undwarfy | Open post

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.

Heh.

[Leave it to Blondie to conflate paid work with prostitution. Oh, melodramatic glowing friends, never change.]

That snotty noble gold could buy a lot of expensive potions, Blondie. The exotic shit.

[Whatever, he knows a losing argument when he sees one. He's mostly talking just for something to talk about, a distraction from how much he's enjoying this. It's... more than he expected, and a bit more than is normal for a massage. Part of him wants to go out and get himself some extra tension, just for more excuses for Anders to do this.]

I'm sorry, but what need do you presume I have of the exotic shit, Varric?

[ Better joking than arguing in earnest, anyway. If nothing else, Anders doesn't sound particularly put out. ]

Or is it for you you're hoping? I didn't think you were the type.

There's plenty you don't know about me.

[It comes out sounding rather more suggestive than he intended. After a moment's contemplation, he decides to let it stand.]

Well, any time you feel like revealing all of your deepest, darkest secrets.

[ Anders pats him on the back as he pulls away, stretching again as he slides to the edge of the bed. ]

...Or if you just want to talk. I'm here. And you're done. Unless you're still hurting anywhere?

[Varric takes a second - the quickest moment - to breathe in, appreciating the relief and relaxation flooding his body. And, perhaps, to remind himself that being disappointed that the massage is over is stupid, because hell- it did what it was supposed to do, right? Right.

He sits up, rolling his shoulders experimentally.]

Fucking ancestors, that's incredible.

[At the offer of "hurting anywhere else", though, he pulls off a glove... revealing a nasty-looking patchwork of burns. It looks as if it was partly seen to with a health poultice- but not a very strong one.

Varric holds his hand out, looking sheepish.]

[ Look, there are only so many overzealous praises Anders can handle in one sitting. He's quiet, this time, considering his boots instead of brushing Varric off once again.

He doesn't get quite so far as reaching to put them back on before he notices Varric reaching out to him - or offering his hand, as it were. ]

What— [ His confusion is short-lived, as starkly as those angry, red burns stand out against Varric's skin, and the quick succession of emotions that chase it across his face are perfectly predictable. Shock, disapproval - more disapproval, and frankly it looks for a moment as if he's readying to read Varric to riot act.

But then he remembers what he's doing here, as he takes Varric's hand carefully between his own, the pale blue glow of mana already building between his fingers, and softens again.

If he's been sitting with a burnt hand stuffed into a leather glove this long, already, Varric already knows he messed up. Not that that's going to exempt him from all of Anders' disdainful concern, as he heals the nasty burn. ]

You know, next time, perhaps you should lead with the open wound.

[He shrugs his other shoulder.]

Funny thing about those poultices from Solivitus- they kill all the pain, even if they don't heal everything.

[In other words: the damn thing was pretty much numb, and he sort of forgot about it- and/or it wasn't bothering him as much as everything else was.]

No poultice will do that, on its own. A wound needs proper tending. Especially a burn.

[ Now he does sound chiding, in spite of himself. ]

Covering it up is practically the worst thing you can do, you know.

[ ...Not that it matters, now. The skin is whole again and no longer such an angry shade of red, when Anders lets go of his hand. ]

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

casual use of thirst icons

nice (⁎❛ᴗ❛⁎)

i can do this all day bub

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject