiseration, delivered bluntly.]

[ Anders doesn't like to wonder about that. He doesn't know which he would prefer.

So he just accepts his drink, instead, after a brief, silent moment of simply staring into it. It's a waste, either way, but at least it gives him an excuse to shut up. The mug's half empty when he sets it back down. ]

[Varric puts an entire jug in front of Anders, not wanting to have to keep getting up- and figuring Justice could use a frothy mug of shut-the-fuck-up, just this once. Then he returns to his chair, visibly wincing at a tweak of muscle that goes wrong.]

You know, they said alcohol is supposed to be relaxing. I don't feel fucking relaxed.

[ Anders scoffs, from where he's slouched over his mug. ]

You'd need to drink half the Waking Sea in whiskey to loosen up, the way you look. You know, I could help with that far more than the liquor will, right?

Oh really?

[He looks the mage over, something less dark than usual flitting over his face. On another day, it would have been a smile.]

So you weren't just yanking my chain with that massage stuff?

[ Anders, for his part, is quite sincere. ]

I wasn't. It's actually quite beneficial, when dealing with old wounds that magic alone won't soothe. But it works equally well as a cure for dreadfully long days.

[He regards Anders for a long moment, thinking about their weird game, and how good those bits of magic felt against his scalp. How nice it would be to feel anything even remotely good.]

Alright.

[He starts untying his hair.]

The coat, as well. [ Anders instructs, after an odd moment of quiet, an unreadable look on his face.

Then he's unhurriedly shuffling back his chair, his fingers working in an idle stretch. ]

It won't do much good through a layer of leather that thick.

[He shrugs off his coat with a mutter-]

Knew it. You're just trying to get me naked.

[Look, Anders, humor! A joke!! Attempts were made.

Once the coat's off he stands there looking slightly awkward, not sure of where he should go.]

Want me in bed or on the table, handsome?

[ Anders makes a sound that's too low and under his breath to really discern, but might as well be a laugh.

Actually, he'd just sort of expected Varric to sit there. But this does make it easier. His voice is almost tinged with amusement, when he replies. ]

Your choice, sweetheart. [ All right, it's more sarcasm than amusement. ] Although I'm not sticking around to help pick out any inconvenient splinters you give yourself, if you choose the table.

[SIGH] So one of you finally gets me in bed.

I envy you. When I get me in bed, the view isn't half so good.

[That burst of humor seems to take it out of him; he nearly flops onto the bed, on his stomach with his face buried in the covers. Not the most sustainable position, that.]

Honestly, I'd rather not hear about what you do in bed.

[ Not that it doesn't beat other recent topics of conversation by a mile. But still. He's trying to lighten the mood. Not weirdly sexualize it.

Anders considers the bed for a moment, then stops to tug off his boots, as well. It wouldn't be very helpful to track mud and ash and whatever other Darktown filth is coating the soles of his shoes all over the place, and Varric face-planting in the middle of the bed hasn't left him a lot of other options.

A moment later, the mattress dips under his weight as Anders shuffles cautiously up onto the bed to kneel beside him. There's no warning before he puts his hands on Varric's shoulders, thumbs digging gently but firmly into the back of his neck, nor the way his palms radiate a strong, soothing heat even before they touch. If ever there was a time to eschew the preamble, though, now seems like it. ]

[Varric is alright with putting an end to the jokes; the little bursts of humor he put forth were pretty much all he had.

Besides, the instant Anders puts his hands on him, Varric lets out a breath he didn't realize he was holding. His arms come up, hands meeting under his forehead to hold his face a bit off the bed- to breathe, mostly.]

Shit. [Quietly.] That's just not fair.

[He hasn't even done anything yet, but that heat- damn. Mages.]

[ Anders chuckles, hands not missing a beat - or a lingering knot of tension. Of which there's more than enough to keep him occupied for a while, it seems. Not that it's giving him any more reason to hurry. ]

And you doubted me.

Never again.

[Varric didn't even realize how much tension he's been carrying until now. Those hands are soothing away hurts that he didn't notice until he gets hit with the astonishing lack of pain.

It's a little while before he realizes that he's making noise. And... has been, for the past few minutes. Oops.]

-Ah, sorry, Blondie.

[ Anders doesn't laugh, this time, though there's still the quiet lilt of amusement in his tone. ]

It's quite all right. Just part of the process.

[ And he always plays it off as casually as possible, for politeness' sake, when it does happen. But usually, it doesn't feel quite so - awkward. At least not on his end.

A little of the warmth from Anders' palms seems to have crept back into his own skin. Or maybe it's just the belated effects of the drink. It's certainly not that Varric's voice happens to sound ten times as good as it usually does, in those mumbled tones of relief. ]

You wouldn't be the first person to embarrass themselves under my hands.

[ Which sounds entirely more innuendo-y than he means for it to, honest. ]

[His attempt at a witty comeback is somewhat interrupted by a sigh when Anders leans into a particularly nasty knot of tension.]

I- nngh - can only imagine. You know, I've heard a lot of rumors about what mage hands can do.

[A lighthearted throwback to their stupid gay chicken game. Hah. It's better than thinking about Bartrand.]

No rumors, my friend. It's all truth.

[ Or close enough. But he's not expecting Varric to challenge him on that, now (let alone ask for a demonstration), so it's probably safe to brag a little.

At least it keeps things light while he's working out what feels like a good thirty-some years' worth of tension. His fingertips brush the ends of Varric's hair out of the way as he works his way back up his neck again, following the ridge of his spine. ]

...Maker, Varric, I'm starting to think you need a standing appointment. Carrying the whole world around on your shoulders might suit you, but it's clearly been taking a toll.

[Varric's already had a small demonstration- hell, it was the reason he ended their gay chicken, so he doesn't need to ask for one, or challenge him on it.

He does, however, need to stop himself from moaning, which he fails at rather spectacularly, despite his attempts at burying it in profanity.]

Ah, shit. Fuck. I definitely wouldn't say no.

You can come to the clinic any time you like, you know. You've put enough coin into keeping the doors open, I'd think you would.

[ And that's a little bit teasing, but, well, it's also pretty much true.

Anders' hands work their way higher, gentling as his fingertips drag across Varric's scalp, and a touch of healing magic joining the heat, to soothe the source of his persistent headache. It's almost as pleasantly tingly as the sparks. ]

[He makes a small pleased noise that probably wouldn't be out of place in bed, then immediately cuts it off and replaces that noise with a sigh. Right. This is Anders, don't be weird.

It's really a fucking struggle not to be weird.]

Nah. [Slightly muffled into his hands.] You should come here. At least I can make sure you eat one meal a week.

[He's dad inside because it's better than being dead inside. Deal with it.]

Fine.

[ Surprising even himself for a moment, Anders almost immediately agrees. But it's only half to cover for any sort of awkward silence he might have felt building, in the wake of that not at all very interesting noise Varric just made. As for the rest, well - maybe it just makes more sense to him not to be having perfectly good food thrown at him for nothing.

At least this way, he can pretend it's a fair exchange. ]

Just don't expect it to be quite so regular. Rubbing your shoulders isn't the most important thing I have to do.

[ Just the weirdest. ]

Bullshit.

[Amazing, that he can muster up even a little sarcasm- given how low and empty he felt only minutes before.]

Touching all this is undoubtedly the most thrilling part of anybody's day, Blondie.

[It's the same dry tone he uses to tell Isabela to stop objectifying him.]

Maker's breath, Anders- [reAAL name?!?] -Do you even realize how much coin you could make from this?

[Does he even realize what a fucking gift he has. How much rich shits would shell out for Anders to melt away their piddly aches and pains.]

I didn't say it wasn't thrilling.

[ And perhaps that's letting on too much, but Varric is doing his damnedest to make it difficult to remain entirely impartial, here. ]

It's just that there are more pressing matters.

[ Like saving lives and blah blah blah. He finds the thought vastly less interesting than it usually is, when Varric says his name in that tone of voice, and for a second or two the magic pouring from his fingertips falters and fades.

He covers it with a huff of breath, mock exasperation, as he pulls his hands back and starts to work on Varric's shoulders again. ]

Oh, sure. I'd be the richest mage they ever threw in the Gallows. Besides, I'm no more interested in a bunch of snotty nobles' gold than I am in taking coppers from the poor.

And I wouldn't just do this for anyone, you know. If I start down that road, I might as well start taking up all those drunken offers at the Rose, too.

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casual use of thirst icons

nice (⁎❛ᴗ❛⁎)

i can do this all day bub

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