Chapter 1: Chapter 1
Chapter Text
The rank air hit Fenris as soon as the lift to Darktown shook upon making contact with the ground. He swallowed thickly, fighting the urge to turn around and leave. Why did he even decide to come here in the first place?
He and the mage have come to a delicate understanding. They both worked hard to overcome their past experiences and allow themselves to get to know one another, not as a potential magister and a traumatised ex-slave, but as two men trying to survive in the shithole of a city that was Kirkwall. The truce they had was entirely dependent on simply avoiding certain topics. Fenris was not talking about magister depravities he witnessed in Tevinter, and Anders was not speaking about the southern mage plight. An unspoken rule.
They even shared some more intimate moments, but whatever was between them felt so fragile, neither dared to overstep. So they kept on meeting at Fenris’ appropriated mansion, where Fenris shared good quality food with Anders and Anders was patiently looking over his shoulder as he painstakingly traced the same letter over and over, until his hand got used to the movements. After, they would each take a warm bath, and Anders would rub an elfroot salve into Fenris’ aching marks. He would then curl up next to Fenris, not unlike the cats he was so fond of; and Fenris would gently scratch at his scalp until they both fell asleep. Sometimes, they would exchange a few unhurried kisses, slow and patient, broken off before they could deepen and progress into something else entirely. In the mornings, Anders was always gone, leaving for his clinic impossibly early. But like clockwork, every week, he would show up in Hightown, fresh salve for Fenris' pain in hand, rambling about this or that patient who held him back in the clinic on the day.
Despite never making any promises to keep with this arrangement, Fenris grew accustomed to their routine. He started feeling very strongly about the mage, and so when Anders had not shown up last night, he grew restless and concerned. When the sun broke over the horizon, he threw the bottle of Aggregio he was nursing right into the cold fireplace, grabbed his sword, and made his way towards Anders’ clinic.
The morning was by all accounts unremarkable - Fenris was looking for signs of anything out of the ordinary, but he could find none as he followed the well travelled path to the clinic. Yet as he finally got close enough to see the lantern, his stomach dropped.
It was not lit.
That was not right. Anders was always up before the sun, lighting the lantern and starting his day by preparing potions.
His feet started moving faster on the filthy Darktown ground, his breath coming in shorter pants as he ran the remaining distance to the clinic's door. One hand on the hilt of his sword, the other slowly pushed the door open.
“Anders?” he called, his bare feet almost slipping in something wet and thick spilled on the floor. He flailed to regain his balance, kicking an empty potion bottle across the floor in the process.
“ Kaffas . Anders, are you here?” He slowly advanced further into the dark room, making his way towards the ratty curtain separating the mage's living quarters from the rest of the clinic. His focus was entirely on finding Anders, on making sure he was okay. Unbidden images of Anders standing at a stall in the gallows, blazing sun branded on his forehead invaded Fenris’ thoughts. He gripped his sword tighter and entered the little alcove that Anders called his room.
The sight he was met with made him gasp in shock.
There Anders lay on his side, curled up on the floor and facing the wall. He was naked, his thighs stained with dried seed.
Fenris’ mind was reeling. Has he been attacked? But there were no signs of anything amiss, none, apart from him laying on the floor, unmoving. His body was marred by hundreds of scars, from the deep, gnarled knot of tissue right in the middle of his back, looking as if a sword was put straight through his body, through smaller cuts on his thighs and arms, bite marks with jagged edges to long, pale marks criss-crossing entirety of his back, buttocks and the back of his thighs. All those scars were too old though to have any connection to what transpired here last night.
“Anders? Did… what has happened here?” Fenris tried again, this time, reaching to turn Anders towards him. The mage turned obediently, but remained silent. His usually so full of life honey brown eyes stared right past Fenris, glassy and vacant. Tear tracks marked his dirty face, stained with dirt, drool, and Maker knows what else; and when he finally registered that it was Fenris who was talking to him, he started hyperventilating and shaking violently.
Before Fenris could react in any way, blue cracks appeared on Anders’ body and made him jump to his feet, his sword in hand in a flash.
“Go away, demon,” he hissed. “I need to speak to Anders.” Panic was now gripping tight in his chest, something was terribly wrong and he had to find out what.
Justice regarded him with an eerily neutral expression, while manipulating Anders' body like a puppet into a sitting position.
“I am a spirit, not a demon.” Fenris grit his teeth in annoyance at that. “Anders cannot speak to you right now. He is… he has retreated deep into his mind”.
Retreated… What in the Void was the demon blathering on about?! Had Anders finally lost himself to it? He couldn’t, not now, not when… He hadn’t told him yet… He had to…
“Well let him come back!” he yelled, his brands lighting up uselessly. He would not hurt Justice, because Justice was in Anders and no matter how many times he said the opposite, he could never hurt the mage. “You must let him come back!” The panic was clear in his voice now, making it crack in an undignified way. He was at a loss as to how to get Anders back.
Justice smiled at that, almost sadly.
“You misunderstand. I am not keeping him from coming back. I did not take over permanently. He just needs time after last night's… events… to come back to himself.”
A moment of silence passed between them, Justice staring at Fenris intently, almost as if studying him. Fenris’ throat felt tight and dry when he finally spoke next.
“What… events are you speaking of?”
Justice flinched at that. He seemed to think for a bit, trying perhaps to find a good way to say what happened. He couldn't find it though, and he sighed, defeated, before finally answering.
“Several men came to see Anders yesterday. They had sex with him. They did not leave until well into the night. That is why Anders missed your usual appointment.”
Fenris’ suddenly felt like his world tilted on its axis. Even though he knew he was still standing on the solid, dirt packed floor of the clinic, he felt like he was falling. His ears were ringing, bile rising in his throat.
He was such a fool. He knew Anders had a rather colourful sexual past from what Isabela spoke of, and yet he thought he would be enough. He thought they could take things slowly, that he could learn how to trust first before… before they did anything more. How foolish he was! Anders was clearly not the type of a man who could make himself wait for a useless elf who flinched at every touch below the belt.
Hot tears prickled his eyes and he hastily turned away to hide it from the demon. How casually cruel of it to break the news of Anders’ infidelity in such a callous, emotionless way. Fenris’ breath was hitching between shallow breaths, none of which carried enough oxygen. He needed to be away. He let himself fall for the mage, he let his guard down, and look what it got him. He was too damaged, too broken, and while it may have been his fault that Anders was left unsatisfied, he never expected him to be this cruel and have an orgy on one of the days when he was supposed to meet Fenris. Did he hope he would come looking and see? His thoughts were coming in fast, each new degrading thought about himself hot on the heels of the last one.
“Fenris?” The sound of Anders’ voice, so timid and quiet only served to fuel Fenris’ anger. How dare he speak about being different from the magisters, who tell their slaves they love them, only to… to…
“Do not ever show your face at my home again. If you do, I will rip your heart out and feed it to the stray mabari.” Fenris spat over his shoulder, fighting to keep his voice level. He did not need to show the mage how much he managed to hurt him. No, he would take his useless self back to the dilapidated mansion he called home and he would hide until the hurt was gone and only the rage remained. Only then he would be ready to face Anders again.
“Fenris? What… I don't…” Anders was trying and failing to put together a coherent sentence. He broke down into loud, ugly sobs behind Fenris, who squared his shoulders and walked out of the clinic, not even looking at the mage.
______
Never in his life did he expect this to hurt as much as it did. Wine bottle after another, days blurring together, maybe it had been weeks now? His brands were aching, but that was good. That was the type of pain he was trained to handle.
The pain that came from his mind torturing him with images upon images of Anders enjoying another man's body… That was the pain he was trying and failing to escape.
In a way, it was his own fault for trusting Anders and for thinking they had something more. Something special. He laughed bitterly, the nails of his free hand digging into his arm while he took another swig of the wine. How devious, how exceptionally good of an actor Anders was. The way he looked at Fenris when he kissed him, like he mattered, like he was worth something, more than his sword and more than his body. But it was all a lie.
Anders perhaps got tired of waiting, or perhaps he never was seeing this as anything other than casual. Regardless, it left Fenris hollow and hurting in ways only matched by the worst of Danarius’ torture.
And really, was Anders any different? Placating him with sweet nothings, soothing his brands, only to turn around and hurt him so. Danarius used to tell him he was his precious Little Wolf, and that it distraught him when he needed to punish him. But he punished and hurt him nonetheless. He soothed his pain only to inflict more of it. He told him he loved him. Mages were manipulative at their core. He almost wished it was templars who got to Anders on that day, to take him away, make him tranquil, bring him to heel. Make him disappear from Fenris’ life, like it never happened.
As soon as the last thought crossed Fenris’ mind he knew that was a lie, the thought of Anders captured and put in the Gallows made him sick.
If only Anders had told him he needed to give him his body before he turned around and got the satisfaction elsewhere… He would probably do it. He did care for Anders immensely, and how bad could it really be? Maybe it would hurt for a while but Anders was a healer. Maybe he would even repair the damage before leaving in the morning. He would give him his broken body, he has already given him his heart, what difference did it make if he was “ready”? He did not deserve to withhold anything from Anders, or anyone for that matter. He was only worth as much as he could provide, clear as day from his relationship with Hawke, who called on him often when they needed another sword, but not for a while now. They came to ask him to join in twice at the beginning of Fenris’ self-imposed isolation, but stopped trying after he refused both times. He had no worth beyond the services he could provide.
He screamed his outrage at being once more so beholden to a mage. He grabbed a nearby mirror and smashed it on the ground, but that did nothing to soothe his anger. He reached for his sword and hacked the table in his bedroom to pieces. Anders used to sit at this table. He then gave the same treatment to the desk where Anders was teaching him the letters, the bed where they used to sleep and kiss and whisper sweet things to one another; he raged until the sword clattered from his hands, his muscles aching, chest wracking with uncontrollable sobs.
Finally, he collapsed where he stood, right in front of the fire, and let the sleep claim him.
______
Anders woke up with a start, awakening from yet another nightmare. The ghost of unwanted touch still lingered on his skin, and worse, the sound of Fenris’ deep voice telling him to never show his face again at his home was haunting almost every second of his days for the past month.
As every day before, he got out of his nest of blankets on the floor and went to fill the large tub with water. His bed was broken in the attack and he thought Justice may have cleaned up the clinic, removing the debris before Anders fully came back to himself. He could not take one of the cots away from his patients, they needed that comfort so much more, and so he slept on the floor now. He heated the water up quickly with magic and began to wash himself.
His mind must have drifted off again as he was brought back by insistent flashes of images of bleeding patients in his mind. He looked down at his chest, skin raw and red where he tried to scrub off the filthy feeling to no avail.
“I'm fine Justice, thank you.” He paused at that. Justice was quite literally inside his head and he knew that that was not entirely true. “Well, I'm not... But I will be, eventually.”
He didn't know if he tried to convince himself or the spirit more. He was in this situation before, of course. The templars always took what they felt like they were owed. But never before had someone he cared for deeply seen him directly in the aftermath and treated him with the amount of disdain that Fenris had. He wasn't sure why the elf reacted the way he did. Clearly, seeing Anders like this disgusted him beyond measure. Maybe he was too used up for the elf's taste? Anders was no longer the young, charming apostate who got conscripted into Grey Wardens. His hair was thinning, and even though his body slowly started filling up from all the dinners with Fenris, it was still marred with countless scars. His knee was shattered during one of the escape attempts and he walked with a noticeable limp on bad days.
That must have been it then. He saw him naked for the first time and was repulsed. He saw him naked, directly in the aftermath of several templars having their way with him and probably could not stand the thought of being where so many other men had been before. And really, what had he to offer Fenris? He was at least a decade his senior, his age clear as day in contrast to the young elf.
Anders sniffled sadly, before wiping his eyes and lighting the lantern for the day. He had to keep working, he had to make a difference, he had to be good for something.
___________
The card night started just as it always had and progressed much in the usual way, with Isabela winning every other hand and him losing almost every time. This was the first time he attended since the incident in the clinic, and the first time he saw Fenris.
The elf sat across from him, tense and refusing to look at him. His jaw was clenched tight, fingers gripping the cards with excessive force.
After an hour of this, Anders could no longer take it. He abruptly stood up and tried to make an excuse about needing his rest so he can see patients when they need him.
“Yes. Let the mage go.” Anders’ blood ran cold at the sound of Fenris’ deep voice - so carefully stripped of any emotions, but a deep seated disgust was clear as day, right beneath the calculated snark. He looked up to meet the green eyes he loved so much, so warm before, now devoid of any of that warmth. A cruel smirk twisting his lips, the lips he lost himself in so many times before. “I am sure there are many, many people in need of his… unique services .”
The words hit Anders like a templar smite. All the noises of the other companions laughing felt like coming from above the water, and he was going under, sinking, the air forced out of his lungs.
“What is it? Did I miss something dirty again?” Asked Merrill, and that prompted the rest of the group to laugh even louder, while some of them rushed to explain.
Anders did not hear anything else, he stumbled out of the room on shaking legs. He pushed through the crowd of patrons on the ground floor, and exited the Hanged Man as quickly as he could. He ducked into an alleyway and there his knees finally gave out, hitting the stone ground. Pain shot up from his bad knee straight to his spine and he yelped. He felt a sudden bout of nausea and barely had time to react and lean his body forward before he was retching and throwing up bile. He did not eat much these days, and so that was all that was coming up, while his stomach spasmed and tears started streaming down his face.
He was a whore, he knew he was, he was a mage and mages were not supposed to love. He knew this, and yet, why did it hurt so deep that Fenris saw him in this way? Maybe he expected him to… understand? He could not begrudge him for no longer being interested in a chewed up and spat out piece of meat so many others tasted before, that he could understand. But why did he have to be so vicious? What purpose did that serve?
He was crying now, biting down on his fist to keep the loud, violent wails in. He did not hear the soft footsteps in the alley.
“Oh, sweetness…” Isabela. Her voice was so soft, so kind, so different from her usual cheerful tone. “Will you tell me about this?” She asked, gently brushing some hair off his forehead.
And if he thought he cried before, he was so wrong. Isabela's simple, gentle touch broke something deep within his chest, and he crumpled against her, bawling his hurt against her breasts, grasping at her to make sure. She was here, she was real, and she cared.
“That's okay, let it all out.” Her arms encircled his form, one hand at the nape of his neck, the other running soothing circles in the middle of his back. “Whatever it is, let me help you fix it” Anders let out a pained howl at that. She did not know. She knew him years ago, when he was a different person, before the Wardens, before Justice, before…
There was no fixing anything. He took up the broken pieces of his heart, barely mended after Karl, and gave it to Fenris. He did not expect him to discard it so easily. He did not expect him to stomp on it violently after finding out how revolting his body was.
He could not reconcile in his mind the gentle elf who told him he cared for him, who smirked at him across the table with mischief shining in the forest green eyes with the snarling man who told jokes about his assault in front of an entire group of friends. Who left him on the floor of his room, devastated and broken.
His weeping finally gave way to quiet hiccups and sniffles.
“I'm sorry, I'm okay, I'll be fine just… just let me go home and I…” he tried extricating himself from Isabela, wiping his face and pushing gently, but she only held tighter.
“Sweet thing, you are as far from fine as I ever saw you. Come back to my room with me, get yourself cleaned up, sleep in a comfortable bed for once. You can tell me all about what is bothering you and I will find a way to help, I promise.”
_______
The warmth of the bath was still lingering in his bones when he slipped under the lush duvet in Isabela's room at the Hanged Man. She gathered him up against her side, running her fingers through his damp hair in the way she remembered he enjoyed.
“Now, can you please tell me what is going on between you and the broody elf?”
Anders froze momentarily. He wasn't sure he wanted anyone to know what happened, but on the other hand, Isabela was not going to stop asking until he told her.
So he took a deep breath and recounted the events that sat heavy on his soul for the past few weeks. He told her about him and Fenris and the fragile thing that was developing between them. About the evenings spent at the dilapidated mansion, about the gentle caresses and slow kisses they shared.
And then he told her of the day he got held back from visiting Fenris by a complicated birth in the alienage. How he used up all of his mana to ensure both the mother and the twin babies made it safely through the night. And how he stumbled exhausted into his clinic, only to be immediately set upon by five templars. How they silenced him and drugged him with magebane, the almost empty bottle clattering to the floor near the clinic's entrance. How he was forced to take the first templar's cock in his mouth right there, while the others stood around, leering and expressing their excitement at using the mage slut soon enough.
How they dragged him by his hair, ripping his clothes off and forcing him on all fours, one templar ramming into him from behind, another gripping his jaw to hold it open and fucking his throat. How he cried, when the one using his mouth came across his face declaring that this is all mages are good for. How he did not even have the time to catch his breath before the next one shoved his prick down his throat, grunting above him. How the fifth templar tore him on his dick and laughed at the “self-lubricating” whore, while blood mixed with cum dripped down his thighs.
He didn't know when he started shaking, and when Isabela spoke next her voice was sounding uncharacteristically wet.
“Oh, Anders, I'm so sorry this happened. Tell me who and I'll kill them, I swear I'll make it hurt…”
“That's not the upsetting part.” His breath hitched. He was getting to the worst part of this story. But he realised he needed to continue. He needed the hurt to spill like pus from an infected wound before he could begin to heal.
Isabela looked down at him, confused.
“How is that not the upsetting part?”
He took a shaky breath.
“After, they left me there, naked, bruised and covered in their spend and my blood. I don't know how long it was that I laid there; I tend to lose track of myself when that happens. F… Fenris…” his throat constricted painfully. “Fenris came by to see what kept me from coming to our weekly dinner. He asked what happened and I don't know… I knew I was so scared of telling him, because I wasn't supposed to mention templar abuse and southern Circles to him.” Anders worried his lip, biting almost hard enough to break the dry skin. “Next thing I know, he is standing with his back turned to me, glowing and telling me to never show my face at the mansion ever again, or he will rip my heart out.”
There. The truth of the situation was out there now, and heavy weight dropped from his heart as soon as he was able to confide in Isabela. He was of course still hurting, but at least that hurt was now joined by feelings of acceptance and resignation.
“Screw the templars, I am killing the glowing bastard.” Isabela's voice was tight, echoes of barely contained rage right under the surface. “How dare he. How fucking… after everything he has been through, how could he ever!”
“Don't hurt him, Isabela. We made no promises. I was an idiot to let myself fall in love again at all, mages are not meant to do that. Just… Just hold me a while longer?”
She sighed, definitely much more enthusiastic about running out and skewering Fenris on her daggers, but she sank back against the plush pillows anyway.
“Whatever you need, sweetness. I'm here for you.”
_____
As soon as Anders’ breath evened out, Isabela gently removed his arm from around her middle and slipped out of the bed. She gave a quick, silent rummage through her weapons, considering which ones would be the most appropriate for the task at hand.
She needed to speak to Fenris immediately, and well, if said talk was going to involve some flying daggers, that’s just the nature of the topic at hand. She could not believe the elf could be so callous when faced with an immediate aftermath of rape, seeing his lover brutalised and incoherent with grief.
It made no sense, she thought as she slipped out of her room and set upon the shortest path to Hightown. The night was quiet, no miscreants or bandits catching her on her way. Out of all her new friends she made in Kirkwall, Fenris was the last one she would ever suspect of being this indelicate regarding sexual violence. He himself confided in her after one too many drinks when she tried to proposition him yet again, that he was flattered, but struggled with sexual intimacy due to some things Danarius has put him through. While he did not go into detail, it was clear that a slave’s body was entirely their master’s, to use in whatever way they pleased.
Why then has he behaved so abhorrently when Anders experienced the same trauma? She huffed to herself - honestly, it did not matter. The fact was, he hurt Anders deeply, and further prodded at the fresh wound in front of all their friends with no respect for Anders’ privacy. She would gladly explain to him why that was a terrible idea. Perhaps the last one he had in his life - she was still undecided if castration would suffice for this offense, or maybe she would have to dispatch him entirely. Hawke would understand if she explained, she was sure, and if not - well, she left Kirkwall once before and she can do it again. She had experienced the pain of unwanted touch before and an irresistible Antivan rogue took it upon himself to have a similar “talk” with her ex-husband. The talk resulted in her becoming a widow, and she knew how important it was to have someone in your corner, ready to fight for you when you were unable to do so. She would be the irresistible rogue coming to the rescue in Anders’ story.
As expected, the Hightown mansion was shrouded in darkness. Isabela knew the traps that were set to alert Fenris to intruders, as she and Varric helped set them up in the first place. She climbed the fence at the back of the mansion, hoisting herself up and over. Her boots made a soft thud on contact with the grass, but she doubted Fenris would hear her approach. If she was lucky, he got drunk at the card night and would be sufficiently slowed for her to quickly take him down.
She squeezed her body through a broken window on the ground floor and slowly crept up the stairs, mindful of the spots she knew squeaked when stepped on.
Finally, she reached the room Fenris appropriated for himself. He sat on the ground in front of the dying fire, staring at the embers, with his back turned towards her. A bottle of wine held in his unsteady grip, he had no idea she was there. Perfect.
Isabela launched herself at him, barreling into him and wrestling him to flip onto his back. She straddled his waist and held one dagger to his throat, the other piercing through his hand and pinning him to the floor. Fenris howled at the pain.
“Good. That will let you know I’m deathly serious. You have one chance, and only one, to convince me not to kill you. I may still remove some bits, but you might just escape with your life.”
Fenris just stared at her for a moment. His eyes were glassy and red rimmed, but not angry - more… resigned? What?
“Do it Isabela. Please. I cannot keep going like this. I only wish for you to do it swiftly if you can.” His voice wobbled. He pressed forward, craning his neck and making Isabela’s dagger draw a few droplets of blood.
What the fuck?
Isabela took a second to glance around the room. It was in even more of a state than usually - furniture splintered, empty, shattered bottles. She narrowed her eyes at him.
“Oh no Fenris, you do not get a swift and easy way out after what you have done. Do you feel guilty? Is that what it is? You cannot face your own despicable behaviour so you run onto my blade like a coward?” she hissed, pressing the dagger just a touch harder. All of the anger she was holding back in order to not break down in front of Anders was now flowing freely and she wanted to make Fenris pay .
“Guilty? No. But I am heartbroken,” Fenris said quietly.
Isabela stared at him in shock, then burst out laughing. It was a mirthless, ugly noise.
“ Heartbroken?! What the fuck are you talking about? You absolutely obliterated whatever was left of Anders’ soul and you dare say you are heartbroken? You absolute piece of filth!” Before she even registered what she was doing, her left hand released the grip on the dagger still pinning Fenris to the floor. Still holding the other one to his throat, she started hitting his face with a hastily formed fist, again and again and again , until his stupid face changed colour to red and purple.
“How dare you?! He trusted you! He gave you the last unbroken pieces of himself and you spat him in the face! You saw him beaten and raped and you… you left?! You bastard! Were you not fucked by Danarius and his friends enough times to understand?! You made him think he was unworthy, too broken, used, not good enough for you, but it is you who is not worthy to lick his boots! Had he not spent half the day saving an elven mother and two babies from certain death, he would have fought the templars off!”
She was screeching, barely coherent in her rage, not paying attention to the noises of several bones snapping. Her knuckles hurt but she did not care, she just switched the hand she held her weapon with and continued her assault with her right hand. The blessing of being ambidextrous.
She paused. Fenris was still under her, clenching his jaw in pain, his eyes shining with unshed tears now.
“Fight back you asshole!” she yelled, pausing her assault only long enough to hear Fenris mumble something in response. His voice was not clear, blood from his broken nose flooding his throat.
“What?!”
Fenris tried again, slightly louder this time.
“His demon told me he had sex, not that he was raped. Maker, was he, Isabela? I did not… Please finish this. If what you are saying is true, I deserve no less,” he croaked.
It took a while for Isabela’s brain to catch up with what she heard. Could it be as simple as a misunderstanding? She slumped off of Fenris, chest heaving and arms hurting from the exertion. Fenris curled to his side and spat out blood and a tooth, his face swelling up quickly due to his broken nose and both zygomatic bones.
“Fenris, tell me exactly what the fuck happened. And it better be a good story or so help me Maker, you will wish I never gave you the chance to explain yourself.” Isabela said quietly, looking at the mess she made of Fenris, the blood pooling under one of his wrists.
An anguished cry ripped through Fenris, shaking his entire body. She was getting more confused by the minute, Fenris never cried, never showed weakness. What in the void was going on here?
“I went to see him. He did not show up for our weekly meeting. We were… becoming something.” Fenris swallowed, clearly struggling to speak. Isabela huffed in annoyance and threw a healing potion at him.
“Drink a third. I need to make sure I understand your excuses.”
He obediently drank some, but Isabela noticed he only took a few sips - barely enough to staunch the bleeding from his nose. He took a shaky breath before continuing.
“He was lying there, but I swear to you, he was not injured when I found him. He was naked and clearly… Having done things. I tried asking him what had happened, but that’s when his demon took over. He told me Anders could not speak to me, and that earlier in the night some men came to Anders’ clinic and had sex with him.”
His voice thick with grief, he was trying so hard to get a hold of his emotions.
“Justice told you he had sex? Why would he lie? He is a spirit, he represents a virtue. He should not be capable of lying,” Isabela questioned further. This mess was making even less sense now than it did when she originally set out to confront Fenris.
“I don’t know!” Fenris yelled, clearly anguished. “Isabela, what actually happened that night? Please, I… I need to know. You can finish what you started after.”
And so Isabela told him. And she made sure to relay all of the details Anders’ told her about, to really twist the knife. By the end of it, Fenris was sitting on the floor, tugging at his soft hair so hard she was sure he was going to rip some of the strands out.
“Maker, I ruined it all. I ruined it all for nothing. I thought… I thought that he sought out other men to satisfy the needs I was not meeting. I thought I wasn’t enough. And I am truly not worth the dirt on Anders’ boots. How did I not see it? How did I not realise?”
Isabela sighed, cleaning off her daggers and re-sheathing them at her hips.
“I have no idea, Fenris. But what I do know is you will get yourself together and explain to Anders what happened.”
Fenris opened his mouth to protest, maybe to say that there was little he could do to make this better.
“Ah-ah!” she cut him off. “You will get yourself together and you will go and explain yourself to him. Or you are going to wish I killed you today. I will tell Hawke and the rest what you have done. I will not tell them that this was all a misunderstanding. See how well you fare against Danarius all on your own, because none of us will stand for someone who mocked a victim at their lowest and most vulnerable.” Her tone was so cold, it sent shivers down Fenris’ spine.
“And trust me when I say: screw up in this way again, Fenris, and there will not be second chances,” she added, looking down at him and turning to exit the room and go back to the Hanged Man.
Fuck , she needed a bottle of rum immediately. This turned out to be so much more complicated, with so many more feelings that she was capable of handling. Hopefully the idiots would sort themselves out after this intervention.
_____
The light shining onto his face woke Anders up. It was much later than he would customarily awaken, probably due to the exhaustion of the emotions he went through the night before.
“You’re awake! Feeling any better today, sweet thing?” Isabela chirped from her place at the vanity, where she was brushing her hair. Anders immediately spotted the bruises and swelling on her knuckles.
“What did you do?” He asked, not bothering to cover the panic in his voice. He was already halfway across the room, then kneeling hastily at Isabela’s feet and taking her hands into his. She hissed at the pain of the contact, but allowed him to fuss nonetheless.
“Oh, you know me. I had to have a conversation with a mutual friend who made some mistakes recently and bring him back to reality.” She tried for a nonchalant tone, but her injuries spoke what her words did not.
“Bela…”
“Oh, don’t get your knickers in a twist, he’s fine!”
He glared at her while letting the healing magic flow steadily into her hands.
“Okay, fine may be overselling it. He was alive when I left.” She shrugged and looked at the floor. A silent moment passed between them.
“I asked you not to do anything,” Anders whispered.
“Yes, yes. And you must have known I would not listen.” She waved her now uninjured right hand, while Anders focused on mending the left one. “Look, sweetness, I know I have no right to ask this of you, but I think you should let him speak when he comes to see you.”
Anders inhaled sharply at that. Even though he knew the likelihood of Fenris ever speaking to him again was almost none, it still hurt that Isabela was no longer entirely on his side.
“I know that is a lot to ask for, but I found out some details that you will want to hear about. Not from me, but from Fenris directly. Or your stick-in-the-mud friend.”
Anders was startled at that. Justice? What did he have to do with anything?
“Why would Justice know anything about this?”
“This is not for me to explain. But I am sure Fenris will come and see you sooner rather than later. All I can ask you to do is to hear him out before you decide to never speak to him again.” Isabela squeezed Anders hands in a reassuring gesture in her now uninjured hands. She sighed.
“Trust me when I tell you, I was prepared to kill him when I went to see him last night for what he did to you. He abandoned and humiliated you. I would not forgive him in your place. But I did hear what he had to say and I think you might be more understanding.” She smiled at him warmly.
“Thank you, Bela.” He was on the verge of crying again. This felt nice, to know that there is a person who would stand up for him when he needs it most. Even though Isabela refused to take a stand regarding mage rights, she had a heart of gold underneath her sassy, uncaring facade.
“For everything. For coming to check on me yesterday, for letting me stay. Even for attacking Fenis on my behalf” He smiled sadly. “You are a good friend.”
“Lower your voice, Anders,” she hissed. “I have a reputation to uphold. Don’t go advertising this.” She winked at him.
After saying his goodbyes, Anders made his way to his clinic. He tried prodding at the back of his mind, trying to get Justice to show him anything that could explain what it was that Fenris was supposed to tell him. The spirit was however either unable to or uninterested in sharing what he knew, only showing him memories of some people he met at the Wardens and himself, as seen by Anders for the first time in the Fade. Then a flash of Fenris’ face.
He was not sure how he felt about talking to Fenris. On one hand, he was a hopeless romantic, and buried deep within him was a sliver of hope that there was something, anything that would explain the whole horrible affair away. But on the other hand, he was not stupid. Hope was not for mages to have. Hope was not for him to have. At best, Fenris would come to meet him and explain that he was no longer interested in Anders. If he was lucky, maybe Isabela’s beating would have convinced him to do it more gently than whatever he did last night. If he was unlucky, Fenris would snarl and make no effort to hide his disdain.
Whatever happens next, Anders just wanted to get it over with, so he can throw himself back into work and try to forget.
Chapter 2: Chapter 2
Notes:
There it is, the conclusion to my little deranged drabble.
I hope you'll enjoy this chapter and if you do, you can let me know in the comments which are so nice to read ;_;
Thank you to Lady_Savannah who very kindly helped me with my first smut scene and wishb0ne who convinced me to write and post and who also beta'd the fic.
Chapter Text
A gentle breeze rustled the silky curtains covering the archway leading to the balcony. The night was filled with the sweet scent of flowers blooming in the mansion's gardens. The air felt warm and heavy with moisture, as was usual for summers in Tevinter.
Fenris was on his knees at his Master’s feet, his back aching as if he'd just received lashes - and he did, in a way; the whip was made of pure magic and left no physical damage but fried the nerves in his skin nonetheless. The tears on his cheeks dried by now and he was fighting the cries that bubbled in his chest - it would only upset his Master more.
His Master, who was now looking at him with an unreadable expression.
“My Little Wolf, you disappointed me severely today.” He began, and as soon as Fenris heard his tone, he lost the tenuous control he had on his emotions. He plastered his forehead to the floor at the Master's feet and a series of half-cries, half apologies fell from his lips.
“I am so sorry Master, I only wished to protect you. I thought…”
He felt his Master's grip in his long hair, pulling him off the floor and up enough to look at him. He did not dare look back.
“You forget yourself, boy. You fancy yourself capable of wishes? You think yourself smart enough to think ?” He hissed. Fenris whimpered, fresh streams of tears staining his cheeks. He angered his Master again, all he was doing was keep making things worse! He had no idea how to fix any of it.
His Master let out a put upon sigh and gentled his grip, moving his other hand to wipe at Fenris' tears.
“But then again, perhaps this is all my fault. I have been told that I am too gentle with you before and this is the result. You forget what you are. But no one can really understand my love for you Fenris, can they? The special bond we've shared since you were but a boy. I made you.”
Fenris could only look at his Master's chest, as he could not move from the grip still holding him in place.
“You just need a reminder is all. You forgot that you are not a man, but simply a tool. My property. No different than my staff, or the boots I wear. A thing to be told what to do and when.”
Fenris whined pitifully. That was true, he did forget himself. He had a nice Master, who loved him and wanted to keep him enough that he never discarded him, only gave him lessons. He wanted to apologise for his mistakes, but he was not told to do so. He didn't think… No! He was not told to apologise so he would not speak. It is that simple.
The room around him unfocused and blurred out of existence, and now he was being led by another slave to one of the special chambers where his Master would entertain chosen guests late into the night. Fenris was never allowed inside, the door and walls spelled for privacy so that no noises could be heard from the inside.
The other slave was the same one that washed him and lathered his skin with scented oils. He held his leash, attached to an elaborate golden collar. Fenris was not wearing his usual armour, but rather a loincloth barely affording him any dignity. Perhaps this was the lesson then? He would be chained and made to stand guard unarmed other than his lyrium?
The large double door swung open, and he was ushered inside. There his Master was, standing on an elevated dais, next to a wooden bench with restraints hanging limply off the sides. He saw benches like this in other magister's houses. A body slave would be strapped to it, the hinges allowing for any guest to adjust their position as they saw fit before using the slave for their pleasure.
He looked at his Master, who was staring right at him, waiting for the realisation to hit him. A choked of noise almost left Fenris’ throat, but his Master waved his hand and silenced him, making it impossible to make any noise. His terror was only communicated by his wild, terrified eyes.
“Ah, there it is. The main attraction of today's evening. My dear guests, some of you may know my dear Little Wolf. My most treasured possession. It occurred to me today that I have been rather selfish, keeping his other talents all to myself.”
Few of the guests leered at that, some even whistled. Fenris’ body was shaking. Surely his Master did not mean to share his body? Was that not special, something to be shared only between the two of them?
“He will be learning a very important lesson today, and you may all partake as you see fit. I do recommend his tight little hole, so make sure you get there before the grand finale of this evening!”
Fenris’ leash was then yanked amidst the applause and he was led up to the bench and strapped in the default position on his hands and knees, befit for a dog. His Master knelt at his side and leaned in just close enough so he could whisper.
“You are not a man Fenris, you are my plaything. I was very kind before, only using you myself. I was even gentle. But you have to understand, Fenris, that was my choice to make. And tonight, I am making a choice to share my favourite toy with my friends and acquaintances. And my toy will take it with no complaints, because toys do not complain.” He pinched the tip of his sensitive ear for emphasis, and the yelp that tried to escape Fenris died silent in his throat. The silencing spell was holding.
By the time the magisters were done with him, Fenris was laid out on his back, knees moved up to his chest. His abused hole was gaping, bleeding and leaking cum; his cock and balls were hurting, bound in tight rings which prevented him from finding any pleasure for himself at all. Tears streaming down his face and into his hair, brands aching from the intense abuse Hadriana put him through.
He understood, he did, he would never do that again. He would not think, he would not wish. Surely the evening was about to come to a close, if the frequency with which he was used was anything to go by.
He heard the soft rustle of his Master's silken robes next to him again, and gentle fingers carded through his hair.
“Such a beautiful show my Little Wolf has given us tonight my friends, you will surely agree!” Few of the magisters murmured their assent, the rest were either too drunk or too exhausted after the revelries to do anything.
“Oh, but I have one final surprise for you all tonight, something I was working on really hard the last few weeks.”
From his position, Fenris could not see what was happening, his eyes glued to the painted ceiling. But the next thing he knew, someone was making choking noises and his brands lit up painfully at the contact with blood magic. A rip in the Fade appeared nearby, pulling at him in the familiar way he felt when he stepped into the Fade.
A Pride demon roared. That was not right, how could he protect his master, still strapped to the bench like he was?! Did a magic trick go wrong? His brands lit up, he instinctively tried to phase through the bindings to protect his Master, but it was of no use. The strappings were enchanted. A familiar grip returned to his hair and his Master was now hissing in his ear.
“And yet you still do not understand. You are not to think and act of your own accord, only by my command. Did I command you to get up and protect me? I did not. I have my toy exactly where I want it. And now I summoned myself another toy from the Fade.”
Fenris felt ashamed, he was a disappointment yet again. He really was too stupid to even learn his lesson, so kindly provided by his good Master. He could have sold him, but he did not, he tried to make him understand…
His mouth opened in a silent scream, back arching off of the bench as he felt something inhuman press into his abused body. Even with all of the magisters fucking him loose all night, this thing was monstrously big, stretching his insides, tearing him apart.
He tried to sob, he tried to beg, he tried to scream; the silencing spell was still keeping him quiet for the benefit of the magisters. The demon, Maker, it was the Pride demon, was now slamming into Fenris at a punishing pace, each thrust sending a new wave of agony up his body, fire licking up his spine.
He lost track of how long he laid there, his own prick jostled painfully with each movement. His mind went completely blank, no space for anything other than the excruciating pain of his existence. When the demon finally, finally roared and spent himself across his naked body, Fenris’ head was free of any thought. The disgusting cum was more sticky than human, and it burned where it came in contact with his brands. The Fade portal closed and the room erupted in applause.
Amidst the commotion, the gentle hands carding through his hair again and a voice at his ear.
“Did you learn? What are you, my Little Wolf?”
His Master. His Master was asking him a question and he had to answer.
“Yours.” He rasped, voice wrecked by his earlier screams even if none of them actually made it past his lips. “Not a p… person. Your property.” He whispered, and he meant it. It was blissfully peaceful in his brain now, quiet, and he did not have to think. He only had to do what the Master asked him to do.
“Well done, my pet. I will send for a healer so that there is no permanent damage. You may rest on the floor next to my bed tonight.” There was a genuine smile in his Master's voice.
He did well. His Master still loved him, and he managed to please him greatly. Despite the physical agony, Fenris felt peaceful.
________
Fenris woke up with a gasp, sweaty sheets tangled between his legs. He bent over the edge of his bed, retching, but nothing actually came up.
Broken cries erupted from his chest at the memories he just relived in the Fade. It has been years since he was tormented in his sleep by his behaviour as Danarius’ prized pet. He dug his nails into the brands on his thighs, trying to anchor himself in the present with physical pain.
Heaving hard breaths, he finally started noticing details around him. The scent of his own body, clammy and drenched in acrid sweat, the pain of the brands, the softness of his bedsheets against his body…
His painfully hard, throbbing erection and the wet patch slowly blooming on the blanket between his legs.
He shuddered. This was not particularly new, sometimes when he relived his worst memories in his nightmares his body had a mind of his own and reacted in the most bizarre ways. He hated Danarius, he knew he did, and yet sometimes, in those nightmares, he was gentle with him; enough so that Fenris almost believed they were lovers, not a master and his pet. From those dreams, he would wake up covered in a sticky mess of his own cum.
Did Anders suffer similarly?
The thought came to him suddenly and with no warning. The memory of Isabela retelling the truth of what happened to him was plenty enough for his unruly dick to go limp against his thigh. Bile rose in his throat.
He had to make it right… no, not right, there was nothing that could make it right! But he had to at least attempt to make it better. He had no illusions, Anders had no reason to accept any of his pathetic apologies, but he hoped he'd at least tell Isabela that he did go to see him. He really did not want the rest of his friends to hate him - he would deserve that, yes, but he was a coward and did not want to face Danarius alone.
But then again, maybe that was the one thing Danarius was right about, all those years ago. Fenris deluded himself into believing that he was more, a person, not a thing. An equal to Anders. But he'd made a mess the moment he was faced with a difficult situation and an unclear image of the events that had transpired. He let his mind run wild, straight to the fears and insecurities he had pushed down so deep he forgot he even had them. And in that moment, he made a choice to let the most vile words spill from his poisonous mouth.
“Do not ever show your face at my home again. If you do, I will rip your heart out and feed it to the stray mabari.”
In retrospect, how could he have believed that whatever Anders did was consensual? How could he possibly have come to the conclusion that Anders could be so callous and cruel as to let him see his naked form following some sex party? Anders, who only ever tried to heal, who only ever tried to take away the hurt, not cause it. Who ran himself ragged, between trying to ensure none of them died on a mission, running his clinic, and fighting for his fellow mages.
He really was stupid, wasn't he? Too stupid to think for himself, attached to Hawke and awaiting their commands, so lost without a Master to tell him what to think and do.
There was only one way he knew how to apologise. Only one way he could make up to Anders the weeks he spent in anguish over venom spilled from Fenris’ lips.
The only thing he was good for. He couldn't think for himself without making a mess of things. But he could let go. He could let Anders do the thinking and decide what was the best way he could make amends.
He swung his feet over the edge of the bed and began making his preparations hastily. It would not do to make Anders wait.
_______
When Fenris finally arrived in Darktown, a small basket in tow, he was greeted with the sight of several patients trying to get help from Anders. He stood outside patiently, before dousing the lantern after the last dwarven man left the clinic and silently slipped inside. He closed the door behind himself and Anders straightened upon hearing the lock click. Fenris could see his grip tighten on his staff, before he spun around, a spell half formed on his lips.
“Maker's balls, your face!” Anders exclaimed as soon as he saw Fenris. The staff clattered to the floor and he reached towards the elf, before remembering himself and tucking his palms up under his armpits. He cleared his throat.
Right, his face was still marked by the violent assault Isabela rained on him last night. And even now, Anders was so kind, itching to help, to soothe, to heal.
He could never be his equal. He could never be half the man Anders was. His throat tightened.
“I came to… apologise,” he started. Anders scoffed and glued his eyes to the wall somewhere above Fenris’ left shoulder.
“I have no right to ask for your forgiveness, I do not deserve it. Still, I want you to understand how utterly sorry I am about my shameful behaviour of late.” He took a few steps forward. Anders took the same number of slow steps backward.
Fenris was losing the only chance to make this better. He had to make Anders see, he had to make him understand!
“Please Anders, let me at least give you the opportunity for… expressing your anger.”
Anders’ brow furrowed as he looked into his eyes.
“Fenris, I am not sure that there is anything you can say or do to make this better.”
“Please!” His voice cracking under the panic that gripped him, Fenris hastily went down to his knees and crawled towards Anders. Anders who seemed to be backing away in disgust, judging by his shoes.
“I beg you Anders, you can do anything! Just please let me make this better! Let me make you feel better!” Anders’ heels finally hit the wall, and Fenris was there, at his feet, kissing the filthy boots.
“Fenris, what in the Void! Stop this, get up!” Anders sounded odd. Not angry, not even bitter; but Fenris could not make himself think hard enough to name the emotion. He was not to think anyway.
“Please, please! Make me hurt like I have made you hurt!” Fenris was openly sobbing now, shaken off of Anders' boots he kept his forehead flush to the dirt floor, his position perfect as he learned for Danarius.
“You can use the whips I brought, give me lashes until my back looks like yours, until I'm almost dead; you can then bring me back and do it again! Just please do not make me leave without making this up to you! You can do to me what they did to you! Anything, anything at all, I will bear it all!” His bitter tears were falling down onto the dirt. His blood was roaring in his ears and he was so terrified that regardless of his offer, Anders would tell him to leave. He could bear anything Anders could think of doing to him, but not that. Not the indifference.
He so desperately wanted to provide a shred of comfort to the man he loved. He only hoped this would be enough.
______
Something was terribly, terribly wrong with Fenris.
Firstly, he showed up at the clinic with his face in various shades of blue, purple and black, no sign that he even attempted to help his situation with a potion.
Secondly, and more importantly, he was now prostrating himself in front of Anders, wailing, and begging to be punished for the hurt he caused him.
Anders reached for the Fade and tried to detect any sort of a spell or a curse that could be affecting the elf, but nothing was there. It was just Fenris.
Anders kneeled down next to Fenris and swallowed thickly before speaking.
“Fenris, please get off the floor.”
The elf only started taking quicker, shallower breaths at that.
“I am begging you, don't make me go away!” he sobbed, panic in his voice clear.
Anders reached towards his head, trying to make Fenris look at him, but the man only leaned into the touch without opening his eyes.
Whatever happened to Fenris, he seemed to be dead set on making up for the hurt he caused Anders, at all cost.
Anders settled down on the floor, leaning on the wall.
“Fenris, I will not make you leave before you answer some questions for me. Can you do that?”
Fenris looked at him now, big green eyes shining with tears and so full of hope. Anders could almost hear the cogs inside his head turning when he finally dropped his gaze and hiccuped.
“Y… yes. I can… I can answer y… your questions.”
Good. He still was not acting like himself, still crying and shaking. But Anders could work with this. He learned how to deal with spiraling people at Kinloch.
“Okay, that's good Fen. Please sit up.”
Fenris obediently straightened, now that he was reassured he would not be made to leave. Well, not until Anders understands what in the Void happened all those weeks ago.
“Fenris, I need to know. You came to my clinic that day after I was… after the…” He took a shaky breath. “You saw me after it happened and you left. Worse, you told me to never speak to you again and I need to know why.”
He was looking at the elf now, but the man was staring at the floor between them, dirty bangs falling into his eyes.
When he finally broke the silence, his voice was quiet and on the verge of breaking.
“I did not know. Your spirit told me you… you had sex. I thought you were unfaithful. And even though I had no right to be hurt by that, I was, and I lashed out.”
A beat of silence, Anders looking for any signs of deception on his face and finding none.
“When I was a slave…” Fenris continued, a slight tinge of red spreading on the tips of his long ears, now drooping in a sad way Anders never had seen before. Sure, he knew in theory that elven ears can move and reflect their owner's mood, but he never saw it with Fenris.
“If I didn't want to... if multiple men did that... I was usually injured. You were not injured. I didn't see. I was so stupid, so naive. And then you were gone, and Justice was there, and he told me several men had sex with you." Fenris swallowed back his tears. “And I was a fool to assume you… had some sort of an orgy behind my back”. His ears were dark red now, blush spreading over tan skin.
"What do you mean I wasn't injured?" Anders furrowed his brow. He distinctly remembered gauntlets snagging in his hair, strands ripped from his scalp, the delicate skin on his wrists ripping under metal when he was held down, his throat raw and bruised, his asshole torn and bloodied.
Suddenly, images of him healing his patients flooded his brain, originating distinctly outside of his own consciousness.
He blanched, realising what had happened. Justice healed him. Then told Fenris he had sex with multiple men. And now Fenris, his beautiful broken Fenris, came and offered himself up, begging to be hurt just so that Anders would take him back or at least so that Anders would feel better.
His breath caught in his throat and suddenly he was sobbing now, reaching for Fenris, pulling him to his chest. Fenris fell into him willingly, clutching at his threadbare shirt.
“Justice healed me. I must have drifted off at some point after they were done and he healed me before you arrived. I am so sorry Fenris, all this time, I thought you saw me bloodied and broken and chose to leave. I thought…”
Fenris looked up at him, tears silently falling down his broken face. Anders cupped both his cheeks and let his magic flow into the shattered bones and bruised tissue. Fenris flinched at the magic suddenly flowing into him, but after a moment relaxed against his hold.
“I thought you saw me as a used up, fucked out whore in an ugly body.” A shocked yelp escaped Fenris at that. “I thought that you finally saw me naked, saw my scars and how old my body looks, saw the evidence of many other men taking me… And that the thought of touching me, of being with me after so many others disgusted you.”
“Never, Amatus !” Fenris was looking into his eyes with fierce conviction. “The only thought I had about your body at that moment was that I could not see any injuries that would explain the state I found you in. That would let me know this was a violent encounter. But in retrospect, how could I not understand, just looking at you laying there. But then Justice…”
Right, Anders winced at that. Why in the hell did Justice tell Fenris that he had sex? Why did he not say that he was raped? He prodded at the spirit, demanding an explanation. He closed his eyes to focus better and let the images flow into him.
A memory of Anders talking about the circles, and how abused mages were there, and Fenris snarling at him. Another picture of Anders mentioning templar abuse to Sebastian and Fenris rolling his eyes before walking faster and catching up to Hawke. A scene where he let something about babies at Kinloch being taken at birth slip at Wicked Grace and Fenris standing up, leaving. A distinct feeling of sorrow.
Then a memory of Anders finding out that Fenris did not know how to read, and the way he bit his tongue before mentioning that he used to teach at the Circle. The offer made with no mention of Kinloch to teach Fenris. A picture of them both sitting at the table in Fenris’ room, eating dinner and talking about anything but magic and the Fade. The memory of their first kiss. A feeling of bittersweet joy.
A memory of Anders laying on the cold floor, terrified of truthfully answering Fenris that it was the templars who hurt him, convinced that would ruin their fragile relationship.
Anders opened his eyes. He was crying, holding Fenris close and working out knots in his short, dirty hair, glued together with dried blood.
“Justice… doesn't understand the physical world and the relationships between people. I was terrified when you asked me what happened. I was not yet fully present in my mind, but I was convinced that telling you the truth, about the templars, that that would make you leave. That was the one rule we had, that I never mentioned the southern circles and Templar abuse around you. And Justice simply… followed the rule. He did not want to ruin things between us either.”
Silent shivers went through Fenris’ body, his wet face tucked under Anders’ chin, his nose right at the juncture of the mage's neck and collarbone. He was taking deep breaths, shaky at first, then calmer, until he finally spoke.
“I apologise for my closed mindedness. I admit, after years in Tevinter, I could not comprehend how it is that mages simply do not take over the southern Circles, if the life in them is truly as bad as you described. I was convinced you must be exaggerating, and every time you did, it hurt me for some unexplained reason. Like you were trying to mock my pain. Had I just opened my mind a bit earlier, none of this would have happened.”
“It's not your fault.” Anders immediately protested. “At least, you are not entirely to blame for your reactions. We both were deeply affected by our past experiences.”
Fenris hummed thoughtfully. Another few moments of silence between them, now more comfortable. Tension leaving both their bodies as they relaxed.
Another thought slammed into Anders.
“Fen, why did you think I would cheat on you? By having an orgy on a night I was supposed to come see you no less?”
Fenris tensed briefly at that. He cleared his throat before speaking, very quietly against Anders’ neck. It was not sorrow this time that lingered in his voice, Anders thought.
“We never did more than kiss… And I thought that my inability to give you my body finally wore your patience thin.” Shame, Anders realised. Fenris was ashamed.
“What?” Anders was genuinely confused. They were both taking things slowly between them, neither ready to make that final leap into sexual intimacy. It made sense to him and he never pushed for more so how in the Void would Fenris come up with that?
“You are a man with considerable… experience Anders. I heard Isabela talk about the Pearl. And sometimes you would talk about kissing everyone in the circle at Wicked Grace. And I was so grateful that you were indulging me, when I was not ready to do more. But then when I found you that day, it made so much sense to me, that you would seek your pleasure elsewhere. Why would you force yourself to wait for me?”
Anders laughed hysterically at this. This startled Fenris enough to pull away and look at him.
“You beautiful idiot. I was not indulging you, I was not ready either! Isabela is talking about a much younger man, who did not witness the person he loved have his mind broken. A man who did not have to kill his love. A man who was confident in his body. And I am no longer that man.”
Fenris touched his stubbled cheek, almost reverently.
“I am sorry I was a fool. I never… This is my first time caring for someone as a free man,” he whispered, as if afraid to break the moment.
“I am sorry I did not realise sooner that your reaction was a defense, not an attack,” he whispered back, leaning into the touch.
The kiss they shared next was slow, unhurried, full of love and anguish. Their lips slotted together like they were always meant to, like they should never part again. Like that kiss could cure all of the hurt that passed between them in the last weeks.
Anders winced, a frustrated huff escaping him. Fenris froze and backed away.
“ Amatus? Did I do something wrong?”
Oh, this stunning man, so ready to take the blame for all the hurt, so ready to fix it. Anders’ heart was swelling with the intensity of feelings he had for Fenris.
“No, love, everything is just as it should be. Except for my knee. Maybe we could move to the mansion? We could both use a warm bath and some elfroot salve. Maker, how are your brands?”
Fenris helped Anders get up from the floor and even passed him the staff he dropped when he came in. Anders leaned his weight on it and smiled gratefully, limping towards the basket Fenris came with.
“Oh, let’s grab the food you brought back, and I can reheat it for dinner!” He grabbed at it, frowning at the weight at the same time Fenris hurried over.
“No wait, it's not…!”
“Andraste's tits, what did you even…” his voice died in his throat as soon as he opened the basket.
There was no dinner inside. Instead, there were several types of whips. And not the kinky kind, but slaver style - meant to injure and hurt.
“Fenris?!” His voice was unnaturally high pitched.
He whipped around to see crimson spreading from the tips of Fenris’ ears all the way down to his neck. The elf shifted on his feet in a way he did whenever he was uncomfortable.
“I meant it when I said you could whip me within an inch of my life and make my body look like yours. I wanted to fix the hurt I caused.”
“By allowing me to inflict that hurt onto you?” Anders stared at him, confused at this thought process. Another twinge of pain from his bad knee. “You know what, don't answer. We can talk about that later. Right now I'm exhausted and I just want to have a nice bath and curl up next to you on the bed.” He made a few steps towards the door and Fenris followed.
“About the bed… well, my entire room really… there was an incident and I had to move to the master suite.”
_______
When they arrived in the mansion, Fenris led Anders to his newly claimed bedroom. It was the most grand one in the house - and he still felt uncomfortable staying there, like he wasn't supposed to.
He led him straight to the attached bathroom, where the stone floor was sunken in the middle, creating a bathing pool large enough for several men.
While Anders conjured some ice into the pool, melting and heating it up with fire, Fenris rummaged through the nearby cupboards. He found some clean, if a little stale-smelling towels, some fancy soap, and several bottles inscribed in Tevene. He squinted, brow furrowing in concentration, lips moving in silence, while he tried to decipher the text.
“What have you got there?” Anders asked, moving to stand behind Fenris and looping his arms around his waist in a casual show of affection.
“The font is very fancy on those bottles, it's so difficult to read!” he huffed, frustrated, leaning into Anders. “I think those two are some sort of hair products. The bottles almost match, but not quite, see? Probably a hair soap and a conditioning oil.”
“Hey, I told you it counts as cheating if you use that big brain of yours to deduce the meaning of the writing without actually reading it!” Anders chuckled, placing a kiss on his temple. Fenris missed the gentle touches. Even if currently his brands felt like they were on fire, his skin sensitised to the pain following the period of relatively pain-free existence thanks to Anders.
Fenris smiled and led Anders back to the pool.
“That one I actually did read the label of with no issue. Some sort of a fancy bathing potion with pain soothing properties. I didn't even know it was there.” He swallowed, his mind going to the agonising years he spent with Danarius. Had he always had a way to soothe his pain, but withheld it from him? Probably. He poured some into the water.
Behind him, Anders sat on a stool and began taking his shoes off. Right, that was his usual cue to leave. He placed the soap and the remaining bottles at the rim of the pool, next to some washcloths and a small empty pitcher, before turning to leave Anders to his bath.
He only took a few steps when the mage spoke.
“Fenris? Will you…” He looked down to his hands, fidgeting with his robe in his lap. “Would you stay? I don't want you to feel like you have to!” He hurried to say, briefly looking at Fenris before dropping his gaze back down. “Ever since… I feel like I can't wash off the filth on my skin and sometimes Justice cannot bring me back to myself before I rub my skin raw.” His voice was so quiet, so timid, like he was afraid.
“Of course. Do you… could I wash you?”
Anders startled at that and looked at Fenris then.
“I don't want you to do anything you are not comfortable with. I was thinking you could just stay in the room, turned away if that's better for you. You could just talk to me.”
“Would you like me to help you wash?”
Anders was quiet for a second, then nodded.
“I don't want to be a burden,” he whispered so quietly, Fenris barely caught the words. But then he was there, kneeling in front of Anders, cupping his cheeks in his palms and forcing the honey brown eyes to meet his.
“You are not a burden, you need help. It is not shameful to ask for what you need. Did you not tell me that, repeatedly?”
Anders smiled, just a little movement in the corners of his mouth, but it was genuine. And Maker, Fenris wanted to be the one to put a smile on Anders face everyday for the rest of his life.
“Alright then. Thank you, Fen.”
Fenris sat back on his haunches, undoing the laces of Anders’ boots and slipping them off his feet. He helped the mage slip off the outer robe from his shoulders. Then the thin shirt was off and Anders shivered at the contact with cold air. His pants and small clothes followed.
When he was bare, they both stood up, Anders leaning on Fenris for support. Even though he was naked, none of this felt sexual. More like a different type of intimacy all together.
Anders started tugging Fenris’ shirt up and the elf froze.
“Love? Is that not okay? Did you not want to bathe with me?” He sounded concerned. Concerned for Fenris, for his feelings, for if he was ready to show his body to someone and be vulnerable. And in that moment Fenris realised that he was no longer afraid of that vulnerability. He wanted Anders to see him. He wanted Anders to know how much he trusted him.
“I do!” He rushed to reassure him. “I do. Let's get you into the warm water first and then I'll join you.”
Anders nodded, and with a final few steps he was sinking into the steaming pool, a delighted sigh escaping him at the contact.
Fenris watched him relax against the rim of the pool, then quickly removed his own clothes and followed.
The water was nice, just a touch too warm at first, but the heat was sinking deep into his skin and helping his muscles relax. He beckoned Anders to turn around in front of him, and started pouring the water over his hair. He worked slowly, meticulously, working the soap into the strands and massaging Anders’ scalp.
After rinsing the soap off, he moved on to the mage's body, much too thin now, having lost the weight he gained recently. He washed him gently, like he was a treasure. He was not fragile, but he deserved that gentleness.
The intimacy of this was entirely new. Not really arousing, just filling his heart with love and care for the man in front of him.
“Thank you, Fen.” Anders was smiling, and turned around to place a chaste kiss on his lips. “My turn?” he asked, nudging Fenris so he could turn away from him and lean his head back.
While Anders worked on detangling his hair and removing the dried blood from it, he almost started drifting off to sleep. He was so exhausted, physically and emotionally.
“Fen, something is still bothering me about what happened today,” Anders said suddenly, and Fenris’ blood ran cold.
“It's nothing bad, it's just… I want to understand what exactly happened before you came to see me.” A gentle, reassuring kiss on Fenris’ shoulder. As if to tell him he wasn't in trouble.
Fenris winced. He had hoped they could gloss over his earlier breakdown and never mention it again. That would be preferable. But that was part of the problem, wasn't it? He hid things about himself before, and that led to a bigger issue later on.
“I had a nightmare,” he stated simply. Anders hummed, but did not speak, giving Fenris the space to continue when ready. “It was a memory of Danarius teaching me a lesson. That I was not to think for myself, only act by his command. That I was too stupid to make choices anyway.”
He sighed, rubbing his face in frustration, before continuing.
“I know that's not true, when I really think about it. But with the memory so fresh, my mind latched onto that idea and made me think that if I think on the best way to apologise to you I will only ruin things further. So I decided to do what worked before. Just let you punish me, hurt me, make me feel as bad as I made you feel.”
Anders was now done washing him and hugged Fenris tightly, pressing his back against his chest.
“I understand. Sometimes our thoughts can get overtaken by ideas that other people have put into our heads when we were much younger. But I want you to remember one thing, Fenris, if you forget everything else about me this is the one thing you must remember and know deep in your bones.”
Fenris looked up at Anders, the love so clear in the gentle eyes, it almost made him start crying.
“I would rather go back to the circle and let them make me Tranquil than ever, ever cause you harm.”
It was true. There was no lie, no deception, just conviction and truth. And Fenris could not bear it. He could not fathom how this man could love him so much, with all his flaws and sharp edges. Tears welled up in his eyes as Fenris shifted to press a kiss to Anders lips, slow, reverent, worshipful.
“I would rather burn down the Chantry and rip the Divine's heart out of her chest than ever see you in templar clutches again. I will not allow it. Never again.” He promised, his forehead resting against Anders’.
The water was murky and tepid now. It was time for rest for both of them.
_____
Anders woke up with Fenris’ hot breath puffing against his neck. They were still naked, having collapsed into bed exhausted after their bath and Anders’ diligently rubbing the elfroot salve into Fenris’ brands.
Fenris shifted in his sleep, his muscular leg thrown over Anders thighs, his hand resting on the mage's concave stomach.
Fenris was beautiful, dusky skin contrasting with the bright lyrium etched into his skin; sinewy muscles highlighted by the filigree lines. His hair was so soft under Anders' fingers, his brow relaxed, plush lips upturned ever so slightly.
Nothing like Anders' own scarred, older body.
“I can hear you thinking too hard.” Fenris said, propping himself up on one hand, the other playing with the sparse hair on Anders's chest. He grabbed that hand and pressed kisses to each knuckle, before replacing it right over the nasty scar covering his heart.
“I am just thinking about how beautiful you are. And how I am very lucky that you chose me to share this with you.” Anders smiled, looking at Fenris, right into those large green eyes. So full of love, he could cry.
“You are handsome too, you know.” Fenris said, starting to trace Anders' features as he continued speaking. “The warm honey brown eyes that crinkle when you laugh. The strong nose. Your lips, perfectly shaped to fit mine.” He punctuated the sentence with a kiss.
What started as slow, tender exploration, tongues sliding against each other unhurriedly, started to gain intensity. Fenris’ hand cupping his jaw, his chest pressed against his own. It felt like fire, slowly spreading in his body, pooling downwards. He was so lost in Fenris that it took him a while to realise he was making little, abortive thrusts with his hips, trying to gain any sort of friction to his now fully swollen cock.
He backed away, trying to put a little space between their bodies, before clearing his throat.
“I'm sorry, Fen. It's just a body doing what bodies do. Don't think you have to do anything about it, it will go away on its own.” He felt so embarrassed. He didn't want Fenris to think that this was somehow a requirement in their relationship, that he had to give in regardless of his own comfort. But he also could not deny that he wanted him desperately. Getting worked up like a young virgin just from a kiss. An incredibly hot kiss, but it was still shameful.
Fenris lowered his gaze to Anders’ neck, hand tracing the scars on his torso.
“What if I want to?”
“What?”
Fenris kissed his collarbone, then a slow trail up his neck. He stopped just under Anders’ ear, nuzzled his earlobe briefly, before he whispered right into his ear.
“What if I want us… to do something about it?”
His deep voice had a husky, unfamiliar edge to it and it nearly undid Anders there and then, cock twitching against his stomach, a bead of pre-cum dripping down from his tip.
“Maker,” he rasped, hauling Fenris up closer, guiding him to straddle his thighs and keep kissing him.
The kisses grew hungry, Fenris nipping at Anders’ bottom lip, hands starting a slow exploration of each other's bodies. Anders’ large hands gliding over Fenris’ smooth, elven skin, so careful not to agitate Fenris’ brands. Fenris’ thumbs flicking over Anders’ pink nipples, making the other man gasp into his mouth. Fenris drank the noise up, only breaking apart when they needed to breathe. His hands roamed freely, caressing Anders’ arms, playing with the hair on his chest, finding ticklish spots on his ribs and sides. He was single mindedly focused on mapping out every spot on Anders’ scarred torso that made him shiver and squirm underneath him. He was kissing Anders hungrily, like he could never sate the need to be close to him, like the wet slide of their lips and tongues was the only thing that mattered.
Anders looked at Fenris again, perhaps searching for any hesitation, perhaps to admire him. He found none of the former, only love in his eyes, a delightful blush spreading down his body.
“Come here,” Anders said, guiding Fenris to come up and hover over his face. His half hard dick so close made Anders’ mouth water.
“What are you… Anders!” he yelped in surprise as he felt the warm lips close around the tip of his cock. Anders slowly, methodically started unmaking him with his tongue, swirling it around the tip, drinking up the pre-cum gathering there. Gently suckling, feeling Fenris getting larger and filling his mouth properly now. He was shivering, stock still apart from that.
Anders opened his eyes and looked up. Fenris was watching the head of his prick rhythmically disappear into Anders’ sinful mouth with utter disbelief, tears shining in his green eyes. Anders paused.
“Love? Is this okay?”
Fenris nodded hastily. “Nobody has ever done this for me. I didn't know it could be done like this, gentle and not degrading,” he said.
Anders felt his heart clench in response.
“It can be, when you are making love. Can I show you?”
Fenris nodded again, lost for words. He slipped off of Anders and laid down next to him on his back, dragging Anders on top of him.
And Anders immediately started worshipping the man below him, laving kisses and licks down his entire body, from his neck, all the way down to his feet, avoiding his straining erection for now. He then started working his way back up, kissing the arch of each foot, the inside of each knee, the soft skin on each thigh. He straddled Fenris’ waist, before continuing. He paused at the nipples, giving each a mixture of kisses, licks and even small bites, noting how Fenris reacted to each sensation. The normally stoic elf was entirely lost, panting, pressing closer to Anders, his ears twitching.
“Please…” he whimpered, and Anders drank down his pleas with his lips, locking them in a searing kiss, rocking his hips and letting their cocks rub against each other. They both moaned at the sensation. Anders broke the contact between their lips only to ask about oil. He was so desperate to feel the girthy length of his love stretch him wide, connect them in that special way. Burn away the lingering memories of others. Replace them with those of love and happiness of this moment.
He was handed a small vial, unstoppered it and poured a generous amount onto Fenris’ fingers. He guided his hand to his entrance and slowly pressed the first finger in, taking a breath and making his body relax.
“Open me up, love?” he said, leaning back down to kiss Fenris again, but he stopped him with a hand on his chest. The other hand left him, settling on his hip.
“Are you sure you want that? I thought maybe… you'd want to take me instead?”
Anders looked down at him, noticing the confused look and furrowed brow. He was not leaving anything unsaid this time, so he thought carefully before asking.
“Why did you think that?”
Fenris’ ears blushed fiercely, shifting from dark red to crimson.
“I don't want to hurt you after you have been hurt so recently. And you could… heal me? After?” He looked hopeful and earnest, like that was the most normal thing in the world to say. Like the pain of sex between two men was a given, not a product of violence and lack of care.
Anders sat back, running his hands down Fenris’ sides in a soothing motion.
“Fenris, it does not always hurt to be on the receiving end.”
There it was. Fenris’ eyes widened in shock.
“If we use plenty of oil, and I mean, plenty…” Anders grabbed Fenris’ dick, bigger than that of an average elf, and swung it left to right playfully. “It will not be painful for me. We will start with just your fingers, one at first, then more, until my body relaxes into it and loosens up. If we do this right, when you enter me with your delicious cock, all that I will feel will be pleasurable pressure and mild stretch.” He was smiling just thinking about it. His cock twitched in response. “See? I am very enthusiastic about the idea.”
______
Fenris looked at Anders, still sitting on top of him and looked for anything to tell him the mage was lying. He could not find a single thing. Anders was smiling, rubbing Fenris’ sides and torso.
Was that another thing he had to learn about love as a free man? That sex could be gentle and all pleasure, not a mix of pleasure-pain at best?
“Very well Amatus, but you have to tell me immediately if I hurt you. I have never done this so… carefully.” A brief flash of sadness in those warm eyes. Fenris wanted none of that. This wasn't about his issues, about his problems. This was about making Anders feel cherished and loved.
He rose up to meet Anders' lips with his own, while gaining some leverage and momentum to flip them over. Anders let out a surprised gasp. Laying below him, his reddish blonde hair spread on the pillow like a halo, he looked so beautiful.
“ The most beautiful paintings in Tevinter Chantries did not depict anyone even close to your beauty.” The words slipped off his tongue, somehow easier to say in his native tongue.
“Fuck, Fen, that's so hot!” Anders exclaimed, writhing below him, his legs falling open to the sides and exposing his puckered hole. Fenris reached for the vial of oil, considering his still glistening hand. He supposed it was best to use too much than not enough and drizzled a good amount onto his fingers and smeared it around between Anders’ ass cheeks.
He slowly, slowly breached the tight ring of muscle with his finger. It felt warm, the muscles tight around it. So different from the feeling of a woman, but no less enticing. Fenris leaned forward to kiss Anders’ chest, mirroring what the mage did to him before. But while Anders avoided touching his marks, he focused on kissing and licking at every single scar and mark on the human's body. Anders treated him like he mattered, like he was worthy of all the love in the world, yet he refused to believe the same was true for himself. Fenris wanted to change that. He wanted to show him just how insane thinking about his body as anything other than perfectly loveable was.
He started slowly, carefully moving his finger, looking at Anders to make sure he was not doing it wrong. All he could see was his cheeks gaining a healthy flush, his eyes closed. His hips started moving to meet Fenris’ hand with more momentum.
“ So beautiful, flushed with desire, riding my hand. I cannot wait to have you on my cock,” Fenris whispered. His finger was now easily sliding in and out of the mage. Feeling little resistance, he added a second one and plunged them deeper. His fingers brushed against something that made Anders keen and arch into his touch.
“Fuck, love, right there!” he panted, and Fenris diligently committed to memory the location of the spot he’d stumbled onto. He gave it a few more rubs, watching mesmerised as Anders tried to pick up the pace, his engorged tip dripping pre-cum onto his stomach.
He lapped it up, tiny kitten licks, looking at Anders’ face to see his reaction. He moaned with no shame, so lost in Fenris. It was amazing to see that this was even possible, that he could give Anders’ pleasure in this way. Whatever he found was making Anders shiver, almost as if pushing him close to release. Was that even possible? Could he cum with no touch to his cock? He pushed in another finger, probing around, making absolutely sure the muscles were stretched and relaxed enough.
“Fuck, love, please, please! I'm ready, I need you to… please!” Anders babbled, whining when Fenris finally withdrew his fingers and reached for the oil again. He groaned at the slick sensation as he lathered himself up, giving himself a few pumps before lining up with Ander's loosened hole.
He swallowed nervously. Anders seemed to be enjoying himself so far, and he ached to be inside, to feel that warmth around his cock. But what if he hurt the mage anyway? What if he didn't do enough, or didn't prepare him right? What if…
“Fen? Should we stop?” Anders was caressing his face, an honest concern written on his own. “It's okay if we do, we don't have to do anything just because we got this far.”
“Are you sure you are ready?” He asked, kissing Anders’ cheeks and nose before he moved to his lips to give him a few gentle pecks. “I don't wish to injure you.” He admitted sheepishly.
Anders nodded fervently, like his entire life depended on Fenris filling him. “Trust me, love. I will tell you if anything goes wrong.”
Fenris shifted his hips, and there, there it was - his cock was getting engulfed in the wet heat, the muscles spasming, fluttering around him, as he sank in slowly.
“ Venhedis,” he swore, so overwhelmed with the novel sensations and the implications of what was happening. They were making love! And he was inside Anders, just as close as he could ever physically get. His legs hooked around Fenris' waist, pulling him close, closer on top of him. He leaned into it, and Anders kissed the tears off of his cheeks.
Tears? When did he start crying? He opened his eyes, and Anders was there, looking up at him in pure adoration.
“Andraste's tits, love, I need you to move,” he rasped out, hands at his cheeks, so gentle, always so gentle.
Fenris started rolling his hips. At first he struggled to find a rhytm that would feel good to both of them, his senses totally overtaken by the feeling of Anders surrounding him, the scent of them both, the sensations beyond physical. The smooth glide of his cock inside of Anders made it nearly impossible to focus, and he also wanted to make sure he held off his own pleasure until after Anders was satisfied. Guided by the mage's hands on his hips, he finally settled on a slow pace of deep, powerful thrusts. Anders was moaning under him, so beautifully flushed and glistening with sweat.
“That's it, Fen, it feels so good” His eyes closed, hands moved to clutch at Fenris’ biceps. Each slow roll of Fenris’ hips was met with Anders' responding in kind, chasing after him. “I don’t… I don't think I will last, it's been a wh…nhhhg” Anders cut off, throwing his head back at one of Fenris’ particularly angled thrusts.
Fenris adjusted his position, lifting his torso up, hiking Anders’ calves up onto his shoulders. The new angle was perfect, and allowed him to drag his cockhead right against that spot he discovered earlier. It only took a few more movements.
“Fuck!” Anders exclaimed, back bowing, balls drawing up tight, hole clenching rhythmically on Fenris’ length. Hot cum spurting between them, legs shaking as he moaned through his release. Fenris slowed his pace, but continued moving, until the aftershocks stopped and Anders reached for him to lock their lips in a filthy kiss.
“Go on, love, find your pleasure with me”. He encouraged softly, lovingly, and that nearly broke him. He rested his forehead on Anders’ shoulder, breathing heavily, and rocking his hips into the mage with no control left. Anders cradled his neck with one hand, stroking his back with the other, urging him on. “I have you. I love you.”
Fenris had never experienced an orgasm this intense in his entire life. The sensation slammed into him suddenly, leaving him dazed and barely conscious. His cock pulsed, releasing into Anders as he stifled his low moans against the juncture of his neck and shoulder.
Finally, finally he was spent and stopped moving, collapsing entirely on top of Anders.
“That good, huh?” The mage chuckled, carding his long fingers through Fenris sweaty hair.
“ You will be the death of me,” he muttered, vision still swimming as he basked in the bliss of their lovemaking.
“Fen, it's so incredibly hot when you speak Tevene, but I cannot actually understand you. Did you like it?”
He smirked, placing a few kisses on the column of Anders’ neck.
“I feel like you've ruined me. Nothing can ever compare to what we just did.”
He shifted slightly, so they laid on their sides now, Anders' leg pulled up and over his hip. He felt his soft prick slide out of Anders, followed by his seed. Fenris did not think when he reached down, gathering up the cum on his fingers and sliding them back into Anders.
“Kinky.” The mage let out a breathy moan against the top of his head. There was no judgement though. Fenris felt safe, seen. Some clarity was coming back to him.
“ Amatus, what did I find that made you…”
“Babble incoherently? Cum my brains out on your fat cock?” Fenris looked up just in time to see Anders wiggling his eyebrows playfully. He blushed.
“Yes, that.”
“It's a sweet spot. A bundle of nerves that feels really good if you touch it. You can reach it from inside best, or you can massage the spot just behind the balls.
Fenris hummed.
“Do all humans have it?” he asked.
“Well, all men do, yes.”
“I'm jealous. That looked fun.”
Anders moved a few inches back to look at Fenris’ face now, and Fenris cracked an eyelid open to see the mage grinning.
“No, Fen, all men. Elven men too. You never…?”
“There wasn't an occasion to explore. And Danarius hardly cared to angle right. In fact, perhaps he controlled his angle to avoid hitting it,” he said dryly, but without any snark or venom.
“Oh, I am going to have so much fun showing you!” Anders beamed, but Fenris snorted and pulled him back down into an embrace.
“You can show me later, Amatus. I need a nap.”
_______
wishb0ne on Chapter 1 Tue 29 Jul 2025 05:45PM UTC
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Juicebox_96 on Chapter 2 Sat 30 Aug 2025 09:47AM UTC
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