Anders Fic
TITLE: The Consolation Prize
FANDOM:Dragon Age
CHARACTERS:Anders and Karl
SUMMARY: With the failing of escape attempt number five, Anders needs something to brighten his day...
RATING: R/NC17
NOTES: Currently unbeta-ed.
His wrists and ankles still remember the heaviness of the irons when Anders first sees him. The mage is old enough to be complacent and yet, there is just something about him-a quiet, dignified kind of defiance that shapes his posture as the Templars approach (with Anders himself in tow).
“Behave yourself, mage,” one of them snarls, chucking Anders by the scruff of his robes into the vast book-smelling room. Escape attempt five; utter failure.
“Would’ve considered it, but you didn’t even say please,” Anders mutters dryly, not quite under his breath. The Templars are too sick of him to rile much at his baiting, but the mage at the table? He smiles, and Anders needs something in that moment to make his knees wobble (because it distracts from the sting of another failed escape).
“What have I done to earn such a handsome smile?” Anders stands, brushing off his robes. The Templars have left him and now he has only the stranger for company.
“It’s just… do you truly enjoy baiting the bucket heads so?” his smile overflows with mirth.
“Can you suggest any better pass-times? It’s not as if there’s much else to do in this blighted tower.”
“Fair enough.”
After a moment, the man returns his gaze to his book but does not read, only presumes he looks to be doing so. The corner of Anders’ mouth curves.
“What is it you go by, stranger? Handsome Smile and Ruggedly Good Looking is a of a lengthy title, I think.” The man’s smile bursts at the corners with delighted wrinkles, and the palest breath of color touches his cheeks. Yes, Anders likes this one a lot.
“Karl,” he says, abandoning his play at reading.
“Karl, then. I am Anders.”
“Yes, I know who you are. You’re rather infamous, you know.”
Anders decided the day was not a total loss. Escape would have been grand, but pressing Karl into a dark corner until their sweat ran together? A close second.
It isn’t long before they’re there, either. The pair of them steal away to a quiet nook behind a shelf of dusty books, and stifle the boredom and complacency the tower breeds and breaths with exploratory touches. Karl is warm under the linen and weave of his robes; he’s firm muscle and wiry-soft body hair, and he tastes like after-bath and sweat. Anders licks the side of his neck and nips a line to his collar, enjoying every stifled little noise.
He can feel Karl’s hesitation, and for a moment his mind entertains the reasons that might have birthed it. They are both men, after all. Not everyone was as comfortable with that as Anders. Karl’s silver hair betrays his age and Anders imagines he might be as young as half Karl’s years; perhaps it bothers him. Perhaps it thrills him.
But he doesn’t waste another moment musing; instead Anders runs his hands up and under Karl’s robes, along his sculpted chest. He tells him with uncharted sign language, with touch and with bated breath to his ear, that whatever is causing the hesitation is unfounded. Karl grasps tightly at Anders’ hips and pulls their bodies together, hard. They gasp against each other’s mouths and bask in the teasing friction. Thick thighs intertwine and grind between while their hands grab, pull, and squeeze. Anders bites the crook where Karl’s shoulder meets his neck, and leaves a pale pink mark. Yes, he decides he likes that, and soothes the spot with his tongue (soft wet circles and long warm strokes).
Karl does not whine like a woman; he hisses and grunts at the back of his throat like a man, and the shaft of his sex begins to stiffen and stand against Anders’ leg. Anders is briefly intimidated by the size and thickness of him, and dares a tentative touch with the pads of his fingers.
“Well, The Maker has certainly blessed one of us,” he scoffs, tracing the head (around and around and around) through the fabric of Karl’s robes. The man’s silver head is lolled back, his mouth open and gasping. His hips buck once, and twice before his hand finds Anders’ wrist and grabs.
“Touch it,” came the reverent demand. Anders was quick to oblige, thrilled by the man’s intense need of him. His fingers wormed through the right slips and holes into the fabric until finally it was flesh on warm flesh. Anders worked within the tight confines of the man’s clothing, stroking with as much fluidity as he could manage. His own dick is stiff for the sound of Karl gasping that way, soft and hemmed in tempered growls.
But it doesn’t take Karl long to notice. He paws clumsily at Anders through his clothing, even whilst stumbling towards his own climax. He’s managed to give Anders some dull but eager friction when he finally reaches his limit, and Anders’ toes curl at the feel of that slick hot bliss leaking down his palm.
Karl barely sucks down two breaths before his attention rolls back into focus, sharp on Anders licking the seed from his palm. Strong thick knuckled hands close on Anders’ shoulders as Karl swaps their positions, pressing Anders into the wall. Before the younger mage can utter a word Karl is on his knees, digging through the fabrics of Anders’ clothes and fishing out his eager dick.
“Mm… feeling a little daring are we?” he still manages to jest. Karl pauses and for a moment Anders’ fears he may have broken the spell; the elder mage looks at him, drinks him in through his eyes. Then, keeping his gaze, Karl leans in and devours Anders’ cock. Fingers bite hard at Karl’s scalp as he sucks and swallows and wriggles his tongue, speeding Anders towards his own bone melting release. If it had to be fast (and it did) then it would be fan-fucking-tastic (and it was).
Anders barely breaths when he falls hard into his own personal oblivion, hauling Karl’s mouth into him with short brutal yanks of his hair. He rides the man’s willing tongue through each incinerating wave of pleasure, and has no idea how he’s still standing by the end of it.
Karl, good man that he is, tucks Anders back into his robes and stands, steadying him against the wall.
“You alright, there?”
“I… knew that I liked you.”
Karl barks a soft affectionate laugh.
“Yes… well perhaps now you can think of a better pass time that baiting bucket heads.”
“Yes… I suppose I can. Though can’t I do both? What good is a cake if you can’t eat it, too?”
“You… are bloody insatiable,” but Karl is smiling in a way that says he’s heavily in like with Anders. Which is convenient, because Anders supposes he’s quite in like with Karl, too.
“That I am my good friend, that I am.”
FANDOM:Dragon Age
CHARACTERS:Anders and Karl
SUMMARY: With the failing of escape attempt number five, Anders needs something to brighten his day...
RATING: R/NC17
NOTES: Currently unbeta-ed.
His wrists and ankles still remember the heaviness of the irons when Anders first sees him. The mage is old enough to be complacent and yet, there is just something about him-a quiet, dignified kind of defiance that shapes his posture as the Templars approach (with Anders himself in tow).
“Behave yourself, mage,” one of them snarls, chucking Anders by the scruff of his robes into the vast book-smelling room. Escape attempt five; utter failure.
“Would’ve considered it, but you didn’t even say please,” Anders mutters dryly, not quite under his breath. The Templars are too sick of him to rile much at his baiting, but the mage at the table? He smiles, and Anders needs something in that moment to make his knees wobble (because it distracts from the sting of another failed escape).
“What have I done to earn such a handsome smile?” Anders stands, brushing off his robes. The Templars have left him and now he has only the stranger for company.
“It’s just… do you truly enjoy baiting the bucket heads so?” his smile overflows with mirth.
“Can you suggest any better pass-times? It’s not as if there’s much else to do in this blighted tower.”
“Fair enough.”
After a moment, the man returns his gaze to his book but does not read, only presumes he looks to be doing so. The corner of Anders’ mouth curves.
“What is it you go by, stranger? Handsome Smile and Ruggedly Good Looking is a of a lengthy title, I think.” The man’s smile bursts at the corners with delighted wrinkles, and the palest breath of color touches his cheeks. Yes, Anders likes this one a lot.
“Karl,” he says, abandoning his play at reading.
“Karl, then. I am Anders.”
“Yes, I know who you are. You’re rather infamous, you know.”
Anders decided the day was not a total loss. Escape would have been grand, but pressing Karl into a dark corner until their sweat ran together? A close second.
It isn’t long before they’re there, either. The pair of them steal away to a quiet nook behind a shelf of dusty books, and stifle the boredom and complacency the tower breeds and breaths with exploratory touches. Karl is warm under the linen and weave of his robes; he’s firm muscle and wiry-soft body hair, and he tastes like after-bath and sweat. Anders licks the side of his neck and nips a line to his collar, enjoying every stifled little noise.
He can feel Karl’s hesitation, and for a moment his mind entertains the reasons that might have birthed it. They are both men, after all. Not everyone was as comfortable with that as Anders. Karl’s silver hair betrays his age and Anders imagines he might be as young as half Karl’s years; perhaps it bothers him. Perhaps it thrills him.
But he doesn’t waste another moment musing; instead Anders runs his hands up and under Karl’s robes, along his sculpted chest. He tells him with uncharted sign language, with touch and with bated breath to his ear, that whatever is causing the hesitation is unfounded. Karl grasps tightly at Anders’ hips and pulls their bodies together, hard. They gasp against each other’s mouths and bask in the teasing friction. Thick thighs intertwine and grind between while their hands grab, pull, and squeeze. Anders bites the crook where Karl’s shoulder meets his neck, and leaves a pale pink mark. Yes, he decides he likes that, and soothes the spot with his tongue (soft wet circles and long warm strokes).
Karl does not whine like a woman; he hisses and grunts at the back of his throat like a man, and the shaft of his sex begins to stiffen and stand against Anders’ leg. Anders is briefly intimidated by the size and thickness of him, and dares a tentative touch with the pads of his fingers.
“Well, The Maker has certainly blessed one of us,” he scoffs, tracing the head (around and around and around) through the fabric of Karl’s robes. The man’s silver head is lolled back, his mouth open and gasping. His hips buck once, and twice before his hand finds Anders’ wrist and grabs.
“Touch it,” came the reverent demand. Anders was quick to oblige, thrilled by the man’s intense need of him. His fingers wormed through the right slips and holes into the fabric until finally it was flesh on warm flesh. Anders worked within the tight confines of the man’s clothing, stroking with as much fluidity as he could manage. His own dick is stiff for the sound of Karl gasping that way, soft and hemmed in tempered growls.
But it doesn’t take Karl long to notice. He paws clumsily at Anders through his clothing, even whilst stumbling towards his own climax. He’s managed to give Anders some dull but eager friction when he finally reaches his limit, and Anders’ toes curl at the feel of that slick hot bliss leaking down his palm.
Karl barely sucks down two breaths before his attention rolls back into focus, sharp on Anders licking the seed from his palm. Strong thick knuckled hands close on Anders’ shoulders as Karl swaps their positions, pressing Anders into the wall. Before the younger mage can utter a word Karl is on his knees, digging through the fabrics of Anders’ clothes and fishing out his eager dick.
“Mm… feeling a little daring are we?” he still manages to jest. Karl pauses and for a moment Anders’ fears he may have broken the spell; the elder mage looks at him, drinks him in through his eyes. Then, keeping his gaze, Karl leans in and devours Anders’ cock. Fingers bite hard at Karl’s scalp as he sucks and swallows and wriggles his tongue, speeding Anders towards his own bone melting release. If it had to be fast (and it did) then it would be fan-fucking-tastic (and it was).
Anders barely breaths when he falls hard into his own personal oblivion, hauling Karl’s mouth into him with short brutal yanks of his hair. He rides the man’s willing tongue through each incinerating wave of pleasure, and has no idea how he’s still standing by the end of it.
Karl, good man that he is, tucks Anders back into his robes and stands, steadying him against the wall.
“You alright, there?”
“I… knew that I liked you.”
Karl barks a soft affectionate laugh.
“Yes… well perhaps now you can think of a better pass time that baiting bucket heads.”
“Yes… I suppose I can. Though can’t I do both? What good is a cake if you can’t eat it, too?”
“You… are bloody insatiable,” but Karl is smiling in a way that says he’s heavily in like with Anders. Which is convenient, because Anders supposes he’s quite in like with Karl, too.
“That I am my good friend, that I am.”