Written for a kmeme prompt: "This anon is a major snot monster right now. Would like to see a sick Anders being taken care of by Nate. A fem!Orlesian Warden notices her best mage overcome by sickness, and sets Nate of all people to make sure he gets better...I want miserable!Snarky!Anders and worried!Nate, and then super cookies if they talk themselves into a relationship, and a bajillion internet points if there is sexings after poor Anders is all better...and if you have Anders getting surly at all the chicken soup he's being forced to eat, this anon will love you forever.

oOoOo

Warden-Commander Eloise Caron strolled through the Keep humming to herself. She knew she shouldn't be happy that Anders was sick, but this might wind up being the opportunity she had been looking for. For over a month now she had been trying to get Anders and Nathaniel together, but with no luck. She had watched the two men advance from grudging allies to close friends, and their affection for each other was obvious—at least to her.

But, apparently it wasn't obvious to them. Or at least not to Nathaniel. She was quite certain that Anders had feelings for the brooding rogue, but she couldn't get him to admit it. She had an idea that Anders thought Nathaniel was out of his league. For all of Anders' cockiness and bravado, there was a part of him that seemed…unsure of himself. His show of self-confidence seemed to her to be just that: a show.

Nathaniel, on the other hand, seemed completely unaware of his feelings for the mage. Whether it was because Anders was a man, or some other reason, she wasn't sure. Her years of training as a bard had honed her perception, however. And the fact that Nate's face brightened whenever Anders entered the room was not lost on her. Nor did she fail to notice that Anders seemed to be the only person able to make the ever-serious rogue laugh.

What the two men needed was some time alone. The last few months had been chaotic, to say the very least. Running around the countryside fighting hordes of darkspawn and killing deranged broodmothers had not exactly given them time to bond. Anders' illness would be the perfect excuse for throwing the two of them together.

She finally located the rogue practicing his archery in the training yard. "Nathaniel," she strode determinedly up to him, "I need your help."

Nathaniel straightened. "Of course, Commander. What can I do for you?"

"Anders has taken ill. I was hoping you could check in on him, help him."

Nate raised an eyebrow questioningly. "You want me to…take care of Anders?"

"Oui. He has never been sick before apparently," her face darkened slightly, " and he is not taking it well, to say the least."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you noticed he was not at breakfast?" She hid a smile when Nathaniel nodded. Of course he noticed. "I found him in his room looking absolutely miserable, poor thing. When he told me what was wrong I tried to cheer him up, tell him everyone gets sick and that it is no big thing," she frowned, "he said something, I did not recognize the phrase, but I am sure it was not nice. Then he threw a pillow at me and told me to get out!"

Nathaniel sighed. "What makes you think I would fare any better?"

She smiled. "Because you have a remarkable amount of patience."

"But I—"

She cut him off mid-protest. "He is our best healer, Nathaniel, it is in everyone's interest that he gets well as soon as possible." She decided to play her ace in the hole. "He is in his room all alone," she frowned sadly, " with no one to keep him company, and nothing to do. And what would happen if he were to get worse, hmm? If no one were there to watch over him it could be days before we realized it."

Nathaniel's brow furrowed in concern. "Is he truly doing that poorly?"

She shrugged. "Who can say? As I said, he has never been sick before. He may be more…susceptible to illness, than we would be."

"Very well Commander, I'll look in on him."

Eloise beamed. "Good! I am relieving you of your duties until Anders recovers. I expect you to do everything you can to help him get better." She waited until he was walking away. "In fact, it would probably be best for you to stay with him round the clock. I will have the Seneschal order a cot be put into his room for you."

Nathaniel paused, but to his credit he didn't protest. His dedication to his duty, and his concern for the mage, would be enough to make sure he followed her orders to the letter.

oOoOo

Nathaniel headed up to the second floor. Though he knew that his Commander had a tendency to over-exaggerate, it would not do to disobey her orders. Plus if Anders truly was sick…well, the Commander was right about that too: they needed their healer.

Reaching Anders' room, he knocked on the door. He heard a grunt, a muffled "Go away!" and then the sound of something soft thumping against the door. He tried the handle: locked.

He had anticipated this however, and had brought his set of lock picks with him. A few deft twists and he was opening the door. The room inside was filled with gloom, heavy curtains drawn across the window blocked out the morning sunlight.

The pile of covers on top of the bed moved slightly, and a cracked voice issued from them: "You know, I could have sworn I locked that door."

Nathaniel took a few steps into the room, walking around the pillow that had been tossed at the door. "The Commander asked me to look in on you, she said you were sick." And being an ass, he refrained from saying.

When Anders didn't respond Nathaniel sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled back a corner of the blankets. Anders' face was pale, with red splotches on his nose and cheeks. His sweat-dampened hair was plastered to his head and he looked completely miserable.

"Go away," he moaned, "let me die in peace." He made a half-hearted attempt to pull the covers back over his head.

"You're not dying, Mage," Nathaniel tsked, "but you certainly don't look well."

"I do believe that is the stupidest thing you have ever said," Anders grumped, "and that's saying a lot. You've said a lot of stupid things in the past."

Nathaniel chose to ignore this. Anders had a sharp tongue when he was feeling perfectly healthy, it was bound to be worse when he was sick. "What's wrong?" he asked instead.

"With the world in general? Or were you wondering about something more specific."

I really need to find out what I did to upset the Commander, to make her do this to me, Nathaniel thought to himself. Out loud he said, "I meant, what hurts?"

Anders gave a loud sigh. "Well, for starters, my head hurts. My throat hurts, all of my joints hurt, even my eyeballs hurt. There are copious amounts of snot constantly leaking out of my nose—" his words were broken up by a fit of coughing, "—oh yes, and I seem to have a bit of a cough. Other than that, I feel perfectly fine."

Nathaniel resisted the urge to smack his head against the bedpost. He had a strong feeling that he was going to strangle Anders long before the mage recovered from his illness.

He started to say something comforting, but was broken off by a knock at the door. Opening it, he saw two of the Keep's stewards carrying something large and oblong between them.

"Seneschal Varel told us to bring this up, ser." One of the boys said cheerfully.

Nathaniel stared at the cot dumbly. "Maker's breath, I thought she was joking."

Anders peered out from the covers, frowning. "What's going on? Is the Commander making my room into an inn or something?"

Nathaniel shook his head as the stewards set up the cot. "It seems that we're going to be roommates until you recover."

Anders huffed. "Well if that's not an incentive to get better, I don't know what is." He frowned at the rogue. "And don't even think about taking my pillows."

Nathaniel rolled his eyes. There was not a soul alive in all of Thedas that would have the patience to put up with a sick Anders. He was just going to have to make the best of it, and pray that the purported Grey Warden stamina would help the mage recover quickly.

Anders spent most of the day alternating between long bouts of coughing and an endless stream of complaints: his pillows were too hard—Nathaniel fetched the ones from his own room; the room was too cold—Nathaniel lit a fire in the hearth; the servants outside the door were making too much noise—Nathaniel, to his embarrassment, went and asked the servants to please whisper and 'not stomp around so much' as Anders put it.

After several hours of this, Nate was ready for a break. He ventured down to the kitchens to fetch Anders something to eat. After scarfing down some leftover lamb stew himself, he returned to the room with a tray bearing a bowl of soup and a glass of milk. He was pleased with himself for having navigated two flights of stairs without spilling anything.

Anders was propped up in bed and looked at Nate skeptically when he entered the room. "What's that?" he asked suspiciously.

"Chicken soup," Nathaniel replied, "it's good for you."

Anders scowled. "I'm not hungry. And even if I was hungry, it wouldn't be for chicken soup." He snorted. "A nice steak would do, maybe with some potatoes."

Nathaniel sighed. "What you want isn't really important. What you're getting is chicken soup." He set the tray down in Anders' lap.

"I'm sick, you know," Anders pouted, "you're supposed to be nice to me."

"I am being nice, Mage," Nathaniel growled, "would you rather I be mean?"

Anders glared at the rogue and shook his head.

"Then eat."

Anders grumbled but did as he was told, shooting Nathaniel dirty looks with each spoonful of soup that he ate.

At last he set the spoon down in the empty bowl. "There, I've eaten. Are you satisfied."

Nate smiled mirthlessly. "Delighted." He picked the tray up and set it outside the door for the servants to collect. "Why don't you try and get some sleep? It'll probably do you good." And give me some peace as well.

"I'm not tired." Anders pouted.

Nathaniel gritted his teeth. "Then just lie still." He picked up the whetstone he had collected from his room earlier and began sharpening one of his daggers.

"Tell me a story." Anders said muzzily, burrowing down into the covers once more.

Nathaniel looked up from his work. "I beg your pardon?"

"Look," Anders grumped, "I can't kill darkspawn, I can't shoot lightning at anyone, I can't even get out of bed without falling over. The least you can do is entertain me."

"I don't know any stories," Nathaniel said tiredly.

Anders raised an eyebrow at that. "Oh, come on. Are you telling me no one ever told you bedtime stories?"

"Well, my father used to tell me stories about the Blackmarsh."

"He told you stories about the Blackmarsh before bed? Hah, the nightmares Grey Wardens have are probably nothing compared to the ones you must have had as a child."

Nathaniel glared at him. "Do you want me to tell you the story or not?"

"Fine, fine," Anders hugged one of his pillows to his chest, "go ahead."

Nate got up from the couch near the fire and crossed the room , seating himself in a chair near the bed.

"Well, they say the marsh was inhabited once, until one day…everyone disappeared. My father said evil magic killed everyone there. This was just before the rebellion—a great mystery at the time."

He paused in his storytelling to look over at Anders. He smiled to himself when he saw that the mage was fast asleep. Standing, he pulled the covers tighter around Anders' sleeping frame before going back to his earlier work.

oOoOo

Anders spent most of the next day sleeping, save the two times that Nate woke him up to eat. Though he still grumbled about the chicken soup at least he wasn't glaring anymore. Nathaniel did what he could to keep busy: oiling his leathers until they glistened, practicing his lock picking skills, and tidying up the room—apparently keeping his room clean was not Anders' strong point.

He awoke sometime in the night to the sound of something thrashing about. Instantly alert, he sprang from his cot, looking for signs of an intruder. What he saw was almost as alarming. Anders was in bed, moaning softly and attempting to kick the covers off.

Nathaniel perched on the edge of the bed. "What's wrong?" he asked.

"Too hot," Anders panted, "Maker, it's like an oven in here."

Nate pressed the inside of his wrist against Anders' forehead, his face creased with worry. "You're burning up." He stood up, "I'll be right back."

He was stopped by Anders' weak grip on his forearm. "Don't leave, please?"

Nathaniel smiled gently, "I'll be right back, I promise."

He returned a few minutes later with a bowl of water and a cloth. Setting the bowl on the table near the bed, he dipped the cloth in the water and then loosely wrung it out.

Anders' eyes opened at the feeling of cool water against his skin, his face softening as Nathaniel continued sponging his face with the wet cloth. Anders' lips curved into a small smile. "You know, I've had fantasies about you bathing me before, but we were always naked in them."

Nate's hand faltered a little at that statement, then shook his head. Anders was most likely delirious from the fever, there was no telling who he thought Nate was. He continued running the cloth over Anders' skin, bathing his face and arms.

Anders' breathing finally slowed, and he was soon fast asleep again. Smiling softly Nathaniel reached out and brushed a lock of the mage's damp hair behind his ear. His breath caught as Anders unconsciously leaned into his touch.

He brushed his thumb over Anders' cheek, tracing along his jaw line. Suddenly he realized what he was doing and snatched his hand back. Maker's breath, what was wrong with him? This was Anders, not the daughter of one of the banns or that Cousland girl he had been attracted to when he was younger.

Attracted? Where did that come from? He ran a hand over his eyes. Tired. He was just tired, that was all. He flopped back onto the cot, willing sleep to claim him. But it was a long time in coming.

oOoOo

Anders' fever went down, but didn't break completely. He was doing just well enough to start getting bored with being cooped up in bed for so many days, and was returning to his earlier petulance. Nathaniel did his best to distract him with conversation, and found he was actually enjoying himself.

The two men weren't strangers by any means. They had known each other for months, fought together—even saved each other's lives more than once. But sitting here with Anders, talking about anything and everything, showed Nate how little he really knew about the other man.

Nate was reclining in the chair near the bed. "So, were you really in solitary confinement for a year?"

Anders smiled wryly. "Unfortunately, yes." He was half-sitting up in bed with several pillows propped behind his back. "It was my sixth escape attempt, I think they were running out of ideas by then."

Nathaniel shook his head in disbelief. "Maker, that's horrible. I think I would have gone mad if I had been in your place."

"Oh, I came close, believe me. There's only so much fun to be had staring at the walls," he chuckled, "it got boring after the first couple of months. Luckily I had Mister Wiggums."

Nathaniel raised an eyebrow. "Mister…"

"Wiggums. My cat. Well, not my cat, just a cat," Anders explained, "he was great company. Well, until he turned into a rage demon that is."

"How does a cat become a rage demon?" Nate asked curiously.

Anders blew his nose on one of the many handkerchiefs Nate had brought him the day before. "You know, I always wondered that myself. Maybe all that magic lying around the tower rubbed off on him." He sighed. "Ah well, at least he went down fighting."

Nathaniel looked around the room, only just remembering. "Speaking of cats, where is yours?"

Anders' mouth curved into a devilish grin. "What cat would that be?"

"You have more than one?" Nate raised an eyebrow.

"Nope, just the one." Anders pretended to be thinking. "What was his name again?"

Nathaniel sighed, exasperated. "I do believe you know the name of your own cat."

Anders grinned widely. "True, I just want you to say his name."

Nate glared. "I am not going to say his name, Mage."

"Oh, come on." Anders laughed. "Say it! Please?" he gave a small pout, which Nathaniel couldn't help but think was kind of endearing.

He mumbled something incoherent even to himself.

Anders cupped an ear. "Sorry. What was that again?"

Nate gritted his teeth. "I said, his name is Ser Pounce-a-lot."

Anders beamed. "There! Was that so hard?"

Nate couldn't help but laugh. "I still say that name's ridiculous. Anyway, you didn't answer my question—where is it?"

"He is with Sigrun. I didn't want him getting sick, now did I?"

Nathaniel raised an eyebrow at that. "I don't think cats can get human illnesses. Besides, you don't seem to be worried that I might get sick."

"I like him better than you," Anders said matter-of-factly, "he doesn't talk back."

"Do you, now?" Nate smirked. "Well, perhaps you can teach him to carry chicken soup up two flights of stairs."

Anders commiserated. "Alright, alright. I don't like him better than you. But I stand by my comment about him not talking back." He met Nathaniel's gaze briefly before dropping it almost shyly. "Though I can't exactly complain about the company."

Nathaniel felt something warm inside him. He smiled. "I'm glad."

oOoOo

Nate lay in bed, unable to sleep. It had been five days since Anders had fallen sick, and the more time that he spent in Anders' company the more confused he became. Something had changed between them, but he wasn't sure what. Maybe it was just that he was beginning, for the first time, to see Anders as a person rather than just a mage. Like most of the noble families of Ferelden, the Howes were devout Andrastians. Mages were tolerated, but not exactly welcomed—too dangerous.

Or maybe it was just the fact that every time he tried to sleep, visions of Anders naked swam through his mind. Andraste's ass! It wasn't that he saw anything wrong with two men being…well, intimate. It was just that the idea of being with another man himself had never occurred to him. No man had ever stirred such desires in him before. To be honest, no one had stirred such desires in him before. But Anders did.

The truth was, his feelings for Anders didn't seem to be new. It was more like he was finally becoming conscious of something that had been there all along. He remembered when they had traveled to Kal'Hirol. Anders had seemed embarrassed when he confessed his claustrophobia. Nate had made a point to antagonize the mage their entire trip underground, just to keep his mind off of the enclosed spaces they were walking in.

And how many times had he changed his tactics in a battle to make sure that Anders was covered? Of course, there were practical reasons for doing so: if their healer fell they were quite likely done for. But it wasn't fear of losing their healer that would prompt Nate to provoke the darkspawn into attacking him rather than the mage. It was the idea that they were attacking Anders. Nate had felt a need to protect him, to keep him safe.

It was why he was here playing nursemaid to an irritable, whiny, sharp-tongued mage. Because he wanted to keep Anders safe. That thought was like a revelation to Nathaniel. He wanted Anders. As more than a comrade, more than a friend—he truly cared about the man, more than he'd cared about anyone in a long, long time.

The main question was how did Anders feel about him? He was certain that Anders at least considered him a friend, but as for more than that…? The easiest way to find out for certain, of course, would be to ask the man outright, but Nathaniel had come to value their friendship and he had no wish to ruin it. If the mage didn't feel the same way, Nathaniel was certain that it would damage the relationship they did have. Perhaps it was best for him to just put aside his feelings, hard as that might be.

oOoOo

Over the next few days Nathaniel searched for excuses to avoid Anders. Oghren had just returned from Denerim with a handful of new recruits, and the Commander needed help with training them. Eloise had given him a sharp look the first time she found him in the training yard, but he assured her that Anders was getting better and that he was checking on the mage frequently. She was slightly mollified, but adamant that he not spend too much time away from Anders' sickbed.

Try as he might to distract himself, it seemed that all his waking thoughts were of Anders. He found himself wondering how those soft lips would feel against his, and if they would taste like the lyrium he drank to replenish his mana. Wondered what it would feel like to wrap his arms around Anders and hold him tight. And of course, how it would feel to have the mage writhing beneath him, and what kinds of noises of pleasure he would make.

After two days of avoiding him as much as possible, Anders seemed to wise up to what was happening. He scowled slightly when Nate brought him his usual dinner. "I swear, when I get better I am never eating another bowl of chicken soup again." He ate a few bites before seeming to notice that Nate was standing near the doorway, barely inside the room.

"So, are you going to tell me what's wrong?"

Nate was startled from his thoughts. "What makes you think anything's wrong?"

Anders sighed and put the bowl of soup on the nearby table. "Other than the fact that you've been avoiding me?" He smiled gently at Nate. "I know I haven't been the best patient. Sorry about that."

Nate sighed and advanced further into the room, perching on the edge of the bed. "No, it's—it's not that," he chuckled, "not that I'm disagreeing with you."

Anders mock-scowled and swatted at him. "Hey! You could at least lie."

Nathaniel smirked, "Sorry." He shifted uncomfortably. He knew he had to tell Anders, even if it hurt their friendship. After all, if he kept acting like this their friendship would be ruined anyway. He just wasn't sure how to go about it.

He rubbed the back of his neck and looked away, avoiding Anders' stare. "I…" he sighed, "I suppose I should explain myself."

Anders' finger brushed against the back of his hand. "Nate," he said kindly, "whatever's wrong, you can tell me. We're friends after all."

He smiled. "We are friends, aren't we." It was a statement rather than a question, but he could see Anders nod his head out of the corner of his eye. He took a deep breath and decided to just take the plunge. "What if…what if I said I didn't want to be friends?"

He heard Anders' sharp intake of breath, and realized what he had said. "That's—I didn't mean it like that." he said quickly, "Andraste's ass…I'm no good at these things." He paused, then took a deep breath. "What I meant was, what if I—Maker—what if I wanted to be more than friends?"

When Anders said nothing his reserve broke, and everything came spilling out. "It's just…we've gotten to know each other quite a bit lately, and…well, I've come to realize that I have feelings for you," he still couldn't meet the mage's gaze, "I care about you Anders. A great deal. I want to be more than friends, I want to have—I want to be with you," he paused again, "and I guess what I'd like to know is if maybe that's something you might want too." He finally found the courage to raise his eyes and look at Anders.

What he saw took his breath away. Anders was wearing the most beautiful smile he had ever seen. Anders actually started laughing. "Maker, Nate, of course I want that!"

Nathaniel stared open-mouthed. "What do you mean 'of course'?" Why didn't you say anything."

Anders smiled almost shyly—an unusual expression for the mage, to be sure. "Well, because you're…you." He went on to explain, "You're handsome, and honorable, and kind and…noble," his face broke into a wide grin, "and you have an unbelievable amount of patience."

Nate chuckled at that.

"And even though I'm incredibly popular amongst other mages," his smile faltered a bit, "there aren't a lot of non-mages that are interested in apostates."

Nate took up Anders' hand and squeezed it gently. "You're not an apostate, you're a Grey Warden. Besides, I wouldn't care even if you were an apostate."

Anders smiled softly. "Really?" Nate nodded. "Wow, because most people have a hard time getting over that whole 'stormed-the-Golden-City-brought-doom-on-mankind' thing that happened."

Nate laughed. "I can hardly blame you for something that happened a thousand years ago, I doubt you were directly involved."

Anders laughed at that. "True. Bust most people see mages and—"

"I don't care, Anders." Nathaniel smiled at him. "I won't say that I don't care that you're a mage, because I do." Seeing Anders' frown he continued, "Being a mage is part of who you are, and I like who you are," he squeezed Anders' hand again. "very much."

Anders' smile was more confident. "I'm glad."

"So...does that mean you want to…" Nate wasn't sure how to put it in words, "give this a try?"

Anders smiled softly and nodded. "Yeah, I think I do."

Nate smiled and leaned in closer to Anders. In response, Anders scrunched down and pulled the covers up over his mouth. "What are you doing?"

Nate smirked. "Well…I was planning on kissing you."

Anders shook his head. "You can't. You'll get sick."

Nate rolled his eyes. "I'll risk it." He leaned in close once again.

This time he was stopped by Anders' hand pressed against his chest. "Uh-uh, if I try to carry chicken soup upstairs, I'll spill it everywhere."

Nate laughed at that. "Fine, but when you're well, we're going to celebrate." He winked slyly.

Anders grinned. "Agreed."

oOoOo

A few more days passed, with Anders quickly getting better. Nathaniel wondered if Anders' rapid recovery had anything to do with the promise they had made. He rather hoped it did.

As Anders was getting better Nathaniel had been spending more time helping the Commander. She wanted to put the new recruits through the Joining as soon as possible. After all, she said, there was no point in training them thoroughly if they weren't going to survive. A grim thought, but true.

She had set the Joining for today, and Nathaniel was preparing to meet up with her in the throne room where the ceremony would take place. He was just leaving his room when he saw the object of his frequent thoughts approaching him.

"Anders," he was surprised to see the mage, "what are you doing out of bed?"

Anders was beaming. "I'm all better!" Nate looked at him skeptically. "Look! No runny nose, no coughing," he placed Nate's hand on his forehead, "and no fever.

"So…" Anders smiled coyly, "do you want to…?"

Nate sighed, frustrated. Of all the times for Anders to get better. "I can't. The Commander needs my help this morning."

Anders shook his head, grinning. "No she doesn't. She said to tell you that you have the day off."

Nathaniel raised an eyebrow. "Did she, now?"

Anders nodded, still smiling.

Nathaniel needed no further invitation. He grabbed Anders' hand and pulled him into the bedroom. After locking the door behind them he drew the mage into his arms, brushing their lips together in a kiss that soon became heated.

Anders began working on the ties on his robes, undoing them hastily. Nate caught up his hands. "Why in such a hurry?" he grinned.

"Sorry," Anders replied sheepishly, "Old habits."

Nate began kissing his neck. "Mmm, quick trysts in the corners, right?" He moved his lips to Anders' ear. "I want it to be different with us."

Anders smiled and kissed him gently. "It is," he whispered, the words brushing against Nathaniel's lips.

Releasing Anders' hands, Nate set about finishing what the mage had started. All ties undone, he slowly slid the robes off of Anders' shoulders, kissing the exposed flesh. Robes fully removed, Nate ran his hands along Anders' body—his fingers roaming over chest, hips and backside. The moans issuing from Anders' mouth were music to Nate's ears.

Anders returned the favor, running his hands up Nate's chest before tugging his linen shirt off. Deft fingers made quick work of the laces on his leather breeches, and they soon joined his shirt on the floor, along with their smallclothes. Nate pulled him into another slow, heady kiss, pressing their bodies together. Slowly he walked Anders backward until they reached the bed, lips parting only long enough for them to both climb onto it.

They were situated so they were both kneeling facing each other, hands cupping each other's faces and lips pressed together. Their tongues darted against each other, tasting each other, while Anders ran his fingers down Nathaniel's body, finally coming to rest on his stiffened length. Nate gasped when Anders began to slowly stroke him.

The feeling of Anders' hand stroking him reminded Nathaniel that he was entering unknown territory. He was by no means a virgin, but he had never lain with a man before. He drew back from the mage slightly. "Anders, I don't…I've never…"

Anders seemed to understand what he was saying. He placed a quick kiss on Nate's lips. "In my robes," he murmured quietly, "there's a bottle of oil in the pocket."

Nate quickly retrieved the bottle and was once more in Anders' arms, the oil placed on the bed next to them. Anders laid back on the bed, knees crooked. He reached up for Nate who stretched out over him, kissing him once again.

Taking up the vial Anders drizzled some of the oil onto Nate's fingers. He guided Nate's hand down to his entrance. "You'll need to stretch me, ready me," he said breathily. Following Anders' guidance Nate gently pressed one finger inside. He thrust in and out slowly for a few minutes, before Anders indicated he should add another finger.

With the aid of Anders' rocking hips Nate pressed deeper inside until his fingers brushed up against a soft bump. Anders cried out and bucked his hips, encouraging Nate to rub the spot again and again.

Anders was gasping now, soft whimpers issuing from his lips. He took up the oil once again and used it to coat Nate's erection. He pulled Nate towards him and once again guided him to where he needed to be. Nate pressed in slowly, not wanting to hurt his lover. When he was fully seated inside he paused, bending down to kiss Anders before slowly pulling out again.

He soon found an easy rhythm, taking his cues from Anders' moans of pleasure. The feeling of the tight heat around him was exquisite. Anders drew his legs up so they were pressed against his body, changing their position enough so that Nate was brushing against that spot inside of him.

"Maker, Nate," Anders moaned, "Oh, that feels so good." Nate's pace quickened as he felt his release draw near. He saw Anders reach for himself and he smiled as he batted the mage's hand away. He closed his own hand over Anders' length, stroking it in time with his thrusts.

Anders cried out Nate's name as he climaxed and Nate followed almost immediately after, groaning loudly. Nate fought for breath as his eyes met Anders'. He bent down and kissed the mage deeply until both men were breathless.

He pulled out slowly before collapsing on his back, Anders turning over so that his head was resting on Nate's chest. Anders' words from earlier came back to him. "So," he asked, wrapping his arms around Anders, "how exactly did you talk the Commander into letting me out of my duties today?"

Anders' voice was sleepy. "Didn't have to. I went downstairs to tell her I was feeling better, and before I even opened my mouth she said 'Tell Nate he has the day off'."

Nate started laughing as realization suddenly hit him.

"What's so funny?" Anders murmured against his neck.

"The Commander," Nate managed between chuckles, "is a very devious woman." His laughter trailed off as he drifted into sleep, Anders tucked securely in his arms.