This was for a kink meme prompt, so be aware that the M rating is very much deserved. There's sex, spanking, drinking and drug use, and more sex. Also there's plot, with a sprinkle or two of angst.

His head was pounding, his back was screaming from spending hours of blessed unconsciousness draped over a washbasin, and he was relatively certain the vomit on his boots was not his own, but Maker, this was a glorious day. Chuckling quietly (anything louder and his brains would start leaking out his ears), Sebastian made absolutely no attempt to assist his father's guards in their less than respectful manhandling. It wasn't the first time he'd been dragged bodily out of a particularly dodgy brothel, and unless His Highness Prince Vael decided on gelding or hanging as suitable chastisement rather than shipping his reprehensible youngest son back to the Chantry, well, it wouldn't be the last either.

Somewhere nearby, whores were cooing and giggling, and Sebastian managed to dredge up enough willpower to lift his head. "Ladies," he rasped, ignoring the way the guards' grips tightened under his arms in favour of winking at the slightly blurry prostitutes watching the show. "My thanks for a marvellous evening. We'll have to do this again."

Rolling his shoulders to ease a bit of the ache in them, Sebastian let his father's raving wash over him like so much hot air. He knew better than to slouch too much, lest he risk a forceful cuff to the side of the head he could ill afford, but how in the Void was he meant to pay attention with the mother of all hangovers and an itchy crotch?

Andraste's grace, if he'd caught something at that blighted whorehouse, he'd have to track down a proper healer this time. Some hedge mage, if he could manage it—

Suddenly there was an almighty crashing sound, a thousand times louder than his father's booming voice, and Sebastian winced, grabbing his head in a vain attempt to keep it from splitting in two. "Pay attention, lad, or so help me—"

"I am Da," he insisted, shaking away the agony and glancing up to find his father scowling darkly, hands still on the thick, leather-bound tome he'd just smashed against the top of his desk. How theatrical. "Dishonouring the family, raised better than this, making Mother weep, filthy diseases, bastard brats." It was incredibly stupid, and it was going to make this so much worse, but he couldn't help smirking at the furious purple colour creeping up over his father's shiny, balding head. "Disgrace in the eyes of the Maker. Did I miss any key points?"

Instead of shouting, or storming around the desk and tanning his hide, his father swallowed visibly and lowered himself to sit in his great, pretentious chair. It was a massive oaken thing, carved with thistles and majestic stags to match the desk, and Sebastian had despised it since the first time he realised he'd never have the chance to sit in it. This was the private study of the Prince of Starkhaven, after all.

"Obviously, the Chantry cannot tame you as I'd hoped." Gruffly resigned was not a tone of voice Sebastian had expected to hear; it lit a flicker of hope in his heart. After nearly six bloody years of running away, perhaps his father had finally realised promising him to the cloth was a fool's errand. "There hasn't been a single generation of Vaels without a sworn brother or sister since Ironfist fled the Marches. You… you disappoint me more than I can say, my son."

That was entirely untrue. Labhrainn Vael had never missed an opportunity to expound, at length and in detail, precisely how disappointed he was in his youngest.

"You would shun sacred service to the Maker to pursue your profane pleasures," his father continued, staring with those cold, lyrium blue eyes, nearly identical to the pair that looked back at Sebastian from every mirror he'd ever glanced into. "And so it is to the profane, not the divine, I now turn to rein you in. Fenris!"

Startled by the abrupt bellow, Sebastian whipped quickly around when the latch of the study door clicked open. An elf slipped inside, but not like any elf he'd ever seen before— the shock of snow-white hair above a youthful if grave face was striking enough, but the tattoos…

"Sebastian, I will not allow you to continue bringing shame to our family and threatening the stability of Starkhaven. This is Fenris." Tearing his focus away from the dangerously lovely elf and back to his father, Sebastian shifted slightly from foot to foot, unsure.

Rather alarmingly, Labhrainn looked just a tad smug. "The elf will be your constant companion until the day you prove you've grown up and accepted your responsibilities. He has been tasked with keeping your behaviour within the bounds of decency, in accordance with your station as a Vael of Starkhaven."

Rankled by such a ridiculous manoeuvre, Sebastian risked a small sneer, letting his exasperation colour his words. "Am I to have a governess again? He's much prettier than Miss Fiona, I'll admit."

"You'll have a keeper, lad," his father replied evenly, gallingly unruffled. "A handler, since you've proven either unwilling or unable to tend to the virtues of your own soul. His methods and the harshness with which he performs his duty depend on your behaviour. He's to use whatever means necessary to keep you from making an arse of yourself on a regular basis, even if that means keeping you on a lead like a blighted coursing hound. Do I make myself clear?"

Getting furious now was probably exactly what his father wanted, the manipulative old bastard. Swallowing back anger, and possibly a little panic at the thought of such a keeper dogging his every step, Sebastian stood as straight and proud as any monarch in Thedas had a right to do. He met his father's eyes firmly, for once wishing his own weren't as bloodshot as they felt.

"A nursemaid, to protect me from my own debauchery? Well, he's certainly welcome to try."

Pressing two long, thick fingers against his temple, Labhrainn motioned with his other hand. "Fenris, get him out of my sight."

Sebastian considered making a scene, fighting his new shadow in a show of righteous defiance against the expectations of a family who had only ever concerned themselves with their third son when he misbehaved. The thought died as quickly as it bloomed, however, at the sight of the massive greatsword strapped to the elf's back, and the hard gleam in his mossy green eyes.

Surely whatever means necessary didn't extend to cleaving him in twain, but Sebastian was determined to get a better idea of this elf's demeanour before he risked it.

Dipping a very shallow bow to his father, Sebastian turned heel and strode out of the room as steadily as he was able, and the elf was right behind him in an instant. Putting distance between them and the stuffy, stale-smelling study, he didn't stop until he'd made it out into one of the back gardens, sucking in a deep, clean breath the moment his boots touched dirt. As much as he tried to pay no heed to it, getting a dressing down from his father always made him feel ill, even now.

"Accepted my responsibilities… bollocks to that," he muttered very quietly, skulking over around the mounds of heather that lined the path deeper into the garden. There was a gnarled old apple tree nearby, one that had only ever borne tiny, bitter fruit as long as he could remember, and he propped himself up against it, sighing.

The elf, Fenris, followed him silently, looming like a wraith while Sebastian pressed a crick in his spine into the tree's rough trunk.

"So, friend," he said with all due civility, leaning back and shading his eyes against the late afternoon sun. Even the small chance that he might gain an ally rather than a guard or a jailer was worth pulling out a bit of charm. "We've had no formal introductions. Sebastian, youngest son and perpetual embarrassment of the Starkhaven Vaels." Holding out a friendly hand, Sebastian was met with the exact same vaguely menacing expression that had graced the elf's face since the moment they'd met. Cool, stony, and silent as a crypt.

Retracting his hand, Sebastian hooked his thumb in his belt and regarded the elf carefully. "Well then. Do you speak?"

"On occasion." Blessed Andraste, what a voice. His father's mulish resolve to ignore the particulars of Sebastian's dalliances had some advantages— bedding ladies of the evening and tavern wenches was bad enough; Labhrainn Vael refused outright to even acknowledge his degenerate son's diverse tastes.

Swallowing over a suddenly dry tongue, Sebastian took a moment to enjoy the shiver that growl of a voice sent through him. "I see. Well, my taciturn fellow, I can easily imagine the wild tales of indiscretion my father has regaled you with, but I hope you've not taken it all at face value. I'm not nearly so wicked as he makes me out to be." The elf didn't respond, and Sebastian allowed a bit of his true misery to leech into his words. Perhaps a sob story would resonate better than charisma. "Don't think he cares one wit for my soul, or my dignity. The idea that I might want to live my own life, make my own decisions, and perhaps enjoy even a bit of freedom is too inconvenient."

That earned a reaction, but the darkening scowl was not what Sebastian had been seeking. It was an ominous enough expression that he actually flinched at the sight, ducking his head foolishly.

"You have no conception of freedom, or the loss of it," Fenris said, his tone low and incredibly dangerous.

Then there was only silence, thicker and heavier than the blighted incense always clogging up the chantry. Sebastian made no attempt to fill it.

The next few weeks were spent testing boundaries— something with which Sebastian had significant experience. Despite their rather rocky introduction, Fenris didn't seem to hold him in any particularly harsh distain (no more than the elf distained anyone else, and even less than some others). He remained just as aloof and just as strangely attractive, which was an interesting combination in a bodyguard-come-nursemaid.

Touching was wholly forbidden, apparently. Something as simple and chaste as an amiable clap on the shoulder had earned him a perilous glare and a clipped warning, while a wandering hand had nearly ended in a broken wrist (in defence of his lapse in propriety, he had been deep into a quart of whisky he'd managed to filch from the cellar).

Let it never be said that Sebastian Vael ceded the field so easily. He did, however, get bored rather quickly.

Not bored of looking at (and fantasizing about) Fenris, and not even slightly bored of the rare conversation he could coax out of the elf, but painfully, achingly bored of loafing around Castle Starkhaven. Nearly six years away, and it was still one of the most pretentious, mind-numbing places on the face of Thedas, even if he was vigilantly kept apart from all banal matters of governance.

In hindsight, he was only surprised it took more than a month before he made a genuine break for it. Privately, he blamed the delay on the handsome elf following him about every waking moment. It wasn't as thought he couldn't sneak away, but Fenris' company was interesting, for the view if nothing else.

It had been quite a while since he'd crept out of his family's castle in the middle of the night, and with that in mind, Sebastian took his time. Sentry schedules wouldn't be the same as he remembered, to say nothing of the forever-watchful guard-elf lurking in the small room next to his (he'd never actually seen Fenris sleep, and wasn't entirely convinced the elf didn't sustain himself on stern glares alone).

Moving as quietly as smoke, Sebastian gathered up the small pack he kept stashed in the back of his wardrobe for just such an occasion, buckled his quiver and longbow in place, then tossed an oiled cloak over his shoulders. The windows were barred, as were most windows in the castle, and the door was locked from the outside, but a few moments with one of his picks took care of the latter. Easing the door open a hairsbreadth at a time, Sebastian reached up and stilled the small bell hanging on the lintel before it could give him away.

Poor Fenris thought he had his charge securely caged, which was a misapprehension Sebastian had been encouraging for weeks— a couple of botched "escape attempts," then a show of thwarted, frustrated acceptance after being caught. Lulling his keeper in to a false sense of security had been more challenging than usual, given the aura of suspicion that hung from Fenris like a shroud, but Sebastian was rather skilled at the particulars of escape. After so much practice against chantry sisters, a new game like this one was actually a bit entertaining.

Avoiding the sentries wasn't as difficult as he'd feared, and he was on the road for Tantervale before dawn, already considering which of the smaller inns on the way he'd patronise. The roundabout route he'd chosen would keep him from the main highway, and meant he was about a day's travel from… the Drake's Roost. Clean beds, surprisingly decent ale, and beautiful serving lasses, if he recalled correctly.

As it turned out, either his memory was fuzzy or the management had changed hands in the years since he'd found himself in this cosy establishment. The ale was swill, not even close to worth the copper, and neither of the barmaids milling about was especially stunning, but it had been over a month since he'd done more than take himself in hand. The blonde one, Peigi, had quite a nice bottom and lovely full lips, which was enough to overlook any of her less attractive qualities. An hour in the tavern, and he'd almost managed to charm her into his lap— she was already leaning over his table, tittering at his sweet compliments and trying to show her bosoms to their full potential (which wasn't much, but he appreciated the thought).

Occupied as he was, he barely noticed the tavern door swinging open. The innkeeper noticed, however, if the bark of his voice was any indication.

"Oi! We dinnae serve knife ears here."

It couldn't be… Maker's breath, he'd been gone less than a day—

"I assume," Fenris said flatly, sparing the innkeeper a brief, measuring glance before catching and holding Sebastian's shocked gaze. The elf was windswept, but obviously not a figment of the imagination. Well, shit. "That you serve Prince Vael. As I am here on His Highness' order, you will abide my presence."

At the mention of their monarch, the casual mood of the tavern shifted to something decidedly more tense. In Sebastian's experience, his father had that effect on most people.

Briefly, he considered offering all the coin in his purse to anyone willing to restrain the elf while he made his escape, but Fenris was as well-armed as always, and Sebastian refused to allow the price of his freedom to be so dear as innocent lives. It wasn't as though he expected a handful of drunken fools to be able to hold Fenris for long, regardless, and making his jailor angry (angrier, at this point), with little hope of gain seemed a foolish decision. Sparing one last wistful glance at the generous curves of Peigi's bottom, Sebastian sighed and rose to his feet.

"You're early, nursie." He forced a lazy grin, waving a hand to indicate the room at large. "Stay for a pint before you drag me back?"

"I think not." Fenris did not return the smile even slightly, but simply stood, staring. Snatching up his bow and tucking it back behind his quiver, Sebastian took a moment to tuck a lock of frizzy golden hair behind Peigi's ear, offering the lass an apologetic shrug.

"Another time, lovely." She gawped, shooting nervous glances at his odd escort, and that was that. It all seemed rather anticlimactic, giving up so easily, but Sebastian buoyed himself with the thought that great deal could happen during the trip back to the castle.

Fenris motioned for Sebastian to precede him, blatantly ignoring the incredulous looks being levelled in their direction by the farmers and other labourers scattered about the tavern. It was unlikely any of them realised even now that they had royalty in their midst; they likely assumed he was a truant noble or something similar. The rebellious Vael lad had not been a permanent resident of Starkhaven for quite some time. Recognized or no, Sebastian had no burning desire to linger.

Outside the tavern, the sky was painted deep red and orange, with night swiftly creeping in from the east. The sight of a well-fed, well-bred horse waiting for them helped explain Fenris' quick arrival, and served to make Sebastian feel slightly better about the early success of his escape.

"Only one mount?" He knew he probably wasn't going to like the answer, but he pressed on anyway, glancing back at Fenris with a quirk to his brow. "Dare I ask which of us is meant to walk?"

The roll of sharp olive eyes was mostly hidden under white fringe, but Sebastian caught it; whether it was purely exasperated, or a bit amused as well, he wasn't entirely certain. Striding past to rub the large, dappled grey mare on her neck, Fenris shook his head.

"Your father recommended I bind you and toss you over the horse like a saddlebag. Given the furious tongue-lashing I received for allowing your escape, that option is looking rather agreeable." It was said so matter-of-factly, not accusatory at all, but Sebastian still winced with guilt at the thought of another bearing punishment for his deeds.

"You know," he said playfully, swallowing back the apology that was threatening to spill forth. "We could avoid any similar reprimands in the future by simply not going back at all. Riding off into the sunset together— westward, incidentally, being the perfect direction for this arrangement. Very clever, very romantic."

"Until you stole the horse, left me to rot, and wound up drunk in a ditch." Untying the reigns from the fence he'd used as an impromptu hitching post, Fenris clicked his tongue and began leading the mare towards the road. "Come, or I'll lash your hands to the saddle."

Having already walked half the night and nearly all of the day to make it as far as he had, Sebastian let his tired feet set his pace, the threats of tetchy elves be damned. He'd only been in the blighted tavern for a little more than an hour, barely enough time to polish off a helping of stale bread and mysterious stew, and now he found himself considering whether being lashed to the saddle was an entirely terribly idea. At least then the horse might drag him along.

Fighting not to trip over his own boots, Sebastian stifled a yawn into the back of his hand and turned back to where Fenris marched as a vigilant rear-guard, keeping him forever in sight. "Is it your intention that we walk all night? While you were being cantered about hill and dale, I was slogging through muddy fields."

"And whose fault is that," Fenris replied curtly, which was exactly what Sebastian had anticipated. He had no intention of denying responsibility, either.

"Mine, of course. That doesn't change the fact that I'm nearly asleep on my feet." Slowing his pace until he and Fenris were nearly side-by-side, corralling the elf between himself and the horse, Sebastian called up an honest, imploring smile. "Please Fenris, mercy. Taking a few hours rest certainly won't make my father any more cross." If it were anyone else, especially someone he thought about buggering as often as he thought about Fenris, this was the point when he would have reached out and plied agreement with a gentle stroke of his fingers. Instead, he made do with knuckling his own eyes in a way he hoped looked suitably darling and exhausted. "Andraste's grace, tie me up if you'd like, but just let me sleep a spell. It's near full dark, and in this state I'm apt to break my neck falling into a rut."

He hadn't honestly expected it to work, but after a long moment, Fenris sighed deeply, motioning to the dark, scrubby forest lining the south side of the road. "Fine. Lead us in and find a clearing. Do not try to lose me in the forest."

There were a great many warnings laced through that last sentence, but Sebastian tried not to dwell. He wasn't about to go scampering off into the woods, at least not until he'd had a few hours rest and the chance to orient himself a bit better.

The forest was rather sparse near the road, but thickened deeper in— all they needed was a bit of shelter, and some camouflage between them and potential highwaymen. It wasn't too difficult to find just that, and given that it was the middle of a particularly balmy Justinian, they had no need for a fire or the beacon it would create.

Sinking onto a patch of soft, relatively dry moss, Sebastian nearly purred with contentment, while Fenris was occupied with hitching and watering the horse on the other side of their small camp. Rolling his pack around into a suitable pillow, Sebastian propped his head up a bit and watched the elf— eerily, beautifully luminous in the moonlight— who was watching him right back.

"I'm going to sleep," he murmured, folding his hands over his stomach. "Unless tying me up is truly an option, in which case, I'm certainly up for a bit of fun. With you, especially."

There was no incredulous grunt or snappy, caustic retort— none of the responses he'd come to expected whenever he flirted so blatantly with his stoic keeper. Cool silence greeted him, and from what he could see in the darkness, Fenris was scowling.

Running away had not done their tentative rapport any favours, it seemed. Try as he might, Sebastian could not pretend he wasn't bothered by that, and perhaps even a bit remorseful as well. It was foolishness to feel anything of the sort; his father had hired the blasted elf for this very reason.

"I wouldn't leave you to rot, you know," he said finally, when the quiet went on too long. He was incredibly glad the night hid the flush he could feel heating his cheeks, especially since he wasn't sure why in the Void he was blushing like a maid. Having taken a seat close by during the lull, Fenris cocked his head, a dimly gleaming spectre with his ghostly hair and strange tattoos.

"Hm? Wouldn't you?"

For whatever reason, the bland scepticism tangled up in those words made Sebastian's hackles rise, and he lifted himself up on his elbows to peer at Fenris through the dark. "No, I wouldn't. I may be a scoundrel of a man, an embarrassment to a blighted royal line, but I am an honourable friend."

Once again, silence reigned, and Sebastian dropped back onto the moss, clenching his teeth to keep from spewing out more bloody drivel. To the Void with this— he would nap for a short while, waiting for Fenris' attention to waver even slightly, just enough to let him melt into shadow unnoticed. Then he'd creep off into the woods, leaving the elf with the damned horse, and—

"Good night, little lord," Fenris said quietly, scarcely more than a breath in the night air, and Sebastian's mind ground to a halt. Little lord, the usual reprisal for nursie, and Sebastian had never considered how it might sound if it were said with fondness, rather than annoyance.

Not smitten or lustful, but merely fond, the barest tinge of emotion warming that gruff whisper of a voice. He wasn't entirely certain he was meant to hear it at all.

Keeping his breathing slow and even, Sebastian listened for more until the pull of the Fade drew him into sleep. There was nothing but the creaking of trees in the breeze and the sounds of the horse.

When long, callused toes jabbed his ribs in the stillness just before dawn, Sebastian tried not to think too hard on the fact that he'd made no attempts to sneak off under the cover of darkness. In daylight, and less than a day's travel from Castle Starkhaven, he knew he had lost his final chance for escape before being brought before his father.

"Just a bit longer, nursie," he mumbled, curling onto his side and away from the prodding toes, only to receive a firm boot in the arse for his troubles.

"Up," Fenris barked, and Sebastian swatted blindly in the direction of his tormentor, snuggling deeper into his cloak. There was something so satisfying about nudging the elf just enough to lose his enviable composure, and the surprising bit of tenderness the night before hadn't change that.

Sooner than he'd figured would happen, Sebastian found himself being hauled to his feet by the scruff of the neck. He made a point of squirming in Fenris' exceptionally strong grip, hoping for a restraining hand to grab hold of his arm as well, and he wasn't disappointed. There were few better ways to wake up than to a bit of manhandling from a handsome elf— being fully clothed detracted from the experience, but Sebastian was content with baby steps for the moment.

"Ah, good morning, sweetling." Fenris, bless him, didn't let go until Sebastian had gained his bearings enough not to crumple back to the ground when left to stand on his own. "Lovely day for it."

"Enjoy it while you can," the elf replied curtly, stepping back to his usual, respectable distance. "But enjoy it walking."

"If I'd only know," Sebastian drawled, sighting his target with practiced ease. His arms were tightening a bit already, which was exactly what he deserved for sitting idle for so long, but he hadn't drawn his bow in Starkhaven since before his grandfather went to the Maker's side. He'd been concerned it would dredge up difficult memories, but after being raked over the coals by his father, he needed to clear his head. "That running off was all I needed to do to get you in my bed, I'd have done it weeks ago."

Fenris, seated on a nearby bench in the training yard, kept up the scraping of whetstone against steel even as he replied. "You will use the cot then? How kind of you."

The dull thud of his arrow sinking into canvas and straw lit a feeling of satisfaction deep in Sebastian's gut, as always. Smiling, he pulled another from his hip quiver and nocked it. "Now there's a thought. Tangled together in a narrow cot, skin against skin—" Pausing to draw, Sebastian exhaled slowly, feeling the world narrow. The vibration of the bowstring hummed into his core as his fingers uncurled, releasing another arrow to embed in his target, just a finger's width from the last. The images floating around his mind of a naked, pliant, sleep-warmed Fenris didn't seem to negatively affect his aim; that was rather pleasing.

Flexing his hand, Sebastian turned ever so slightly until he could just see the genuine Fenris out of the corner of his eye. The elf was originally from Seheron, Sebastian had managed to draw that much out of him during their previous talks, and with such tropical heritage, even the warmest summer day in the Free Marches shouldn't have put such pinkness on his olive face.

Bolstered by the bashful display, Sebastian wiped at the sweat beaded on his brow and slunk over, padding almost silently towards his quarry. One end of the bench held Fenris' discarded gauntlets, sword oil, rags, and a pair of small daggers that also required attention, the middle served as a seat for Fenris himself, which left one end the perfect perch for a falcon who'd sighted prey. Ignoring the stern, warning glare he was already receiving merely for approaching, Sebastian slung one leg over the smooth, weathered board and sat, straddling the bench.

"Skin against skin," he said again, much softer this time, and watched as a muscle in Fenris' jaw twitched. "Breathing together, letting hands roam, lazy and slow." Scooting closer, until his knee nearly touched the side of Fenris' thigh, Sebastian tilted his head to better meet the narrow-eyed scowl with an inviting curl of his mouth. "If I promised to be gentle, would you let me nibble your ears?"

"Absolutely not," Fenris growled, knuckles whitening as his grip tightened on hilt and whetstone, but he didn't move away. Never one to back down from a challenge, good or ill, Sebastian licked his lips and leaned nearer still.

"All right, suckling them, then." This close, he could smell leather and a hint of some musky spice under the herbal tang of the oil. It was a hundred times more intoxicating than the best whisky he'd ever drank, and Sebastian felt his mouth start to water. Maker have mercy, he was losing his tether on the situation. His next words were too husky, his brogue rolling so thick it was nearly embarrassing. "Or… or I could promise notto be gentle, if you prefer—"

There was commotion from the other side of the yard, the clanking of armour and boisterous voices Sebastian recognised too well. Biting back a string of vicious curses, he straightened up and watched his brothers lumber out, clad in the bloody great teakettles they called heavy plate and mail. Corbinian was laughing in that booming way of his, already hefting his broad kite shield off his back, while Eoghan kept loudly spinning his tale of… boar hunting, it sounded like.

A droll boar hunt. Andraste preserve him.

With utterly no interest in watching his brothers thrash each other senseless, especially as memories of all the (painful) times he'd been strong-armed into melee began to swirl around his brain, Sebastian slid back along the bench and stood swiftly. He was his own man now, a grown man, Eoghan not even a full year older, but that didn't stop a whisper of nervous tension from curling in his gut. He'd managed to avoid his brothers since the end of his exile, for the most part at least, and he had no burning need to rethink what had proven a sound strategic tactic thus far.

"No rush," he murmured to Fenris, trying not to grit his teeth. "But I'm gathering my gear and heading in."

Glancing up, Fenris favoured him with a curious raise of one inky brow, but didn't inquire any further. Later, Sebastian would make a point of thanking him for that much appreciated tact, pride be damned.

"Good day, brother," Corbinian called, genial if a tad aloof. Sebastian offered a wave in return, moving to retrieve his arrows from the target. It would hardly do for the heir and the spare of Starkhaven to associate too closely with their disgraceful bounder of a brother. Pulling the shafts free one at a time, Sebastian refilled his quiver, then stepped through his bow and unstrung it, all without looking back. The first clang of steel on steel made him wince, but even if he'd been a dutiful, obedient son, there would be very little difference.

Being a cad in the eyes of his brothers was no worse than being a stranger to them. On good days, he could even believe it might be better in the long run— that he could live his life as he chose, a free man, and one day his brothers would understand.

This was not an especially good day, and Sebastian was incredibly relieved to find Fenris lurking behind him when he turned, supplies already bundled and sword strapped to his back.

"Come, nursie," he said with a grin, willing good humour into his tone. "Let's go see what a mess they've made of our shared quarters, hm? Possibly break them in, if you're up for it."

"I'm as likely to break you," Fenris retorted instantly, but not especially harshly, and fell in beside Sebastian's quick strides without so much as a grimace.

For a threat it was… rather kind, Sebastian decided, as they left his brothers to their sparring.

Sebastian crossed his arms loosely, surveying his new quarters. Or their new quarters, to be precise— he'd lost the privilege of privacy, and now he watched as servants lugged the last of his and Fenris' possessions into the shared space. No bigger than his old rooms, but now he was to live some distance removed from the family wing…

That stung, a little. He pointedly ignored the feeling.

A bed and a fireplace was all he required, really, especially after so long in a blighted chantry cell. Being the only brother currently in the Kirkwall chantry (and a deeply mistrusted man) had relegated him to a small closet with a pallet, a candle, and a chamber pot. Then the chamber pot had been removed permanently after an unfortunate incident with a barrel of sanctified wine. After that, he'd had to stagger outside every time he needed to take a piss, no matter the weather.

"Well," he said cheerily, smiling his thanks at the servants as they finished their tasks and bowed their leave. "This is cosy, isn't it?"

Fenris didn't reply, except to pad over to the narrow cot that was pushed up against the wall across from the larger bed, opening the worn canvas pack that slumped like a pitiful beggar on the mattress. The bag was roughly patched at its seams, stained in places, and from what Sebastian had seen the servants bring in, it contained all the worldly goods Fenris had with him in the castle, besides his armour and weapons. More than likely, it contained all the worldly goods the elf owned at all.

After checking the contents, presumably to assure himself everything had made it safely to their new abode, Fenris stashed his blade maintenance supplies in the bag and shoved it under the cot. Feeling ever so slightly self-conscious about the disparity that one ragged pack represented, Sebastian waited for Fenris to turn back to him, then swept his arm out in a gesture that encompassed the whole of their quarters.

"What's mine is yours, dear Fenris. These are your rooms as much as mine; use whatever you'd like, whenever you'd like."

Over the past weeks, he'd reclaimed some of his old belongings and been granted a few more as well— apparently, the life of a pauper was only good enough for a Vael when he was invested in the chantry, and Sebastian had found his old clothing forcibly replaced with finer items barely a week into his return. It wasn't his choice, though he appreciated soft spun wools and linens much more than coarse chantry robes or the cheap togs he managed to throw together on the run.

His mother refused to see him, but she still insisted he dress well. He had stopped trying to understand her priorities when he was still a boy.

Shaking free of that line of thought before it could pull him into melancholy, Sebastian took note of the wary tension in Fenris' posture, worse than usual. Already out-of-sorts from the run-in with his brothers, Sebastian merely sighed at the sight, tugging off his boots and sprawling across his bed.

"It's an offer made in simple friendship," he mumbled into the crook of his elbow, having thrown an arm across his face. "Honestly. I swear on Andraste's pyre."

"Thank you," Fenris replied eventually. Rolling over on his stomach, Sebastian pillowed his chin on his folded arms and regarded the elf, who was now sitting on the very edge of the cot.

"Do you have brothers, Fenris?"

A strange, unpleasant expression flickered across Fenris' face— grief, possibly, and no small amount of fury— and Sebastian regretted the question immediately. Before he could retract it, however, he was treated to a subdued rumble of an answer.

"No." Glancing down at his gauntlets, Fenris flexed his fingers absently. "I have no family."

All flip (and untrue) comments about wishing he was so lucky died in Sebastian's throat. His mood was entirely soured, his chest panging foolishly, and he didn't have the fortitude to strap on his usual jovial mask. It would have felt too raw, but Fenris appeared lost to his own recollections, and somehow the silence that followed wasn't uncomfortable.

For all its ghosts, it wasn't uncomfortable.

They'd been sharing a room for more than a fortnight when Sebastian decided he'd truly gone stir-crazy. There wasn't any better explanation for what he'd just heard.

"What?" Turning his head so fast he almost wrenched his neck, Sebastian dropped the filthy Antivan romance novel he'd been skimming onto his chest and stared at Fenris. "Did you… Sorry, what?"

"I said: would you like to go to a pub. I don't recall stammering, either."

Right. Scrubbing one hand over his face before running it through his hair, Sebastian took a moment to consider an appropriate response. Finally he settled for tossing the book aside and squinting up at where his keeper was lurking by the hearth.

"Away, demon. I've a stunningly handsome nursie who'd be terribly cross if I gave in to such temptation, and I've been trying hard to stay on his good side."

Fenris simply looked back at him, but Sebastian didn't miss the twitch at the corner of his mouth. It was almost a smile, the mere suggestion of one, and that was almost better than the thought he might have an evening out.

Almost.

Sniffing out the proper pub (one not fancy enough to feel stifling, but not seedy enough to merit a veto) had been a challenge, but Sebastian managed. It required leaving the great marble estates that spread out from Castle Starkhaven like a doily beneath a crystal vase— ostentatious, superfluous, and entirely useless decoration, only good for looking pretentious and getting dusty. There were places in the city that housed dozens of families in the same amount of space taken up by one estate, with children sleeping cheek by jowl in cubbies smaller than a dowager's bathing room.

Granted, he slept in a castle, but if he took nothing else from that blighted chantry in Kirkwall, he did realise that the poor and miserable of the Free Marches deserved better than their lot. He was selfish in a great many ways, he would be the first to admit it (well, probably the second to admit it, after his father); the massive disparity of wealth, and more importantly of living conditions still made his guts twist.

It was an excuse to patronise one of Starkhaven's poorer establishments, to feed his father's gold back into the coffers of people who could use it, and a great opportunity to get ripping drunk. Fenris eventually agreed with the first and the second, but was not entirely convinced about the third.

"I'm supposed to keep you as respectable as possible," he said firmly, skulking along at Sebastian's side and ignoring the curious looks they were receiving as they walked through the city. The staring was no worse when the streets turned to dirt, though they were gawked at for different reasons here. "You will not make a fool of yourself, or drink yourself into a stupor. Not in public."

"You'll let me do it in private, though?" Making a show of considering that option, Sebastian smirked and raised one brow. "I'll have to remember that. Will you partake as well, sweet nursie, in the privacy of our rooms?"

He wasn't expecting a quick, answering smirk in return, but the expression was gone in a blink, leaving him a bit dizzy. "Perhaps. You might think of this evening as a chance to prove you can leash your debauchery enough for me to enjoy a drink or two."

Leash his— Fuck.

"You don't play fair at all," he groused, scowling. "You sneaky sod."

"I know; I'm utterly heartless. What's a night out without whores and vomit?" As much as Sebastian appreciated the affable turn their relationship had been edging towards (a change assisted by close quarters and the fact that neither of them was actually as insufferable as he seemed at first glance), Fenris' sense of humour was still a strange quality. In this case, however, the deadpan sarcasm managed to shake him out of his strop, making him breathe out a soft chuckle before he could think better of it.

"I suppose we'll find out," he replied warmly, pointing farther up the street, to the well-lit tavern with a large wooden sign swinging in the wind. "The Pickled Nug. Terrible name, terrible liquor, and no one sober enough to recognise my face. Shall we?"

"I am not drinking that." Peering down into his mug with all the disgusted curiosity Sebastian reserved for mysterious things crusted on the bottom of his boot, Fenris shook his head. "It stinks like cat piss. Why…why in the Maker's name would you choose to drink this?"

"To. Get. Drunk." Sebastian enunciated carefully, as if speaking to a very small, very slow child, then took a long swig of his own ale. Or whisky. Or whatever they were calling this cat piss. It burned from his nose to his gut, searing as mercilessly as dragon's breath, but before he could make a show of swallowing it back greedily, he found the mug forcibly yanked from his hand.

Liquor splashed on the pitted tabletop as Fenris slammed the mug down, and Sebastian was half-surprised it didn't start to smoke or eat through the wood. Shit, but it was dreadful stuff.

"What—" he began to say, once the fire in his throat subsided enough to speak, but Fenris was already getting to his feet, his expression grim.

He had a mug held hostage in each hand, gauntlets clawed over the tops as if keeping some evil trapped within, and Sebastian felt himself shrink back into his chair. Maferath's cursed balls, he'd been on his best bloody behaviour—

"Many things," Fenris said firmly, breaking through Sebastian's wandering, worsening thoughts. "Will get you drunk. Not all of them are one step removed from lye. Wait here."

Confused, and more than a little uneasy, Sebastian watched Fenris' arse as he stalked over to the bar, abandoning the mugs in favour of leaning in to speak with the bartender. Rickard didn't seem terribly keen on rushing over to serve the dour elf, but smartened up when a handful of silver was fished out of the purse at Fenris' belt.

After a bit of conversation, Sebastian watched as Rickard bent down and disappeared under the bar, only to stand a few moments later with a pair of very dusty, dark green wine bottles in hand. The barkeep had enough class to give them a wipe with a rag before sliding them over towards Fenris, but the grime still smeared in places, pale against the glass. Fenris glanced at the bottles, hefting one and studying it dubiously, before reaching out and taking back a few pieces of silver. Rickard's weathered face twisted, an unflattering expression on someone who wasn't especially handsome at the best of times, but he didn't argue.

When Fenris trotted back over carrying both bottles and a pair of fresh mugs, Sebastian had just enough time to school his features into something suitably rakish and blasé. Certainly nothing to indicate he'd been watching every move Fenris made with all the intensity of a hawk watching a hare.

"Well," he said archly, leaning back in his chair. "Aren't we a man of refined tastes."

Setting the bottles down and cracking the wax seal on one with his belt knife, Fenris rolled his eyes. "Compared to you? I'll try to take that as a compliment."

The stopper pulled free with a wet pop, and Sebastian could smell… currants, strangely enough, the moment Fenris began to pour the rich, crimson liquor. It was significantly more pleasant than the lingering odours of sawdust, stale vomit, and sweaty bodies that permeated the tavern. Accepting a mug without a fuss, Sebastian let it breathe for a moment, tapping his fingers gently against the tabletop.

"So you've still got only two tunics and one set of leathers to your name, and you're spending your coin on me? I'm not sure whether to be touched or indignant, nursie."

Fenris took a long pull of his own wine, and sweet Andraste, Sebastian was entranced by the way his throat moved, olive skin bobbing under those gleaming, swooping lines. Just before he answered, his tongue darted out, licking a hint of red from his full lips and— Maker's breath.

"I am a free man," Fenris was saying, though it took Sebastian a moment to remember how to understand words. He took a fortifying drink of his own, pleasantly surprised at the flavour. Compared to everything else at this tavern, this was ambrosia. "Working an honest job for a decent wage. I spend my coin on whatever I like."

That was too good to pass up. Leaning close, Sebastian smiled warmly at his ridiculously gorgeous, prickly, oddly endearing keeper. "Hm, and you like me, do you? I knew it."

There was the barest hint of a flush creeping over Fenris' cheeks, and they'd not had nearly enough to drink to explain it away with alcohol. Other than the colour, however, he remained impassive. "I like wine. Drink up, little lord, or go buy yourself another pint of that sewage."

The wine was potent, though not so strong that he truly needed to lean on Fenris as they meandered back home. Cajoling for a supportive shoulder had earned him a sceptical look, but Sebastian was more than shameless enough to put on a show of tripping over his own feet, especially when doing so meant one of those trim, incredibly strong arms wound around his waist. Fenris' hand was resting chastely on his hip, his body pressed against Sebastian's side, but it was too early in the evening to do more than enjoy the feel of him. As much as he teased and tested, Sebastian understood limits— no groping, no smart comments, and perhaps their night wouldn't end in bloodshed.

He straightened up in time to walk unassisted up to their room, once they'd made it back to the castle. It wouldn't do to be seen dragged in drunk by the elf meant to keep him from such vice, after all, and gossipy servants were as much a part of Castle Starkhaven as the granite of the foundation. Striding through the corridors, he was every inch a respectable gentleman, only breaking into something dangerously approaching giggles when the door to their rooms shut behind them.

"Oh, Maker," he wheezed, leaning against a bookcase and wiping his eyes. "You nearly gave that sentry a heart attack. That was beautiful."

"I am fully capable of keeping you in line myself," Fenris said darkly, shaking his head as he began to light a few of the braziers scattered about the room, pushing back the shadows with pools of warm, flickering light. It was far too warm for a fire in the grate. "I've no need, nor any patience for busybody guardsmen."

A number of suggestions regarding how precisely Fenris might assert his claim sprang to mind, but Sebastian bit his tongue. Pushing off from the bookcase, he padded over to the bed and knelt beside it, reaching under to dig a bottle of whisky out of the pocket he'd cut in the mattress. A bit of flock came with it, but he stuffed the wool back in, tucking the flap under the slats to hold it in place.

When he stood, bottle in hand, he found Fenris watching him with arms crossed and brows raised. He wiggled the bottle invitingly, letting his face split in a disarming grin.

"I swear it's not cat piss. Finest Starkhaven whisky; one of hundreds of bottles no one will ever miss, from the largest hoard of wine and spirits in the Free Marches. I know you've been to the cellars. Tell me truly if you think anyone will notice what I nick."

Glancing between the bottle and the bed, Fenris sighed, rubbing his temple. "You are a brat, my little lord."

The addition of my was a new and interesting development. Toeing off his boots, Sebastian crawled up onto the bed and twisted the stopper free, tossing it in the direction of the cold fireplace. The first mouthful of whisky was enough to make his skin tingle, the burn familiar even dulled by wine.

"I am safe and secure in my room," he said, dabbing his lips with the back of his wrist, then holding the bottle out in plain offer. "With my dutiful nursie. We'll not finish the whole bottle, but drink a little with me. Please."

"A little," Fenris agreed warily, accepting the whisky with a dubious sniff at the bottle's mouth. Seemingly satisfied it was palatable, he took a sip, then tipped back a proper drink after a moment's consideration.

"See?" Unfastening his coat, Sebastian wriggled down to his shirtsleeves, tossing the too-warm garment aside. "It's lovely stuff. Have a seat?"

"May I ask you something?" It had taken a little coaxing and a few more swigs of whisky, but eventually Fenris had taken a seat at the foot of the bed, leaning back against the footboard and slinging his legs up. They'd also started a friendly game of diamondback, cards strewn across the quilts between their knees.

Glancing up from his rather good hand, Sebastian smiled. "You can ask me anything. Most things, I'll even answer."

Fenris was quiet for a moment, but he didn't look away from their locked gaze. Everything was a bit blurry around the edges, and Sebastian wondered how drunk Fenris must have been to put that open, curious expression on his face.

"You've run away often," Fenris said eventually, his matter-of-fact tone preventing the mood from souring too much. "But you never go far enough. From the stories you and your father both tell, you've had the coin and the time to leave the Free Marches on more than one occasion. Why stay?"

"There's a truly splendid brothel in Tantervale," he said with a grin, staring at the cards in his hand. "Never found one better. Terrible luck it's not in Antiva or Rivain, but such is my life."

Fenris hummed a quiet sound that clearly indicated he'd seen through that horseshit, but it didn't seem as though he would press the issue, and Sebastian felt a tight knot of tension ease in his gut. He was about to draw another card, get the game moving and attention back to a safer topic, when Fenris began speaking.

"I never tried to run." A flickering glance up confirmed Fenris had folded his cards, laying them on his lap. Piercing green eyes shone in the light of the braziers, liquid and unfocused. "I was a slave, and knew no better. It's… difficult now to remember how that felt. How I could have accepted it so easily."

Sebastian knew bits and pieces of his keeper's past, but Fenris had never discussed it so candidly. It wasn't an entirely comfortable conversation, but if Sebastian had been a little less drunk, he would have been wholly spellbound by the unexpected show of trust.

Swallowing thickly, he set his own cards down for the moment, as Fenris inhaled a slow, deep breath.

"Do you think I've been cocking up for years because I know no better?" He wasn't angry, not really, but the liquor had tweaked some imagined feelings of offense. Sebastian didn't realise his tone was going to be so sharp until the words were already free. "Loafing about because I've no sense of myself beyond the wastrel son?"

"I've upset you." Coming back from wherever his mind had been travelling— Seheron? Tevinter?— Fenris frowned, sitting up straighter. "I'm sorry; I meant no offense."

To the Void with all flaming Starkhaven whisky. Scrubbing one hand roughly over his face, Sebastian waved off the apology in a way he hoped looked less rattled than he felt. "No, no… bollocks, I'm just drunk and tetchy." His hand was cool against his heated cheek, but he resisted the urge to hide behind his own fingers. "It wouldn't have stung if it weren't true."

Silence reigned, and Sebastian tossed his cards onto the bedspread, sliding down to recline more comfortably. Raking his hands back through his hair was a grounding sensation, his blunt nails scraping across his scalp. He hadn't yet been forced to endure an unwanted trim since he'd returned to Starkhaven, and it hung low around his jaw, curling at the ends and making his father's frown deepen every time he saw it.

Eventually, he reached blindly for the bottle, which was propped precariously somewhere between them, forever one false move away from soaking his bedspread. When his fingers met flesh instead of glass, he snatched his hand back as if burned, flinching slightly at the hiss the unexpected contact pulled from his companion.

"Peace," he said quickly, sitting up and glancing away. "An accident, Fenris, I promise. My apologies."

As he expected, the mattress shifted as Fenris stood, their pleasant evening dwindling to an awkward close. Quiet footsteps padded around the bed, and Sebastian drew his legs up against his chest, folding his arms over his knees. Avoiding eye contact seemed to be a safe plan, but Fenris didn't make a beeline for his cot as Sebastian had expected.

No, he'd never expected this.

When long, elegant fingers touched his bare forearm, just below the bunched roll of his sleeve, Sebastian was actually too surprised to jerk away. He froze, barely daring to breathe, his gaze darting over to watch the feather-light contact.

He didn't have the nerve look up into Fenris' face, as the elf stood silently beside the bed. He had absolutely no idea what he might find if he did, what answers he would discover, but he was fairly certain he was too drunk and too damned terrified to risk it.

Fenris was touching him— calmly, gently, and without goading. This was…

Sebastian had no blighted idea what this was.

"I am hardly an expert on knowing oneself," Fenris said quietly, and Sebastian tried desperately to suppress a shiver. "But you are a better man than your father thinks."

There were rare instances when Sebastian was forced to agree with all those stodgy tutors and priests he'd known throughout his colourful life— on the odd occasion, his smart mouth was more trouble than it was worth. That moment, warmed down to his toes by that unexpected compliment, happened to be one of those odd occasions.

"Hardly a grand achievement," he said immediately, before his brain could catch up to his tongue. "Considering he thinks I'm a waste of the very air I breathe."

It had been such an excellent compliment— Fenris thought he was a better man than that, possibly a good man, of all things, and holy Maker, he was such an idiot.

Another apology bubbled up out of his throat, but the pressure of Fenris' bare hand now gripping his forearm made the words catch, unspoken.

"Does that matter?" Fenris said, his voice rough and low, making Sebastian's cock stir. The only surprising part of that was the mild feeling of guilt the arousal brought with it. "Truly? Must he matter?"

Sebastian had worked a long time at making it seem as though his father didn't matter. Disapproval, disgrace, shame— Prince Vael could shout himself blue in the face, toss about threats of confinement and exile, even strong-arm the Chantry into taking his rebellious son in like a prisoner. Sebastian defied him at every turn, drinking, whoring, and giving into vice.

Whether or not such a life of vice was what he actually wanted was not something he considered too often, or too closely.

Fenris was standing, staring, waiting for an answer, and Sebastian had none. He had nothing beyond a lump in his throat and a warm hand on his arm.

Eventually, Fenris sighed softly and stepped back, leaving Sebastian shaken.

They spoke no more that night, though the silence was dense, nearly full to bursting.

"You know," he said the next day, while the pair of them were picking at a breakfast of cold ham, hot bread, and oatmeal. Fenris skewered another slice of meat, glancing up as Sebastian peered thoughtfully into the depths of his bowl. "Nothing's meant to be wasted in a royal line."

"Hm?" Bless him, Fenris sounded genuinely curious, and not at all smug. Tapping his spoon against the rim of his bowl, Sebastian continued.

"There's a first son, the heir, who learns all that's required from a Prince. A second son, the spare, who also leads Starkhaven's standing army. The third son…" In the back of his mind, Sebastian could hear his grandfather's voice, kind and eternally calm. A bow is a wise man's weapon, lad. Cheaper than swords, and easier for a farmer to wield.

"The third son," he said again, shaking his head slightly to clear away the cobwebs. "Leads Starkhaven's militia, if he's not shipped off to the Chantry."

"Is that so?" Cocking one brow, Fenris leaned a bit closer, making it easier to ignore the bustle around them. As usual, they'd been granted a small table in the corner of the expansive, divine-smelling kitchens, out from under the feet of the staff, but also away from the family dining hall. "And what's the state of the militia now?"

"Disbanded, as far as I know." He smirked, feeling surprisingly good despite lingering bleariness from a restless night of sleep and the throbbing behind his eyes. "Interested in helping turn peasants into soldiers, my dear nursie?"

"If you're serious," Fenris replied, and Sebastian didn't think he was imagining the slight upturn of his full, tempting lips. "You are worse than useless with a sword, after all."

Bringing his intentions to the notice of his father had been an interesting experience. Waffling between suspicious disbelief and blatant distrust, Labhrainn had dismissed the idea as foolishness, and all but forbidden Sebastian to go ahead with it.

All but forbidden was an important distinction. He would have to start small, sewing seeds of interest among the poorer populace (who were always looking for a hot meal and a bit of coin— something militia service could easily provide). The Maker had seen fit to bless him with a trustworthy smile and no small amount of charisma, but using those gifts to charm farmers and labourers into drumming up support for a reformed militia was rather novel.

His father would not provide weapons and armour, not even for training, but a militia taught to fight effectively with naught but the clothes on their backs and what weapons they could find in their own homes did not seem an entirely insane notion. Fenris thankfully agreed, and proved impressively proficient in the diverse melee arms their prospective soldiers brought along, from axes to quarterstaves. Sebastian handled bows, slings, and daggers.

There was no coin to pay during these first few weeks of training, but Sebastian had discovered the interest in learning to wield a weapon effectively was enough to keep many men and even a few women returning eagerly day after day. Occasionally taking the lot of them out for a few pints of cheap ale helped as well.

Their numbers both swelled and dwindled, depending on the day, the weather, and a thousand other variables. This brisk autumn evening found just over a dozen of them piled into the Pickled Nug, playing cards and swigging the house special of cat piss and sewage. These outings were permitted only if Sebastian behaved himself, which he'd been making a concerted effort to do… and honestly, it wasn't getting boring. Drinking and carousing without waking up aching all over and covered in filth and strange stains was actually very refreshing, even once the novelty had worn off.

There was one small hitch, however. Fenris— gorgeous, tantalizing Fenris— was still entirely off-limits for even the briefest of gropes, and Sebastian hadn't had his cock sucked in months.

He was trying so hard to be a good person, especially since doing so earned him a smile, or a kind-if-gruff compliment from that infuriating elf. Coming to the realisation that he'd begun looking to Fenris for approval, like a puppy looking to its master, was sobering, exasperating, and a tiny bit arousing.

He couldn't quite figure what the best course of action might be in such a situation. Then, serendipitously, the Maker provided a solution.

"I've been cheating at cards since I was thirteen years old—" Tossing down his very good, yet not winning hand, Sebastian grinned incredulously at Red Dougal, who was busy gathering the spoils from his sixth straight pot of the night. "And I've no blighted idea how you're doing this. Maker's breath, man."

Dragging coppers and silvers into the growing pile before him, Dougal offered a crooked grin in return. In the tavern's flickering lanterns, his bushy mop of hair looked like flame, bright ginger and wild. "Luck, m'lord," he answered, making a show of pushing up his sleeves to show no hidden cards. "Or something like it."

Rita Innes, a fierce, broad-shouldered woman, muttered something about luck and foxes that sent half the table guffawing, but Sebastian found himself distracted by very friendly fingers creeping over his knee. Shooting a surreptitious glance to his right, he had just enough presence of mind to shift his expression from shocked to interested when it became clear young Aaron simply wanted to… get to know him better.

A slow, encouraging smile was enough to banish any lingering apprehension from the other man's deep brown eyes, and those wandering fingers began to trail steadily upward. Shifting his attention briefly back to the game— Wallace had taken the cards, and was shuffling them to deal another hand— Sebastian considered simply spreading his thighs and letting himself enjoy a stealthy handjob right there at the table.

But no, it wouldn't be appropriate, and he was trying to be good.

Reaching down to stroke Aaron's wrist ever so briefly, Sebastian pushed away from the table and stood. "Beg pardon ladies, gentlemen, but I find myself in need of a bit of air. Rickard, another round of ales for my friends."

He caught Fenris' notice, smiling at the stone-sober elf who was haunting a chair in the corner rather than taking part in the rather subdued revels, and motioned that he was just headed out for a piss. Aaron, the clever bastard, was already subtly slipping away out the back of the tavern, largely unnoticed amid fresh drinks being passed around.

They met in the alley beside the pub, which was dingy and reeked with a heady bouquet of every conceivable kind of bodily fluid, but it was also relatively private. He was relieved when Aaron made no attempt to kiss him on the mouth, but instead latched onto the side of his throat and the buckle of his belt the moment they found each other in the gloom.

Sebastian allowed himself to be crowded against a wall, letting his eyes narrow to slits as strong, rough hands made short work of his trousers and smalls. Aaron was a carpenter's apprentice, with all the calluses and strength that came with that kind of work, and a youthful eagerness that made Sebastian chuckle breathlessly into the cool night air. It also helped that he wasn't awful to look at, with a braid of shiny black hair trailing just between his shoulders, and broad, handsome features.

"Mmm, that's lovely," he purred, slipping his own hands under the hem of Aaron's rough-spun shirt and caressing the trembling muscles he found there. The first squeeze of the man's fingers around his prick was a blessed relief, even if it was a bit too tight and the first stroke too dry.

Licking at Sebastian's earlobe, which was actually very nice, Aaron groaned, his hips jerking as Sebastian continued to explore, teasing fingertips under the waist of his trousers. "I— Maker, never thought I'd pull a prince…"

Wincing in the dark, Sebastian didn't bother correcting the man, all the while trying desperately to expel hideous visions of his father in such a compromising position. Even thinking of Cor getting himself pulled off was enough to make Sebastian's poor prick wither slightly.

Fighting to keep his mind on current, promising activities, Sebastian took a deep breath (sweet Andraste, the alley stunk), and leaned closer, whispering roughly into Aaron's ear. "Does that excite you, pleasing me so? Get on your knees, then—" There was a thumb pushing back his foreskin, making him shudder, but he managed to keep his voice steady and commanding. "And pay homage to your liege."

The resulting scramble was almost funny, but it ended with lips wrapped around his cock, so Sebastian stifled his laughter. Grabbing hold of Aaron's braid felt a bit like taking the reins of a horse, but the man didn't seem to mind if his deep, vibrating moan was any indication.

Oh, this was almost exactly what he needed, and while Sebastian wasn't about to close his eyes completely, faint tendrils of fantasy still curled through his vision, changing the scene. Ignoring the foul smells and the rough bite of stone against his shoulders, Sebastian wasn't in a grimy alley anymore. No, he was in the castle stables, freshly cleaned and smelling of hay and warm horses, and Fenris' rough, callused hands were stroking his thighs as the elf swallowed him down. They were invigorated from a ride, faintly sweaty and full of fresh air and sunshine, and Maker, they couldn't even make it back to their room before Fenris was on him, kissing and nuzzling, kneeling before him not as a supplicant, but as a lover, smiling up with those gorgeous eyes glittering with amused affection, with his little lord so completely at his mercy—

Gorgeous eyes that were fierce and blazing with anger, appearing out of the shadows like a vengeful wraith.

Sebastian had only a heartbeat to register a third body in the alley before Aaron was yanked away, teeth scraping uncomfortably along the underside of his cock. Fenris looked utterly murderous, simmering with eerie blue light as he loomed over the sputtering man he'd just thrown to the ground, and Sebastian felt all the blood in his body turn to ice.

"Go," Fenris barked at Aaron, pointing one sharp gauntlet towards the mouth of the alley. Without hesitation, the man stumbled to his feet and ran, not even sparing a single glance backward.

Still spit-slick and hanging out of his trousers, Sebastian didn't dare move. Fenris was still glowing, still standing as tense and threatening as any predator, and it didn't seem like an entirely inappropriate moment to pray.

Blessed Andraste, I beg you, in all your mercy and grace, protect your contemptible servant that I might make it out of this blighted alley alive—

When Fenris turned, his expression thunderous under the fringe of his hair, Sebastian instinctively shrank back. Divine Andraste, take pity on your most wicked servant—

"Clean yourself up." Whatever rage he'd expected, that cold, emotionless tone was infinitely worse. Fenris' words were clipped and hard, even more so than the first time they'd met, and it made Sebastian's stomach twist. "Now. I am taking you back to the castle."

Something about the phrasing back to the castle rather than back home, caused a fresh swell of panic to rise, but there was nothing Sebastian could do. Blast it all to the lowest, most miserable corner of the Void— his wilful inability to think things through beyond his own pleasure was going to ruin everything.

Tucking himself back into his trousers and buckling his belt with clumsy fingers, Sebastian ducked his head, cowed and obedient. All witty quips had fled, all impish heedlessness had abandoned him, and he was left feeling every inch the chastised boy. When Fenris stalked out of the alley, Sebastian followed at his heel, making no attempt to argue or escape.

The walk was brisk and silent as a tomb. More than once, Sebastian opened his mouth to apologise, only to have his teeth click shut a moment later as the words refused to come. What was he meant to say? That he was sorry for being wanton? For proving he could not be trusted to keep his lustful urges under control? Should he apologise for being a disappointment, again, as always?

Something foolishly sentimental was aching in his chest, and Sebastian bit back a stream of curses. This was why he never tried at anything— failure was much easier to bear when he simply didn't care.

Their rooms were dark, save for the low burning fire the servants would have been tending. When Fenris motioned for Sebastian to precede him inside, standing at the open door like a jailor, he felt his steps falter, nearly tripping himself up.

The door clicked closed behind him, and he refused to look back, just in case Fenris had stayed outside, unwilling to even share a room with him. He couldn't hear the elf breathing, but the pounding of blood in his own ears was drowning almost everything out, regardless.

Standing in the shadows, curling his arms tight around his chest, Sebastian spoke very softly, still unsure of the words even as they took shape.

"I'm sorry." Tasting bile, Sebastian wasn't sure if he wished Fenris was listening or not. "I… He had hands a little like yours, callused and strong. It wasn't perfect, but it was enough… to pretend."

Any doubts about his audience were silenced when fingers bit into his upper arm, gripping and turning him. Fenris was there, the glow of his markings faded to a faint glimmer, and Sebastian had no chance to fully comprehend any amount of fear or shock before he was being kissed, brutally and without mercy.

Some key part of his mind fizzled, and questions of why and how vanished like wisps of smoke in a gale. The sharp tips of Fenris' gauntlet were almost painful digging into his bicep— they certainly would have stung much more if Sebastian hadn't been wearing a coat, and a leather jerkin beneath. His other hand… Maker, his other hand was tangled in Sebastian's hair, holding him in place as Fenris plundered his mouth.

Sebastian could taste foul ale on his own tongue, which wasn't nearly as delicious as the warm, vaguely spicy flavour he found in the depths of Fenris' mouth. He bent into the kiss as much as he was able, chasing that taste and asserting a bit of height, until teeth bit down firmly on his bottom lip.

The whimper that bubbled out of his throat was entirely unintentional, mildly embarrassing, but also apparently the proper thing to do. It earned him a deep, answering growl that blazed through his nerves, weakening his knees even as Fenris bore down all the fiercer, and Sebastian ceased all struggles with another soft, desperate sound.

No matter what he might enjoy on the odd occasion, it was always too dangerous to submit completely— he could never be certain who might know his face, and what their intentions might be. He'd had trysts and many of them over the years, but beyond an occasional tendency to get mind-numbingly drunk (though only in relatively trustworthy brothels and inns), Sebastian had always been very careful to maintain a certain level of control in every situation. He might be an embarrassment, but he was still a Vael, and he wouldn't risk being eliminated— or worse, ransomed— because of his name.

The presumption that his father wouldn't actually pay a ransom to get him back wasn't something Sebastian was eager to prove.

He trusted Fenris, probably more than he trusted anyone else alive. Surrendering to the elf's will, letting himself relax and be taken, wholly and without reservation… Sebastian hadn't truly known how heady a feeling that might be, until this very moment.

"Please," he gasped, taking in a deep lungful of air when Fenris decided to release his tongue. The sight of those full lips, bruised and lush from taking possession of his own, was captivating, and he ached for another taste, but the hand in his hair held fast.

Before he could scrape together enough sense to finish the thought, Fenris spoke, the hoarseness of his voice making Sebastian shiver. "Tell me to go. Tell me you do not want this, and everything will be as it was. Tell me."

Had the elf lost his mind? Choking on wholly inappropriate laughter, Sebastian leaned forward as much as his tether would allow, strangely touched when the grip of that cruelly sharp gauntlet eased. It was nearly a caress now, carding through the waves of his hair and scraping gently across his scalp.

He brushed his chin along the line of Fenris' jaw, stubble rasping against smooth skin as he moved to whisper against one of those long, slender ears. "I want this, but you… Would you rather I go back and find Aaron, have him finish what he started?"

Snarling, Fenris pushed forward, menacing, only to have Sebastian step back. The fiery possessiveness was like something out of an Antivan romance, but that certainly didn't make Sebastian's cock any less hard. No, it was a delicious reaction, and the delight it promised was too tempting not to stir it up even further.

"I've been aching for the feel of you for months," Sebastian continued, regaining some equilibrium as his nimble fingers darted out, swiftly unbuckling Fenris belt and letting the heavy leather pouches fall away heedlessly. Fenris might be a force of nature, powerful and unrelenting, but Sebastian had a few tricks of his own. "But only if you want it too." One gauntlet clattered against the floor, then the other followed, barely muffled by the rugs.

Grabbing hold of Fenris' wrists, revelling in the feel of hot skin and warm leather, Sebastian dragged the elf's hands around to the swell of his arse, then groaned deep and low when those hands took firm hold without further coaxing. They were stumbling slowly towards the bed, but the feel of Fenris' fingers digging into his backside, pulling their hips together in the most wonderful, torturous way… Maker.

There was a precipice of freedom and joy, so close that Sebastian was nearly trembling with need to plunge over the edge, but tension still held Fenris ever so slightly distant, taut as a bowstring.

Luckily for them both, Sebastian was familiar with the intricacies (and hazards) of bowstrings.

"If you aren't willing," he said softly, picking deftly at the straps that held the elf's breastplate in place with one hand, and undoing his own belt with the other. "Aaron seemed positively eager—"

"You are goading me," Fenris interrupted icily, sounding hoarse and so utterly lethal, and Sebastian could feel the solid foundation of sense and duty crumbing under their feet.

Daring to lick a broad stripe along the wildly thrumming pulse he found in Fenris neck, Sebastian savoured the tiny tremor his tongue called forth. "And if I am—" Another deliberate step backward, and he felt the edge of the bed press against his legs. Finally."However will you punish me, nursie?"

Falling back onto the soft mattress, still mostly clothed and now crushed under a surprisingly heavy elf, certainly wasn't the most graceful tumble into bed he'd ever enjoyed. Fenris, to his credit and Sebastian's great surprise, didn't miss more than a beat as the world shifted, pinning Sebastian firmly in place before either of them could truly catch their breath.

In the light of the fire, Sebastian could see a strange, predatory gleam flickering deep in Fenris' eyes. For the briefest moment, he considered that he might have bitten off a tad more than he'd bargained for… but then Fenris was wrenching his coat and jerkin open, laces and toggles snapping audibly over the sounds of panting and the rush of blood pounding in Sebastian's ears.

"You want this." Somehow, it sounded like a question and a discovery all at once, growled out against the skin of Sebastian's throat as Fenris ducked near. Hips arching up largely of their own accord, Sebastian nodded fervently even as he sought friction, using the leverage afforded by his feet still planted on the floor to grind against the firm muscles of Fenris' arse. Teeth were scraping his neck between puffs of hot breath, while those incredibly dangerous hands played gently with the fine silk of his shirt.

The blighted elf still had his breastplate on, though it was partially unfastened, and Sebastian was already one touch away from writhing like he was being paid for it.

"You want this," Fenris said again, rougher and more certain, which was Sebastian's only warning before those blunt teeth sank sharply into the juncture of his neck and shoulder. Maker, he howled, bucking upwards even as his arms came around to cling to Fenris' back, but it was like scrabbling against solid granite, hard and unyielding.

"Please," he babbled, with no care for anything but having those hands on him, on all of him, immediately. "Oh Maker, please, Fenris… yes, please…"

His answer was a tearing noise, as sweat-damp silk was shredded mercilessly, followed swiftly by the dark honey of Fenris' voice purring against his ear. "On the bed," he said, then leaned back, leaving Sebastian cold and bereft.

Cold and bereft for only a moment, until he continued in that same purr, glittering eyes raking over Sebastian's bare chest and stomach with all the weight of a caress. "On your knees."

Heat that had been pooling low, pulsing between Sebastian's legs, rushed outward like wildfire, stealing his breath. On your knees.

Scrambling backward to comply, Sebastian flipped over onto his knees without question, fighting to free himself of the layers of clothing Fenris had left hanging from his arms. He managed to wriggle out of the coat and jerkin in one go, tossing them aside. The shirt, truly torn and no doubt ruined, would have been no issue either, had Fenris not grabbed hold of the silk and twisted, effectively trapping Sebastian's wrists behind his back.

He might had questioned, or possibly even struggled against the impromptu binding, but then Fenris' was speaking again, reaching out with his free hand to stroke Sebastian's shoulder. "If you wish to stop, simply say, and I will. Do you understand me, Sebastian?"

There was such gravity in those words, such quiet earnestness and no small amount of fondness, that Sebastian felt something foolish catch in his throat. Swallowing tightly, he nodded again, turning to glance at Fenris over his shoulder.

"I do," he said, forcing a small, cheeky smile in a vain attempt to banish the strange warmth stirring in his chest. "I trust you, you know."

That, apparently, was exactly the right thing to say.

Teeth flashing in what may have been a smile, or possibly something much more feral, Fenris was suddenly a flurry of firm, if still careful hands. Sebastian found himself pushed forward, his chest and shoulders pressing into the mattress as Fenris knelt beside him, leather-clad thighs tucking themselves under Sebastian's belly. He was bent over Fenris' lap, he realised suddenly, and the possibilities for such a position flooded his mind with blinding, fiery clarity.

The hand tangled in his shirt released its hold, leaving his wrists still bound by silk but very slackly, and Fenris' touch slid down the small of his back and slipped under the waist of his trousers. Burying his face in the quilts, Sebastian let loose a moan that shuddered up all the way from his toes, arching his back and pressing his arse into the feel of that touch on his naked skin.

With his belt already undone, Fenris had simply to push and Sebastian's trousers slid slowly away, baring his backside and freeing his aching cock from its worsening, tightening prison. He was itching to spread his thighs, but again fabric trapped him, and Fenris didn't seem nearly impatient enough to get him either of them fully nude.

"You do know how this is meant to go—" was what he'd meant to say, certainly very insolently and possibly quite stupidly, but managed only the "You—" before the first slap made the rest of the words stick and choke in his throat.

His arse was stinging, not unbearably but definitely noticeably, and Sebastian was scrambling for the sense to put even a single coherent thought together. Fenris had just slapped him. On the arse. Truly.

Blessed Andraste—

Blunt, barely there fingernails scratched gently over the point of impact, making him squirm with sensation and want, while Fenris' other hand stroked from the back of his neck, down his spine. Sebastian bit his lip, nearly hard enough to draw blood, simply to keep from begging.

"This is how I shall punish you," Fenris said quietly, but every word sizzled through Sebastian's body like lightning. "It is the very least you deserve for your behaviour tonight."

There was a pause, and Sebastian knew Fenris was waiting, poised for him to refuse the punishment, for him to call the whole thing off. Leashing his voice into something suitably contrite, and yet nowhere near as desperately wanton as he felt, he answered, wiggling his arse against the lingering caresses still soothing his warm, willing skin.

"Please," he murmured, finding enough slack in his torn shirt to drop his hands onto the mattress and brace himself. He was willing, Maker have mercy, he was eager for whatever his gorgeous nurise had in mind. "You know I'll never learn otherwise—"

He was more prepared for the second slap, striking in the same tender spot as the first, just above where his arse met his thighs. There were no more lengthy pauses, no more hesitation, and Sebastian clawed his fingers into the quilts as Fenris' dry, firm hand tanned his hide from cheek to cheek. The blows were steady, even, and each hard enough to push the breath from his lungs in increasingly desperate cries, only partially muffled into the mattress. At this moment, Sebastian didn't care if they woke the whole castle— he had no chance of schooling his tongue when his arse was humming with such a sharp, glorious ache, spiking with every new burst of heat and pain.

He knew Fenris could have hit him harder— the elf likely could have shattered his bones with one blow— but he also could have held back more, tempered his slaps into something lighter, easier, and false.

Sebastian could feel the strength behind each hit, and he would still feel it come morning. Somehow, perhaps Fenris understood.

Incoherence had begun threatening the edges of his consciousness by the time Fenris began slowing his strikes, transitioning again into smooth, soothing strokes of his palm. The sensation was a hundred times more intense with the added soreness bruising his flesh, and Sebastian could feel his prick throbbing for release, rock hard and heavy between his legs.

"Stay," Fenris said, from somewhere in the haze beyond touch and ache, and the mattress shifted as he moved away. Sucking in a few long, fortifying lungfuls of air, Sebastian kept still, except to unclench his hands and shake one wrist free of his shirt cuff, gingerly bringing his arms up and folding them under his head. His arse remained in the air, bare and no doubt glowing red, and the thought of Fenris watching him in such a state was almost enough to undo the tattered remains of his sense and self-control.

After a few moments of shuffling, a sound that Sebastian dearly hoped was at least partly caused by armour being removed, the mattress sunk again, and something cool and shocking was pressed against his burning skin. Sebastian hissed, hips jerking forward away from the cold, but Fenris' calm, familiar voice stopped him from going too far.

"Hush, my little lord. Be still." It was difficult, but Sebastian managed to bear another swipe of whatever cool, creamy substance Fenris was rubbing slowly over his battered arse. In barely any time at all, the sensation shifted from uncomfortably shocking to blessedly soothing, and then Sebastian was rocking into the touch, moaning with every teasing slip of Fenris' fingers between his cheeks.

The first brush against his hole, just the tip of one callused finger, was enough to send Sebastian babbling pleas and endearments like a fool, his voice reedy and almost incomprehensible with the thickness of his brogue. He wasn't even entirely aware of half the gibberish he was spouting, but apparently Fenris approved enough to continue down that promising path, tracing an unwavering course from behind Sebastian's tight, aching balls, up to his hole, pressing gently against the ring of muscle. The cream was slick enough to be suitable, even though Sebastian hadn't partaken in this particular pleasure in some time, and he very purposefully pressed back against the investigative digit.

When one finger slipped inside, a slow, careful pressure that made the entire surface of his thrashed rear throb in time with his heartbeat, Sebastian heard his own elated groan echoed nearby, hoarse and yearning. The rush of satisfaction that Fenris was taking pleasure in this as well was dizzying.

"More," he rasped, praying for that slender finger to press just a little farther, and to crook just so. "Please, Fenris… Please give me more—" The withdrawal of the finger made him whine, craning his neck around to see what in the blazes—

And just as suddenly as the first finger was gone, there were two, slicker than before, perfectly slippery… the herbal tang of Fenris' sword oil drifted into the air, and at this angle Sebastian could see that yes, Fenris had indeed gotten undressed. Elegant lines swirled over his skin, stark, glimmering white against sun-kissed olive, and it was and entirely different experience compared to catching glimpses of that stunning nakedness in their shared quarters.

This was beauty, physical and real. This was greater than the ecstasy of the Chant sung clear and bell-like, and greater (Andraste forgive him) than any grace he'd ever known. This was beauty.

When he realised he was being watched, Fenris's stance shifted almost shyly, even with two fingers buried up to the third knuckle in Sebastian's arse. Sebastian struggled to find something to say, something reassuring, but the fingers did not falter in their steady, building rhythm, chasing his words away like so many startled butterflies.

It was glorious and sensual, and he could feel every scrape of Fenris' calluses inside him, mapping him slow and steady, stretching gently, roughness soothed in the glide of oil, but it wasn't enough. It wasn't enough.

Curling his fingers into the bedspread, rocking and grinding backward, Sebastian spoke between heavy, panting breaths. "Maker, please Fenris… please take me, takeme… I can…cannae…"

"Impatient." Fenris voice was a quiet rumble, but the heat in it, the strain and lust, was something Sebastian could have listen to for an age. He'd dreamed of what that voice might sound like, raw with pleasure, but this was better. "Impetuous. You are a maddening man."

The feel of a hand stroking along his ribs made Sebastian shudder, then whine wretchedly as that same hand grabbed hold of his hip, stifling his movement. The grip was like iron, stronger than such a lithe elf had any right to be, but still controlled and careful. The fingers inside him scissored, twisting slowly as they worked him open.

"More," he hissed, wriggling like a worm on a hook, but wholly unable to move how he wanted, how he needed. "Now, damn—" Without warning, the grip on his hip shifted, squeezing one aching cheek of his arse to send fire rushing along his nerves.

It hurt, taking all the strength from his arms as he slumped forward, burying his sweat-soaked face in the quilts. He could feel his thighs quivering, threatening to give way and leave him completely prone, and those fingers just kept moving, stretching him, taunting him with every jolt of pleasure…

Blunt fingertips traced down his thigh, catching in the waist of his trousers where they were still crumpled around his knees. "You'll have more," Fenris murmured, and Sebastian felt the words gusting warm across the skin of his back, just above the swell of his rear. A soft kiss, barely there but impossible to ignore, was brushed against his spine. "When I wish it. Or, if you'd rather, I will stop. Your choice."

As far as Sebastian was concerned, if those were the options, there wasn't any bloody choice at all. He could die of frustration with fingers tickling up his arse, or he could die alone in his bed, desperately jerking himself to innumerable unsatisfying climaxes until he expired.

"Don't stop," he managed, propping his cheek up on his forearm as he tried to slow his breathing. Another kiss was pressed to the small of his back, this one wetter and accompanied by a scrape of teeth, followed by the insistent pressure of a third finger working into him. Slowly, somewhat awkwardly, his trousers were tugged down off his calves, and it took only the barest touch of Fenris' palm to spread his thighs wider, wanton and nearly feverish.

Patience. In all the years Sebastian had suffered sanctimonious lectures and disappointed scoldings, lessons of patience and prudence had never before been quite so convincing as this. More kisses trailed over his back, along with gentle nips and laps of that soft tongue, as Fenris teased him for what felt like hours. The occasional rub or bit of pressure just sowas enough to keep him teetering on a knife's edge, hips moving rhythmically as much as Fenris' grip would allow.

His cock was throbbing, rigid and untouched, but that was almost a secondary concern compared to the profound want that blurred all his thoughts save one: he needed Fenris, deeper, harder, now. And yet, he waited, reduced to gibbering quiet curses and strained pleas, until finally, blessedly, Fenris deigned to grant him mercy.

Mercy of a kind, anyway.

The withdrawal of the fingers was enough to elicit a sigh, but not anything more dramatic— he expected a quick return, touches playing around his rim again, making him quiver. He was utterly pliant, Andraste preserve him, but then the mattress dipped, and the next touch against his hole was not the fingers he had expected.

Sebastian hissed, hands clawing madly at the bedclothes at the first measured, almost tentative press of Fenris' cockhead, so beautifully slick and thick, bumping against his stretched arse. Patience, he needed patience—

Somewhere above and behind him, Fenris' breathing hitched, and that first bump became pressure, easing him open. Sebastian could hear his own voice begging hoarsely, but he could no more stop the words from flowing than he could pluck the moon from the sky. More than that, he didn't want them to stop; he had not an ounce of care left to waste on pride.

Fenris was inside him, filling him up and splitting him open, and Sebastian could feel every inch, every nerve in his body singing. He was at the end of his tether, even before the slow rocking thrusts of Fenris' hips finally— finally— pressed flush against his arse.

The sting from the spanking had faded to a dull awareness, but the tenderness remained. It was an amazing sensation, promising fire and lightning, and it was made all the sweeter a moment later by the weight of Fenris' body settling over his back, and the hot gust of breath ghosting over his nape. There were words, or at least noises with the flavour of words, being muttered against his skin as Fenris' hips shifted ever so slightly, but unless Sebastian truly had lost all his wits, they were not spoken in Common.

Suddenly, they were both moving, a slow but rising tempo, and Sebastian tilted his hips until that blessed cock was sliding against his prostate with every deep thrust. It was so good, enough to steal the breath from his lungs, but he managed to gather just enough air to moan, broken and low.

In the months since Fenris had been charged with keeping a leash on the debauchery of the Shame of Starkhaven, Sebastian hadn't enjoyed more than his own hands for company (aborted blowjob in an alley notwithstanding). Moreover, in those months, Sebastian hadn't even seen (or heard) the elf partake in even that simplest of base pleasures. Many a night, Sebastian had jerked himself to quiet completion with Fenris ostensibly sleeping across the room, but to his knowledge, their positions had never been reversed.

They were together nearly every moment of the day, and in all that time, Sebastian had never known Fenris to have an orgasm. It shouldn't have been terribly surprising, then, that the poor repressed sod did not have the incredible, mystical staying power his leisurely fingering might have implied.

After all that, with his cock screaming for release and his entire body humming with the need to come, Sebastian found he didn't mind at all. All-night sessions of strenuous rutting could wait for another evening, because Holy Maker, they were going to do this again. If he had to pull his cock out on street corners, begging for a quick suck to send his dear, reserved friend into this spiral of possessiveness, so be it. He doubted, however, that such drastic measures would be called for. Fenris seemed to be enjoying himself well enough.

Every wet slap of skin against skin was ecstasy, driving Fenris so deep Sebastian was surprised he couldn't taste him, and walloping his narrow hips into the thrumming marks his hand had left behind. Then, eventually, Fenris' panting breaths began to come shorter, nearly gasps, and his thrusts stuttered erratically, the break in rhythm sending Sebastian mewling. Fenris' hands were gripping his hips, his ribs, dragging him back into every push, and Sebastian managed to reach down to his own neglected prick, squeezing far rougher than he could bear.

There was heat flooding him. It radiated from his shoulder, as Fenris' teeth sank hard into muscle. From deep inside his core, as Fenris emptied himself, snarling. From his balls, as the brutal tugs on his cock tore his climax from him, whiting out the world.

It was painful, sticky and aching, to come down from the heights of that orgasm, but Sebastian could not remember ever feeling so content.

It took surprisingly little pawing to convince Fenris that spending the night tangled up with Sebastian was the polite thing to do, after ploughing him so thoroughly and vigorously, but Sebastian was not one to question a miracle.

When Sebastian woke, blinking slowly in the faint light of dawn filtering through the windows, he already had a ridiculously pleased grin plastered on his face. He was sore and mildly itchy, which wasn't a new experience by any means, but the hot, sticky body lying beside him made the entire experience a thousand times better. Fenris, Maker's breath, Fenris—

"Mm, yes, Fenris," he purred, shifting around a bit until he could nuzzle a nape of silky white hair. There, he found the faintest scent of leather and a tang of clean sweat, and Sebastian couldn't help but lick, bringing his arm around to draw Fenris closer. He managed to get only the slightest tingling against his tongue, trailing a broad, wet stripe over a loop of lyrium marking one lean shoulder, when the pliant body cradled against his chest went rigid.

"Morning," he began to say, brogue still thick and rough with sleep, but then Fenris was scrambling out of bed, lithe limbs flailing for freedom from the tangle of quilts in what looked very much like panic.

Sitting up, Sebastian held out his hands in what he hoped was a calming gesture. "Easy now. It's only me, sweetling."

He'd never seen Fenris look so wild— half-crouched, defensive, with eyes wide and startled, and Sebastian was struck by visions of an injured predator, ready to lash out. If it wasn't so worrisome, it might have been a bit sexy.

"Sebastian," he said after a moment, with the barest hitch in his voice. "I don't… No. No, this…" Clenching his hands hard enough to whiten his knuckles, Fenris paced a few steps away, heedless of his nudity as he glared daggers at the floor.

This was not going exactly as planned, and Sebastian felt his stomach churn uncomfortably. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed and gathering up a sheet to cover himself, he stopped short of standing and approaching. One of the last things he wanted was for Fenris to feel trapped.

The pressure of sitting, even on the soft mattress, reminded him of every glorious swat and slap, to say nothing of the deep buggering. It would have been a sensation to revel in, had the situation been less tense.

For the first time in years, Sebastian found himself floundering in the morning after— at this point, he was usually pulling on his trousers and halfway out the door, or waking up alone in an empty bed at a brothel, his evening companionship having already left to go about their other business. Here, now... He knew what he wanted, but Fenris' reaction was souring his hopes for a clean resolution. The night before had been incredible and passionate, and Sebastian knew he wasn't imagining the affection he'd felt in every touch; he'd thought, hoped, that would be enough. It was certainly enough for him.

"So," he said after the pressure of the silence became too heavy to bear. "I'll grant you that when my father said keep me in line by whatever means necessary, he likely wasn't considering spanking, though knowing him—"

"Stop," Fenris snapped, without even glancing up from the floor, and Sebastian did not like the wretched curl of his shoulders, as if waiting to be struck. This was not the proud, defiant bearing of the elf he'd come to know over their months together.

He had no idea what to say, but the words came regardless, unwilling to be swallowed back. "Everything that happened last night—" He paused, licking his lips uncertainly. "I wanted all of it, you know, and… And I was honest. Every part of that was honest, Fenris."

If anything, that quiet sincerity simply made Fenris hunch in even greater discomfort, raking one hand roughly through his hair. "I… know that. It's not…" Hissing something harsh in Arcanum, he knelt and snatched up his crumpled leggings, yanking them on with a kind of haste that was nearly violent. "This should not have happened."

A punch to the gut might have been less painful. Standing, abandoning the sheet, Sebastian stalked around the end of the bed; his gut twisted again when Fenris flinched. "You don't mean that. You… Blight take you, Fenris, you kissed me—"

"I know—" Fenris began, miserably, but Sebastian shook his head, stepping close enough that they were nearly chest-to-chest, making Fenris inhale sharply. This was the very first time he had ever felt like the taller of the two of them, despite their actual difference in height. Fenris had always simply been larger, greater, elven heritage or no.

He didn't dare touch, as much as he itched to take the pigheaded son of a bitch by the shoulders and shake him. "Tell me last night was a mistake, if that's what you truly think. You wanted me, and you cared for me, and none of that's changed this morning. Tell me I'm wrong."

For a moment, an instant brimming with relief and fear in equal measure, Fenris' eyes darted up to meet his, and they were flashing deadly green fire. For that brief moment, the elf was entirely himself again— prickly, dangerous, and passionate.

Then, it was as if a shutter was dropped, blocking out the sun.

"It should not have happened," Fenris said again, stepping away as he shrugged on his leather jerkin, and his tone was as wooden as his movements. "It will not happen again; there is nothing to discuss. I will go fetch a servant to bring you hot water, and then I will wait in the corridor."

"Oh, is that how you want it?" Sebastian could have slapped himself for how bloody broken and pathetic he sounded, but it wasn't as though Fenris cared. The elf barely batted an eyelash at Sebastian's cracking voice and reddening cheeks, moving towards the door with quick, measured steps. "Finished with me now, are you nursie? Had your fill?"

Fenris did not look back, slipping silently out into the hallway.

The next week was a study in misery— he'd almost forgotten how painfully lonely Castle blighted Starkhaven could be. All but a few of the servants still treated him as if he were a ghost or foul with plague, ignoring or avoiding whenever possible, and his family…

No. He was hedonistic, not masochistic. The Vaels had nothing to offer but more of the same depression that was currently hanging like a millstone from his neck.

Fenris had taken to lurking outside their room whenever he could, but when necessity or circumstance forced him in, he was more like a piece of furniture than a living man. He loomed in the periphery on the few trips Sebastian took elsewhere (the kitchen, the gardens), grim as a gargoyle.

There was really only one thing for it, truly. He'd fooled himself for longer than usual this time, but now the game was over.

Perhaps one day he'd stop falling for this horseshit like a callow boy.

It wasn't a terribly complex procedure to acquire some of his mother's evening tincture. A bit of silver was enough to convince one of the maids to filch him a dram of the mild sleeping potion, and his quick fingers were enough to slip a few drops into Fenris' watered wine while they grimly chewed through a tasteless supper, together yet alone. The most difficult part was waiting for Fenris to turn in for the night, gradually succumbing to the pull of soft, gentle drowsiness (Meghan Vael would have nothing but the finest potions, of course).

He didn't stop to check on the elf— he didn't dare. He was still too tangled in the web of illusion he'd been weaving for himself (hopefully, desperately, naively); to take one final longing look was simply too overdramatic and pathetic. Sod it all.

Sneaking past the guards was laughably easy, which tweaked some concerns in the back of Sebastian's mind that he swiftly repressed. If Prince Vael thought himself so skilled and so prudent with his nobles that he could skimp on keeping his castle guards' skills sharp, that was his own arrogant folly. Perhaps this escape would help impress upon his Highness just how many holes existed in his security, but Sebastian sincerely doubted it.

It was a ghastly night for it— black as pitch with clouds covering the moon and stars, and a frigid mist of rain falling just heavy enough to turn the dirt roads to mire. With mud sucking at his boots, leaving such an obvious trail, he couldn't keep to the highway, or even side roads. Slogging through fields and forest was apparently the order of the night, but Sebastian was too determined to piss and moan, even in his own head. He'd run away through worse weather, and free and chilly was infinitely better than caged and warm.

You've run away often, but you never go far enough.

Well, it would hardly do to break form now. It had been a quiet few months, however, so perhaps he'd give his nursie a bit of a challenge. Disappearing into the underbelly of a city for a few weeks sounded like a fine plan, and an entertaining little excursion. Enough to clear his head of all this muzzy wool and soppy foolishness, at any rate.

Sebastian could hardly wait.

He wasn't entirely sure how long it took Fenris to find him— he spent about three weeks largely unknown in Kirkwall's Lowtown, avoiding notice as much as possible (even skittering down into the fetid pit of Darktown when he caught wind of some strange elven bounty hunter sniffing around. Finally, once things settled in a bit, he made his long awaited move into the Blooming Rose.

Between the coin he'd taken from Starkhaven, the bit he'd earned on odd jobs here and there around Kirkwall, and the decent amount he'd pickpocketed, Madame Lusine was quite pleased to have his patronage again. It certainly helped that he was known to be courteous and comparatively undemanding when enjoying the Rose's bounty; that, coupled with his looks, made him rather popular among the brothel's working lads and lasses.

This time, he was mostly paying for the room rather than the company… which was a decision he refused to consider too closely. The sheets were cleaner than they would have been at a tavern of comparable cost (Lusine, usually strict and pitiless, had offered him a very reasonable rate after a bit of sweet talking), and he had utterly no interest in dealing with a case of nits.

The liquor was better at the Rose as well, though Sebastian found himself both yearning for the taste of wine, and sickened by it. There was an itch under his skin, nagging and buzzing like the touch of swooping, silver-white markings; glutting himself with drink dulled it a bit, while the occasional stroke of a skilled hand or soft lips made it worse.

Holy Maker, he was pining like a milkmaid. Even the whores began to notice, and their well-meaning sympathy was almost too much to bear.

Three weeks skulking around Kirkwall, then… perhaps another month or more holed up in the Rose, kindly refusing offers of comfort or relief from the tension that furrowed his brow every moment he wasn't consciously smoothing it away. Between the liquor and the herbs he'd been smoking to numbing excess, Sebastian had gladly lost his grip on the passage of time.

He wasn't even sure if it was day or night when the ruckus began downstairs, nor did he care. Jethann was a marvel at massage, working the knot of discomfort from the base of Sebastian's skull and the sides of his neck, and the elf was pleasant to speak with as well.

When shouting began filtering through the heavy door of Sebastian's room, Jethann's thumbs slowed their steady, insistent kneading. "Ugh. I hope that fuss isn't those fucking Red Iron whelps again. Merran ought to take those new boys to task— I'd gladly whip some manners into them if he'd tie them first."

Humming a soft, lethargic sound in response, Sebastian reached blindly over the edge of the bed and grabbed a half-empty bottle, sitting up as Jethann crawled off his bare back. Crossing his legs and tucking his feet under his knees, Sebastian twisted his head around, enjoying the freedom from soreness as he took a long pull of wine. His stomach ached, but it wasn't a pain that could be massaged away.

"Mm, lovely," he murmured, pushing hair back from his forehead and holding the bottle out for Jethann to take, should he desire. The elf knelt gracefully behind him, accepting the wine with a small smile, but Sebastian glanced quickly away before he took a drink. Watching a long, slender elven throat swallow down wine wasn't a pleasant thought, no matter how sinfully pretty Jethann might be.

"Oh have mercy, sweetness." Scooting closer, until his naked chest pressed against Sebastian's back, Jethann slung both spindly arms around his shoulders (no iron-hard muscles corded those pale arms, just well-kept tautness and soft flesh). The wine bottle had disappeared. "The big blue eyes are supposed to be my game, but you're breaking my heart over here. Just point me in the direction of the nasty bitch who put you in this state— I'm feeling feisty tonight, and mean."

Chuckling faintly, Sebastian reached back and stroked Jethann's smooth jaw, shivering a little when the elf began nuzzling his ear. "You're always feisty. It's just… nothing. Doesn't matter."

Smooth hands skated down his ribs to tease ever so lightly under the waist of his loose trousers, fingertips tickling his hips; perhaps this time, if he dallied a bit with Jethann (who he knew from experience was clean, wickedly flexible, and inventive), it might feel different. It might feel less… cold.

"Why don't you let me—" Jethann began, purring against his neck, but the commotion outside hadn't abated, getting louder despite the effective muscle Sebastian knew Lucine kept on staff, and suddenly there was someone rapping adamantly on the door.

"Oh, what in the Void…" Abandoning the sultry pretence, Jethann scrambled off the bed with a few more colourful curses, yanking a short silk robe over his creamy skin and tiny smallclothes. Sebastian sighed, strangle relieved that he'd avoided making the decision of sex or no, and flopped back onto the fluffy quilts. Maybe he'd polish off the wine, then smoke enough of the special pipeweed blend Jethann had brought along that he wouldn't even want to wank. Oblivion seemed like a very compelling place to visit at the moment.

He heard the latch undo, and Jethann's surprised greeting, then Madam Lusine's deeply displeased voice rang out like a death knell. "Sebastian, you're now officially more trouble than you're worth, dove. Come put a leash on this blighted elf before I call the city guard."

Sebastian sat up in a rush, only to have the room lurch sharply. When he finally focused, scrubbing a hand roughly over his face, Jethann was staring at him archly, hip cocked and one arm akimbo. "Well, speak of the nasty bitch— oh, not you, Lusine. And look at you, handsome, all flustered and pink."

"Andraste's grace," Sebastian muttered, stumbling out of bed and withering under Lusine's irate glare and pursed lips. "Where is he? What's he done?"

Sweeping one arm back to indicate the rest of the brothel, Lusine's glare sharpened. "Downstairs, making a nuisance of himself and scaring off my customers. He's already knocked six of my strongest lads arse-over-teakettle, and if he's broken any bones, you'll be the one paying for the healer."

"Of course. You have my deepest apologies, Madam, truly." Not bothering with a shirt or shoes, Sebastian raked his hair back into some semblance of order, stalking out of the room when both Lusine and Jethann stepped out of his way. "If he tries to take me, I'll have to go, but I swear I will make reparations, regardless."

Gliding close at his heels as he started down the stairs, Lusine made a mildly derisive noise. "Not the first time you've been dragged out of here, dove. I trust you'll do right by me."

The madam of a whorehouse trusted his moral fibre more than his own family. Sebastian might have laughed, but he could see Fenris over the balustrade, standing rigid in the midst of the brothel's main room; the sight of that thundercloud of an elf brought him up short.

Stopping, bracing his hands on the stair rail, Sebastian armoured his heart securely within a familiar mask of aloof debauchery, collecting himself scarcely a moment before Fenris caught sight of him. The room was far more vacant than usual, with only a few prostitutes eyeing Fenris uncertainly, Qunitus standing silently behind the bar, and a half-dozen men of Lusine's security lying scattered around the floor.

"Why, good day to you, nursie!" Forcing a sly smirk, Sebastian nodded towards the unconscious men. "If you wanted to manhandle someone, you know I'm always willing. No need for all this commotion."

That earned him a growl of Arcanum, and sitting primly at a nearby table, Mais sputtered into her drink. "Maker," the woman said quietly. "That's a bit harsh. Sebastian…"

Padding down the final few steps, Sebastian kept most of his attention focused on Fenris, who was prowling over almost cautiously. "Don't worry yourself, sweetling. I'm sure whatever he said, he means it with love."

Shockingly, that was enough to make Fenris flinch, those soulful eyes going almost lost for the briefest instant, and Sebastian scrambled to keep his mask in place. He would not give in to his ridiculous, naïve fantasies again.

Halting his approach while still out of reach, Fenris clenched his fists, shifting on the balls of his feet. "I would speak with you. Alone."

Of everything he'd expected to hear, a simple request for a conversation was incredibly low on that list. Fumbling a bit, Sebastian studied Fenris warily, then turned back to send Lusine a questioning look. "May we?"

The woman's arms were crossed, her bearing more intimidating than Fenris could ever hope to achieve, and her flinty expression didn't waver as she tilted her chin back up the stairs. "Do what you like in your own room, dove. But you—" One long finger shot out, pointing accusingly at Fenris. "Do not think of causing more trouble in here. I am at the end of my considerable patience."

"My… apologies, Madam," Fenris murmured, ducking his head, and it wasn't simply the wine that was making Sebastian dizzy, though being a bit in his cups certainly wasn't helping matters. Not waiting to see if Fenris followed, he started back up the stairs, trying very hard to make all swaying seem intentional.

"My, my." Jethann, for good or ill, was leaning on the balustrade at the very top of the staircase, robe hanging artfully open to reveal his smooth chest and skimpy red smallclothes. "And I suppose I'm out on my ear, as it were. I get the feeling Tall, Dark, and Smouldering isn't the sharing kind. What a pity."

Before Sebastian could say one word, the half-nude elf snatched up his hand and pressed a wet kiss against the inside of his wrist, making his already thrumming pulse skip. Somewhere behind him, Sebastian heard a deep, dangerous growl, but Jethann didn't look at all bothered about it.

"If it doesn't work out—" Hooded cobalt eyes glittered up at him mischievously as Jethann pulled away just enough that his lips brushed the delicate web of veins. "You know where to find me. You're fartoo sweet to waste."

Extracting himself with a weak smile, Sebastian didn't trust himself enough to glance back at Fenris. He needed familiar ground, an iron will, and to just smarten up.

When the door to his room shut behind them, Sebastian called on every ounce of training he'd ever had with a bow or a lockpick, just to keep his hands steady. Finally, finally, he mustered the courage to glance over at the stony, silent elf lurking beside the room's small vanity table, which was strewn with empty liquor bottles, bits of tobacco and pipeweed, and a few small jars of the creams and oils the Rose kept in abundance.

Fenris… Fenris looked dreadful, which made Sebastian feel simultaneously sickeningly guilty and perversely pleased. There were purple shadows darkening under his eyes, and it looked as though he'd lost some weight, which was hardly something a man as wiry as Fenris could easily afford. His strong features were all the more pronounced when framed by hollowed cheeks, though he was hardly skeletal. He simply looked… worn. Exhausted.

Taking a deep breath, Sebastian sat lightly on the edge of the rumpled bed, letting his hands hang loosely between his knees. "I'll admit some confusion," he said slowly, though he didn't manage to sound quite as blithe as he'd hoped. "About why you're not dragging me out by the scruff of the neck, and kicking my arse all the way back to Starkhaven."

Maker, it wasn't fair that he'd even missed that look— the slight cock of the head and narrowing of the eyes that conveyed so succinctly: you can't possibly be that idiotic.

"Would you go back?" Fenris asked, though it sounded much more like an accusation than a question. "Would it matter? How long before you vanished into the night again?"

"That depends." This was quickly threatening to become too personal, too cutting; the last thing Sebastian needed was for this blighted elf to think he cared, but the words tumbled out regardless. "Would you still shudder at the thought of being in the same room together, and treat me with disdain better saved for dogshit on a shoe? Unearneddisdain?"

"No." Brought up short by a single, earnest word, Sebastian leaned back— in his stupid, irrational heart, suspicion was fighting tooth and nail with hope. Meeting his eyes steadily from under the fringe of his hair, Fenris looked grimly serious. "I know how I behaved, and you did not deserve it. I was… foolish, and I am sorry. I hope you can forgive me."

"Foolish?" His voice cracked, betraying such fathomless uncertainty, and damn it all to the blighted Void, he could have torn his own hair out. "And I suppose you've grown wiser in these last weeks?"

Was it a blessing to be praised, or spiteful punishment that Fenris did not rise to that bait? Sebastian wasn't certain.

"I did not come here to trade barbs with you, Sebastian, though I may have earned them." He sounded so calm, so steady. It was unnerving, and grossly unfair, especially since Sebastian felt like a dry leaf being buffeted about in a strong gale. "And I didn't come to bring you back, either."

Of course. He'd simply had too much to drink, obviously. This was a very vivid dream, and nothing more. A vivid, cruel dream.

"Away, demon." Sighing deeply, Sebastian flopped backward onto the bed, thinking back to that first trip to the Pickled Nug with his handsome keeper. He remembered the taste of black currants and whisky, and the warm, buzzing feeling of Fenris' hand on his arm. You are a better man than your father thinks."Or hallucination, or whatever you are. Crawl back to the darkest corner of my mind and leave me to wallow in peace."

The exasperated noise was familiar, but that didn't matter. Not here to bring him back, indeed.

After a moment, the mattress dipped, and a loll of his head revealed Fenris sitting beside him, staringat him, turned slightly with one palm propped against the bed. "You've known your father longer than I," the Fenris illusion said blandly. "He had me and others searching the whole of the Free Marches for over a month, without success. Do you believe he would keep a servant in his employ who had failed as spectacularly as I've done? Shall I drag you back to the furious prince who very nearly had me flogged before tossing me out of his city?"

"He what?" Sebastian was slightly drunk, possibly dreaming, and those were his only excuses for the madness that over took him. Sitting up, he reached out and grabbed Fenris by the arm, without thought or sense, eyes raking uselessly down his leather-clad back. "He didn't— Blessed Andraste, why—"

It took precisely that long for Sebastian to realise his touch hadn't been pushed away. Fenris allowed the contact, unflinching, and met Sebastian's wild gaze with a small, unexpected quirk to his full lips. "He nearly did, but I left with my hide intact. You didsteal a great deal of coin when you ran, and my involvement in your militia did not go unnoticed, either. Prince Vael was of the opinion that I'd become too close to you… too soft."

Maker, soft was never an issue, his mind supplied, entirely inappropriately. He was shirtless, tipsy, and touching Fenris in a large, comfortable bed. If he woke up at that moment, it would likely be all he could do to keep from weeping.

"He is at least partly correct," Fenris continued, jolting Sebastian out of his momentary musing. "I have become too close to you. Closer than I've ever allowed anyone."

Fire burned across Sebastian's cheeks, igniting his blood and scalding down between his legs. There was the slightest tremble in Fenris' voice, contrasting with the thread of silk winding temptingly around his words. It was vulnerable and trusting, and more than Sebastian deserved— and with that, he bid farewell to all the best intentions of avoiding another tangle of complex, dangerous sentiment with this thorny elf.

"Fenris," he said thickly, not entirely sure what he could say to that, but he was saved from fumbling over his words when Fenris leaned in, slanting their mouths together gently.

He may have gasped, possibly groaned, but whatever the sound, his lips parted with it, and Fenris' tongue slipped inside to glide against his own. This was a smooth, slow kiss, nothing like the desperate crashing of mouths he'd dreamt of before, and Sebastian felt himself melt into it, completely unprepared.

When Fenris leaned forward, he eased back, shivering as the pointed tips of one gauntlet scraped light patterns over his jaw, then down his neck. The bed was soft and yielding against his shoulders, all the things Fenris was decidedly not. That firm body gradually pressed down against him, settling over him with one thigh creeping up to nestle between his legs, and all the while Fenris was tasting him, nipping at his lips and swallowing his moans.

Eventually, Fenris drew back, but Sebastian was distracted from voicing a whine of protest by that muscled thigh pressing tight against his achingly hard cock. He bucked into the sensation, gripping Fenris' arms like a drowning man, cursing breathlessly as the pressure became a steady grind of friction.

"I had planned to ask if you still want this," Fenris rumbled dryly, as he levered his mouth just out of Sebastian's reach. A bit of shifting, and both gauntlets were tossed to the end of the bed, steel clattering against the footboard. The feel of Fenris' bare hands sliding up his ribs was enough to send Sebastian arching off the bed, taut as a drawn bow.

"I do," he panted, focusing enough to peer up at Fenris, whose lips were reddened and wet and Maker so tempting. "If— if you couldn't tell. Mercy, please—"

Smiling, with just a hint of that feral quality that never failed to send Sebastian's head for a spin, Fenris dipped down to speak quietly into Sebastian's ear. "You will have mercy, my little lord." The scrape of teeth around the shell of his ear was followed immediately by a hot tongue, then a truly dangerous growl. "But I've one caveat."

The hands on his chest were rolling his nipples, pinching almost too hard, and Sebastian could hardly find the air to answer. "Maker, anything—"

"If you want this," Fenris whispered, flexing his thigh. "Then this is the last time I will smell another man or woman on your skin. Do you hear me, Sebastian?"

He could have explained that Jethann had given him a massage and little else, or that since he'd left Starkhaven, he hadn't suffered more than a single aborted attempt to fuck the memory of Fenris' touch out of his mind. Those were truths, but at that moment, they weren't what Fenris wanted to hear.

"Never again," he said instead, reaching up to wrap his arms around Fenris' back, the feeling of muscle flexing under leather making his mouth go dry. "I swear— I swear, you're all I want, Fenris. Just you."

The stutter of Fenris' hips against his was telling, and immensely arousing, but then the elf spoke, and Sebastian found himself clinging to the last vestiges of his restraint.

"Good." The words were silk draped over steel, both promise and threat, and utterly inflaming. "Then you shall have me."

They kissed and groped for what felt like hours, letting the pleasure build slowly but never quite peak, simmering just short of too much. Sebastian fought to undo toggles and straps, to find the warm, gorgeous skin he knew waited under steel and leather, wringing a deep, guttural groan from Fenris when he finally dragged his fingers over that taut, elegantly marked stomach. Muscles twitched under his attentions, hips stuttered against his own, and Fenris was panting against his throat, sending lightning skittering through Sebastian's nerves with every nip and sucking kiss.

It would have been a simple thing to lie back and let Fenris lead this dance— a simple thing, and no doubt very rewarding. Had Sebastian been a man less enamoured with circumventing rules and expectations, he might have done just that, and enjoyed it immensely.

Turning the tables, even just a bit, seemed like much more of a challenge.

Fenris already had him squirming, that was true, but wresting the reins back wasn't yet an impossible task. He only needed to focus, calm his mind and control his movements, like sighting a target.

"Maker, Fenris," he hissed, scratching down the elf's ribs with short, blunt nails. The sound that harder touch drew out was dangerously close to a whine, and Sebastian was very careful to suppress even a hint of a grin. Fenris pressed down, grinding their still-clothed erections together, and Sebastian scrambled to keep his grip on the crumbling edge of his self-control.

Blunt seemed the best option at this point— subtle games could be saved for later, when Sebastian wasn't one growled command away from turning his arse in the air and begging like the cheapest whore in the entire brothel. Raising his leg to slide around Fenris' side, he bent his neck enough to murmur breathily against one tapered ear.

"Fenris," he said again, flicking his tongue out against the delicate shell, and revelling in the shudder he earned for his efforts. "I want to taste you… to suck you."

For one very disappointing moment, Sebastian worried it was all over. Fenris went rigid, then groaned long and low, the kind of sound that had it come when the elf was buried balls deep in Sebastian's arse, would have been delicious. Disappointment (and a hint of pride) was short-lived, however, as a quick squeeze confirmed an unabated hardness waiting under straining leather leggings.

Fenris gasped, back arching, and Sebastian took the opportunity to roll them over without much fuss at all, yanking Fenris free of his jerkin before pressing the elf's shoulders against the mattress. Wide, wild green eyes stared up at him, but Sebastian was a man on a mission, and could not afford to become distracted by just how stunningly beautifulhis lover was, and even worse, just how lonesome he'd been without the elf's presence in his life.

Those were thoughts to explore later, possibly.

Licking a broad stripe up the centre of Fenris' chest, following the thick line of lyrium that bisected his stomach and branched out in swirls over his ribs, Sebastian took full advantage of this suddenly pliant behaviour. Latching on to one flat, dark brown nipple earned him another choked groan and strong fingers tangling in his hair, holding him with surprising gentleness even as he rolled the quickly pebbling nub over his tongue and between his teeth, scraping rather than biting. His hands were making quick work of Fenris' laces, pushing leggings out of the way and discovering no smallclothes (oh Maker, yes), just hot, eager flesh.

For a man who avoided touch at nearly any cost, Fenris was incredibly responsive. Perhaps sensitivity was the reason for his avoidance, or at least part; more exploration was required, regardless. In a three-pronged attack, Sebastian drew back enough to blow a cool stream of air over Fenris' nipple, squeezed one hand around the elf's thick erection, and ground his own barely-covered hardness against a tightly muscled thigh.

The bucking reaction was nearly enough to throw him back, but he held on, letting a refrain of rough, foreign syllables wash over him as Fenris muttered incomprehensibly, with only a few broken words still in the Common Tongue. As they continued, Fenris was becoming more and more talkative (relatively so), and Sebastian wondered idly how vocal his taciturn lover might be with a tongue up his arse. After they'd both scratched this burning itch to reconnect, Sebastian was eager to investigate some of those more exotic possibilities.

Pushing leggings down thighs, Sebastian followed, tracing the shallow dip of a navel with his lips as a leaking, reddened cockhead bobbed merrily by his chin.

"Look at me," he murmured, thumbs rubbing firmly against Fenris' hipbones as a precursor to holding him down, should the need arise. Fenris did as he was asked, craning his neck up a bit even with his breath already coming hard and uneven, and his beautiful eyes glazed. It was a choice between letting out an utterly obscene moan at that sight or busying his mouth some other way, and without further ado, Sebastian dipped his head and took Fenris inside.

Elves had such lovely, velvety cocks, and Fenris was no exception. No hair, just soft skin everywhere and once Sebastian had a better idea of how hard Fenris might thrust into his mouth, he was going to explore with his hands as well. For the moment, however, it was all he could do to keep Fenris' hips on the bed as he suckled the slick, salty head. Fenris' fingers tightened in his hair, not quite hard enough to pull, but he could see tendons standing out like ropes in those long, powerful arms and shoulders.

It had been quite some time since he'd had this particular pleasure, and Sebastian was feeling rather ambitious— careful to hold Fenris' gaze, he withdrew just far enough to paint his lips with precome, teasing. If a bit of a suck without fancy tricks was enough to push Fenris so close to the end of his tether…

It was a worthy challenge: drive Fenris absolutely mad with pleasure (show him what he's been missing, a petty part of his mind supplied), without pushing either of them over the edge.

"I do not want you to come," he said, hyperaware of his breath ghosting over Fenris' wet skin. If the harsh, answering moan was any indication, Fenris was aware of it also. "Until you're deep in my arse. A wee taste first, though."

Moving swiftly, Sebastian shifted his arm to press against Fenris' stomach, freeing up one hand to snugly encircle the base of Fenris' cock at the same moment he lowered his head again, not stopping until his nose pressed against a smooth pelvis.

"Sebastian!" Having his name shouted so hoarsely, so thick with pleasure, was nearly enough to undo him, and Sebastian wished fervently for a third hand to keep himself in check. He didn't dare remove the ring of his fingers from around Fenris' prick— he could feel it pulsing against his tongue, shuddering with every swallow of his throat around Fenris' cockhead. Fenris' hands flew from his hair, clawing into the quilts with an audible tearing sound, and he rewarded that politeness with a bit of humming.

Thighs clenched around him, squeezing his ribs so hard his bones may have creaked, but there was only so much he could do if he truly wanted to get buggered in the immediate future. He withdrew much more gradually than he'd gone down, sucking too gently to seriously test any restraint, and letting his tongue curl and press just enough to make Fenris writhe and hiccup pained, aborted noises. When just the head was between his lips again, Sebastian lapped briefly at the flood of salty-sweet taste he found there, almost tempting enough to make him release his hold and sink back down, swallowing all Fenris had to give.

Almost, but not quite. There was an ache, a gnawing emptiness inside him that Fenris had put there, Maker damn him, so Fenris was going to fill it.

Lifting himself away from with an obscenely wet sound, Sebastian kept his fingers as a firm band at the base of that painful looking erection. "Breathe," he whispered roughly, giving into the urge to lick a broad stripe along Fenris' abdomen, before giving the man's tightened balls a small, sharp tug and sitting back on his heels. "Not yet, love."

Fenris hissed something, propping himself up on his elbows with a furious, flushed expression, but when it came to a tussle on a mattress, Sebastian had the dual advantages of speed and experience on his side. Scrambling back, he released Fenris' cock, which was distracting enough to allow him a moment to gain his feet. Maker, he was still in his trousers, untouched, and throbbing hard enough to walk with a limp; his prick gave a sympathetic twitch for the man he'd been teasing, but he still slipped out of the way when Fenris made to grab hold of his wrist.

"Oil," he said, pointing to the vanity table. "Lie back and relax while I prepared myself."

"Is it…" Easing back onto the bed, Fenris grimaced, breathing deeply and rubbing his hands over his own thighs, kicking his leggings completely off. His voice was tight, and every word came with obvious concentration. "Is it your intention to drive me mad, then? A punishment?"

Chuckling softly, Sebastian snatched up one of the small vials of slick and wasted no time shucking his trousers. "Perhaps."

Very purposefully, he put just enough roll in his gait to prowl back over to the bed, shivering a bit as Fenris' gaze raked over him. Bent over and spanked until he was a quivering mess had been phenomenal, but there was certainly something to be said for watching Fenris' reactions to his body.

Yes… yes, that was a grand notion.

"Stay just there," he said lowly, clambering back onto the mattress with a curling smirk. "Maker have mercy, you're a gorgeous man. You'll not spend yourself the moment I touch you, will you sweetling?"

Fenris answered with a warning growl, the sound of which vibrated all the way down to Sebastian's toes. "Not until I am deep inside you," he said, and his own small smile was utterly predatory. "As you asked."

During his weeks of debauchery in the Rose, furious masturbation and lots of it had been the theme whenever Sebastian had found himself sober enough to work up a proper erection. He may not have availed himself of the company on offer, but he had paid bloody good silver for a clean, never-used toy (perhaps later he'd introduce Fenris to his temporary stand-in, and show him what trouble two men could get up to with an extra cock). Rather… diligentuse meant he didn't require a copious amount of preparation at the moment.

Kneeling by Fenris' feet, Sebastian yanked the vial open and poured a small amount of oil onto his fingers, balancing just so to reach around and press into his own arse. Feeling impatient, he started with two, moaning at the hint of burn as muscle stretched for him. Nearby, Fenris echoed the sound, and Sebastian held those dark, burning green eyes steadily as he ground down, rocking greedily onto his fingers.

That was it— enough— with Fenris eating him alive with just those dark, hooded eyes, waiting so patiently and spread out so deliciously, Sebastian couldn't stand another moment empty and aching. Easing his fingers out of his arse, he crawled forward, blanketing Fenris body with his own for a moment of warm, blissful contact.

As soon as he was in range, when his thighs straddled narrow hips, Fenris' hand darted out to grab him by the back of the neck, drawing him into a kiss that was bruising and breath-stealing, but incredibly tender all the same. Sebastian sank into the feeling, of lips and tongues and mingled breath, and into the roll of his cock against Fenris' stomach and the slide of Fenris cock against his arse—

"Are you stronger," he rasped, pulling his mouth away and ducking to nuzzle under Fenris' chin instead, tasting the silky skin he found there. His brogue was thickening, adding depth and burr to his words that years of running from Starkhaven (in every sense) had worn away. "Or simply more stubborn than I, that you could walk away from this?"

Fenris' hand tightened in his hair, but the answer came without hesitation. "Stubborn." When Sebastian reached back, slicking oil over Fenris' prick, the elf groaned, thrusting up into the touch and painting a slippery line up the cleft of Sebastian's arse. "An—ah— and foolish. Cowardly."

Sitting back, Sebastian lifted himself up onto his knees and guided Fenris' cock with his hand, easing back and splitting himself open, inch by glorious inch. There weren't any words for a time, just thundering hearts and straining, desperate noises, but then it was an age later and Sebastian seated himself fully— oh, so bloody full—

"Maker…" Inhaling deeply, Sebastian fought to keep himself still, letting them both adjust. "Mmm, Maker—"

He didn't quite realise he'd thrown his head back until he felt the first touch against his stomach, when the sensation made his neck whip forward, snapping him back into a reality that was not narrowed entirely to the cock up his arse. Fenris was touching him, lightly rubbing his stomach with one hand while his other hand rested on Sebastian's thigh, neatly avoiding the weeping erection that bobbed between them.

"You… you are a marvel," Fenris rumbled, nearly too low and too rough to understand, and brushed his thumb through the line of dark auburn hair that trailed below Sebastian's navel. "You… I can't…"

There was a string of muttered Tevinter, then Fenris' hips jerked hard, making them both gasp at the exquisite promise of sensation. Unwilling to wait even an instant longer, Sebastian flexed his thighs, leaning back to brace one hand above Fenris' knee before he began fucking himself in earnest, starting slow but deep.

It took every ounce of skill and self-control he possessed, but Sebastian managed to keep himself in control, to keep every movement deliberate, tailored to drive Fenris utterly up the wall. He pulled away from thrusts, moved in off-beat counterpoint, clenched and rolled his hips just so, until Fenris was squirming so beautifully under him, their mingled sweat gleaming across his heaving chest.

"Imagine," he murmured eventually, leaning forward and canting his hips to shift Fenris' prick inside him, brushing against the bundle of nerves that threatened to send him babbling. "If this were punishment… imagine how good reward might feel."

Before Fenris could answer, or even focus his eyes, Sebastian rose up and slammed back down, urging a sudden, punishing rhythm that was perfect and rough and oh Maker he could feel the sharp, hot pleasure of it building in his spine. Fenris snarled, gripping his hips with steely fingers that promised bruises, but Sebastian didn't care, except to keen for more, for harder and deeper, and yes, Maker, there, again—

The bed was built for such abuses, of course, but the frame still creaked, thudding against the wall in desperate mimicry of the pulse pounding in Sebastian's chest, in his arse, and in his cock as he fisted it frantically, chasing a climax so close he could taste it. The world was narrowing again, and Fenris was staring at him, flushed face a strange, heady jumble of dark lust and pure, open wonder, and Sebastian felt the coil of pure heat tighten just that wee bit more.

Fenris' heels were digging hard into the mattress, his hips snapping as Sebastian's thighs burned with effort— in one blinding white instant, the coil released, and Sebastian found himself squeezing, milking his prick across Fenris' stomach and chest as the elf yanked him bodily up and down, forcing a quickening pace from muscles gone rigid then lax in stunning orgasm. A half dozen deep thrusts, growing more ragged with every growl and grunt, and Sebastian felt a welcome warmth flooding inside, matching the warmth blooming in his chest when Fenris peaked, gasping nothing but his name.

Collapsing forward, heedless of his bulk and panting like a dog in an Antivan summer, Sebastian pressed wet, sloppy kisses all along Fenris' chest and neck. He didn't stop until the elf swatted at him, rolling them both over onto their sides with an almost pained grunt.

The slick, softening cock inside him slipped precariously as they moved, making Sebastian clench despite the protests of his quivering, over-sensitive muscles. Fenris grunted again, wincing visibly under the sweat and the delicious flush, and Sebastian tugged him closer with legs still curled around narrow hips, bending to keep that cock in his arse.

"No griping," he murmured, letting his hands explore leisurely over gorgeous skin and the texture of markings as they came down from the heights together, all heaving chests and pounding hearts. "Mm, you're not going anywhere, sweetling. I've not had my fill of you."

Though the stoic mask had been abandoned sometime before, Fenris was still a prickly sort, even in his good humour. Sebastian had only an instant to register the dangerous gleam in those mossy green eyes, before Fenris was thrusting his hips forward, squelching them tight together and sending lightning jolting through Sebastian's zinging nerves. Fenris wasn't entirely limp, firm enough to tickle all the right spots, and Sebastian gasped weakly.

"Oh, I see. Shall I fill you again, my little lord?" Maker have mercy, there was still wet come spattered over Fenris' stomach, evidence of an orgasm Sebastian had felt burning down to his toes, but that voice still made him twitch pathetically.

"Yes," he hissed, carding fingers through Fenris' soft white hair and running his thumb over the shell of one long ear. The kisses that followed were slow, tongues delving deep and lazy, as Fenris' hips jerked and his prick hardened fractionally more, not quite a proper erection yet. The angle was awkward, and after a short while of that, Sebastian finally accepted the need to move, even for a moment. A tangle of limbs later, and Sebastian was on his other side, with Fenris pressed tight against his back, with a miraculously reviving cock slipping easily back inside.

The new depth was worth the effort of moving, despite the heavy lethargy seeping through Sebastian's muscles. He felt like a puddle of a man, all loose and mellowed, but he had enough manners left to lift his own leg when Fenris' grabbed hold of it, bending it back to rest on Fenris' hip.

"I've been searching for you for more than three months, Sebastian." The words were spoken against his nape, quietly between nuzzling kisses, but Sebastian had no chance to piece together an apology from his muzzy thoughts before Fenris continued, hips rolling. "And in that time, I've had enough loathsome stamina draughts to fell a bronto. I can feel it singing through me, like fire in my blood. How many times do you imagine I can take you tonight?"

Swallowing back a noise that promised to be embarrassingly close to a whimper, Sebastian shored up a bit of cheekiness, craning his neck around to peer at Fenris over one shoulder.

"Potions, you say. And here I thought you simply couldn't get enough of my tight arse." Smiling slyly, he clenched again, shivering as Fenris' fingers squeezed his thigh. "However will my pride recover?"

"Easily, I imagine." Another deep thrust, and Fenris' cock was swelling harder and hotter by the moment, forcing a short, sharp cry from Sebastian that would not be stifled. "Touch yourself, slowly."

"Fuck," Sebastian said between gritted teeth, but did as he was bid without argument. He was still too sensitive, though every slow drag and push of Fenris' prick sent a shock of pleasure sizzling through him, making his own cock ache so deliciously. Leaving his length for the moment, he reached down a bit farther and cupped his balls, rolling them and ever so gently squeezing, arching back as Fenris' mouth trailed wetter and harder against his neck and shoulder.

Fenris was fucking him proper now, with long, measured thrusts that had Sebastian rocking back into the sensation, caught up in quickly renewing vigour. He was pumping his own growing erection in one slick fist, and babbling only half-sensibly as Fenris' hand tangled in his hair, hauling his head farther back and laying waste to his throat with biting kisses.

"Oh Maker, Fenris… you feel so good. You, y'feel…"

"Easy." Fenris voice was the low rumble of distant thunder, and his hand slipped down from holding Sebastian's thigh to grab hold of his jerking fist instead, grinding that blissful movement to a near halt without stopping his own thrusting. "Slowly. Keep hold of yourself for me and I will taste you, after."

Oh Maker.

Pinching his fingers in a snug ring around the base of his cock, Sebastian desperately searched his mind for any image that might cool the fire flaring low in his belly. He called up memories of being berated by Revered Mothers, or lectured by his father, but those thoughts inevitably led to more abstract concepts of punishment, and onward to spanking, and the crack of Fenris' palm against his skin. His cock pulsed, and he groaned as Fenris' pace started to grow ragged.

He'd moved away from unhelpful thoughts of punishment and was well on his way to simply praying for control over his balls by the time Fenris finally came, gasping against Sebastian's jaw as his hips stuttered hard, twice, three times, and then once more, demanding and deep, holding them together tightly for a long exhale.

"Oh Maker," Sebastian said again, his voice reedy and thin, as Fenris murmured quiet, foreign words into his hair. The cock in his arse slipped free without too much complaint this time, slick but not yet completely flaccid— Maker bless and damnthe sadistic bastard who first brewed a stamina draught— and Sebastian could feel wetness seeping onto his thighs. It was almost as good as the feeling of Fenris' hand rubbing his stomach and turning him gently over to lay on his back, but not quite. The latter came complete with a flushed, wickedly satisfied elf peering down at him with a small, hungry smile curling his lips, so it wasn't truly a fair comparison.

Then Fenris shifted purposefully, taking hold of Sebastian's hip with one hand, and his cock with the other, which signalled barely an instant of warning before he was sucking the tip of Sebastian's erection into the scorching depths of his mouth.

"Fuck!" Heat and moisture, pressure and the firm lick of a tongue on that marvellous patch of flesh just below his head, and fuck—

His mind abandoned him, leaving his crotch in full control of all his movements. That was his only excuse for what happened next.

"No, stop—" Humming in surprise, Fenris drew back instantly, but Sebastian flailed with clumsy desperation before the concerned questions could begin, stretching to reach under the mound of pillows piled against the headboard. "It's not... Bollocks, just wait."

When his fingers finally made contact with the smooth, polished wood, Sebastian laughed victoriously, then looked down to find Fenris watching him with a shuttered, careful expression hardening his face to granite. Panic sliced cold through Sebastian's chest, and he quickly sat up, sliding one hand into Fenris' hair and gently tugging the elf up for a peck on the lips.

"Inside your gorgeous mouth," he said quietly, pressing another brief kiss against the twin lines that marked Fenris' chin and watching flinty green eyes gradually soften. "May be the greatest paradise in Thedas, but I am a terribly greedy man." Taking Fenris by the hand, Sebastian laid the wooden phallus in his palm, smirking when Fenris' gaze darted down towards it with curious interest.

After a moment, Fenris' fingers curled around the false cock, and his chuckle sounded darkly amused. "Terribly greedy, yes, but luckily I am feeling generous."

A push against his chest had Sebastian flopping back onto the mattress, toes curling into the quilts in anticipation. Raising himself on his elbows for the moment, eager to watch while he still had the fortitude to do so, he shoved a pillow under his own hips as Fenris carefully studied the thick, mahogany cock. Finally, Fenris glanced up at him, one dark brow quirked questioningly.

"Is this clean?" Whether he meant clean at the moment, or never used by anyone but Sebastian, the answer was the same, and Sebastian nodded quickly. "Good."

Then Fenris slid the wooden cock brusquely into his own mouth, and Sebastian could only make some inarticulate, choking sound at the sight. Andraste's grace, those lips, already full and reddened and now stretched around a breadth of mahogany while Fenris stared right at him, fucking his mouth with quick, efficient thrusts.

Sebastian made the noise again, half-way between a moan and a whimper, when Fenris pulled the cock free a moment later, and the thread of spit that trailed from that slick wooden head to that sinfully beautiful mouth was nearly too much to bear.

"Greedy," Fenris said roughly, bending towards Sebastian's cock without delay, and blessed Andraste, mercy. "Insatiable."

He licked a broad stripe up the underside of Sebastian's erection, and at the same moment pressed the head of the wooden cock against his loosened hole, and Sebastian fought very hard to keep his back from bowing. Fenris swallowed him down gradually, taking in his cock at the precise pace he was pressing the wood into his arse, and it was more than enough to make Sebastian pant harshly, feeling the world narrow around him to this room, this bed, this elf with the wicked gleam in his sharp eyes.

"More," he groaned, bearing down on the mahogany— the sensation of unyielding fullness was incredible, and it was more polite that thrusting up into that scorching mouth. "Maker, more… Everything—" The brush of Fenris' knuckles against his arse as the wooden cock bottomed out made him shiver, clenching around the impossibly hard length as Fenris dropped his head a bit farther, then pulled up to suckle and lap at Sebastian's prick, wrapping his hand around the base.

In and out, moving together and then off tempo as Fenris played him, slow and agonizing at first, until Sebastian was begging, head thrashing against the quilts. Then faster, harder, with Fenris' wrist snapping, and a cacophony of sweet, wet noises filling the air like the most erotic song imaginable…

He managed to rasp out a warning before he came, but just barely, and Fenris did nothing but hum in acknowledgement and redouble his efforts. For an instant, the room blurred, and Sebastian felt heat jolting down his spine— molten, white-hot. It pooled in his tightening balls for scarcely a heartbeat before the dam burst, and he was coming so hard his ears rang, high and bell-like compared to the guttural shout that rumbled up from his soul.

They'd managed some cursory cleanup before giving into exhaustion, which meant Sebastian awoke without too much lingering tackiness clinging to his skin, but with every muscle in his body aching to some degree or another. It was a grand feeling, especially with a warm, handsome elf curled up against his side, one long arm slung over Sebastian's chest and steady, slow breaths tickling across his collarbone.

Regardless of comfort, Sebastian was still a bit skittish after the last time he'd woken up in bed with Fenris, and the… unpleasantness that had followed. Worry began to claw like a furious beast, scrabbling discomfort in his gut, but then Fenris was turning his head, propping his chin against the springy swath of Sebastian's chest hair and looking altogether awake and aware.

Stamina draught.

If it wasn't for the cramps and the risk of apoplexy, Sebastian would have started buying bottles of the stuff by the crate load.

"Hello," Fenris said very quietly, then reached up to flick a gnarled lock of Sebastian's hair away from his face. The brush of callused fingertips against his cheek made Sebastian shiver, his own hand tightening its grip on Fenris' bare hip.

He… didn't appear to be headed for the door in a fit of pique. At least not so immediately as last time.

"Hello yourself." Catching hold of those friendly fingers, Sebastian couldn't help but kiss them, softly on each pad. Fenris allowed it, though his cheeks were tinged ever so faintly pink when Sebastian was done. "Are you…" Don't ask, you idiot, just leave it be."Are you all right?"

To his great credit, and Sebastian's surprise, Fenris did not deflect the rather indelicate inquiry. Letting their fingers tangle together loosely, his steady gaze held, unblinking. "I am not going anywhere, Sebastian. If… if you'll have me, I will stay."

If you'll have me.

This would not be an easy thing; Sebastian was under no illusions about that. Fenris would likely always be a grumpy, touchy man, and Sebastian would likely always be insufferable in a great many other ways. This would not be easy, or simple.

He'd run from difficulties before, time and time and time again.

If you'll have me, I will stay.

It took a moment to be absolutely certain his voice wouldn't crack, but he managed, calling up a rakish grin. "I'm afraid you're stuck with me now, my dear nursie. Like a burr in sheep's wool."

Fenris snorted in response, a hoarse hint of a laugh, and leaned up to claim a firm, uncomplicated sort of kiss. "Or a bad rash," he rumbled shortly thereafter, their breaths mingling warmly, and Sebastian allowed himself a ridiculous, faintly hysterical giggle that was swallowed up in another kiss, then another. One arm curled tighter around Fenris' back, drawing the other man closer.

Kirkwall was as good as any other place to linger for a time, until they had a better notion. There were a few mercenary companies in the city, and any one of them would be eager to employ a warrior of Fenris' caliber. As for Sebastian, well, Kirkwall was a fine town for a bit of grifting, big and seedy enough to make some decent coin without getting hanged for it. There were always a few decent games of cards or dice going on in the Hanged Man, and that dwarf, Serah Tethras, could often be convinced to share a few rumours of well-paying jobs, for the right cut.

It wasn't riding off into the sunset together, as he'd suggested cheekily so very long ago, but the reality of a soft bed and a naked, pliant elf was actually much better. Hours bouncing around on a saddle after a long buggering wasn't nearly as romantic as the tales made it out to be.

Fenris' hand holding his, their fingers wound together like vines and resting over Sebastian's thudding heart... That was a kind of peace he'd never imagined he'd find, and the kind of blessing he'd never imagined he'd deserve.

Sebastian smiled, feeling Fenris squeeze his hand.

END

Love does not consist of gazing at each other, but in looking outward together in the same direction — Antoine de Saint-Exupéry