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“Amor vincit omnia,” Fenris whispers, almost breathless, lips close to Anders’ ear.
“Fuck,” is Anders’ extraordinarily eloquent reply.
If Fenris knew that his limited arsenal of Tevene phrases did this to Anders, he’d have started throwing them around in bed a lot sooner.
They have to keep it quiet, when there’s only a thin sheet of canvas between their bed and the rest of the refugee camp. Lucky for Fenris, Anders openly admits to enjoying having Fenris speak so close and quietly. “Leftover from the Circle,” he said, when they discussed it. “There’s something a little thrilling about it, don’t you think?”
“About what?” Fenris had asked.
“Risking getting caught,” Anders said with a gleam in his eye.
Fenris might have had more objections to such illicit silence, but this thing between them is tentative as it is. Their only encounter in Kirkwall ended in catastrophe. They’ve moved slowly ever since. The pace is only helped along by Fenris’ wish for privacy and their extremely rustic surroundings.
Tonight is a happy accident. A good-night kiss became heated, hands began to wander under clothes, and suddenly—well, Anders is muffling an awful lot of noise by biting down on his fist while Fenris discovers, pleasantly, that he very much enjoys the feeling of Anders’ cock in his hand.
“Ubi libertas, ibi patria,” Fenris says, punctuating the words with a light nip to Anders’ jaw.
“Did you just say our cat’s name,” Anders says, “oh fuck, Fenris…”
“It’s a Tevene name.” Fenris slows his hand, teasing, making Anders shudder. Anders’ cock is long, well-formed as the rest of him, skin soft under Fenris’ touch. It twitches every time Fenris speaks. “You know that.”
Anders’ free hand, clutching Fenris by the shoulder, tightens. “Less Trade, more Tevene,” he gasps. His whole body bucks as Fenris resumes quick strokes, faster than before. “Close—Maker, Fenris—”
Fenris is running out of words. “Per curiam,” he whispers, “per mensem—”
With no ado, Anders topples over the edge. He bites off a moan, back arching, and comes all over Fenris’ hand. Fenris shivers hard, relishing Anders’ ecstasy.
“Holy Andraste,” Anders breathes, finally melting into the bed. He pulls Fenris close, hand in his hair, to lightly knock their foreheads together.
“Luceat lux vestra, Anders,” Fenris murmurs, kissing Anders on the cheek.
“Keep that up and you’ll have me going again.” Anders turns on his side and curls around Fenris, affectionate and tactile.
Fenris chuckles, sitting up long enough to reach for a rag to clean them both up. “If your infamous Grey Warden stamina requires, I am more than happy to continue spouting Tevene until you collapse from exhaustion.”
Anders laughs softly and wraps his arms around Fenris’ waist. “I recognized a few,” he says, pressing his head to Fenris’ shoulder. “Amor is love.”
“It is,” Fenris says, tossing aside the rag carelessly. He’ll deal with it in the morning. For now, though, he relaxes in Anders’ warm embrace. “Amatus.”
That gets him a kiss, planted on the hollow of his throat. Anders doesn’t ask why Fenris doesn’t call him that in public. For all his persistent tactlessness, Anders at least understands how private Fenris wishes to be with his affections. Fenris still struggles with it all, the idea of this kind of care, and it’s easier to speak his feelings in a half-dead language Anders doesn’t understand than to say it bluntly as Anders does.
“What was that last one you threw out?” Anders asks after a moment. “I liked that one.”
“You won’t,” Fenris promises.
“Was it something particularly offensive?”
Fenris shrugs. “It means ‘monthly,’” he says. “I remember Danarius’ banker using several times it to describe an investment of his accounts.”
“Are you…serious?”
“Of course.”
Anders laughs into Fenris’ chest, shoulders shaking. “It would be something ridiculous like that, wouldn’t it. Only your voice could make banking so…arousing, love.”
Fenris is reasonably sure he’s blushing, but the darkness of the tent hides it.
For a little while, they lie curled together in silence. Anders traces slow, abstract patterns over Fenris’ side and chest. The lyrium lines twinge softly with pain, but it’s a familiar sensation, almost reassuring when it’s Anders’ hands on him. Fenris cards his fingers through Anders’ fine hair, wavy from spending the day in a braid. It’s nice to play with.
“Not to completely ruin the mood,” Anders says, planting a feather-light kiss on Fenris’ chest, where the collar of his tunic opens to reveal his skin, “but I have a question.”
“Oh?”
Anders sighs. “I know I was…distracted, but I couldn’t help noticing that you didn’t get particularly hard.”
Discomfort settles in Fenris’ belly. “I didn’t.”
“I know it happens to everyone once in a while. Maker knows I’ve treated plenty of men who have trouble with it,” Anders says. “It’s only…you never have, with me.”
“No,” Fenris says. He bites his lower lip, where Anders can’t see, wincing at the pain when his teeth catch the tip of one of the lyrium lines curving up his chin.
“And I always start things,” Anders says, words tumbling out softly between them. “Is it something I’m doing…? Not doing?”
Fenris shakes his head violently, though Anders can’t see. “No. It is not you.”
Anders drops another kiss on Fenris’ exposed skin. “Then what is it?”
It takes a moment for Fenris to collect his thoughts. “I don’t feel what you are always talking about,” he says finally. “I…appreciate the charms of others, I find you more attractive than any person I have ever met. Yet I don’t…feel it the way you do.”
“Oh.”
“I enjoy being with you,” Fenris says. “I enjoy seeing what my touch can do to you, watching you fly apart in pleasure…but I have no desire to…participate that way myself.”
“You’ve certainly acted as if you want to participate before,” Anders says, tracing small circles on Fenris’ hip.
Fenris struggles for a moment to put words together. “I would have been equally happy without that,” he says at last. “The closeness would have been more than enough for me.”
“I thought,” Anders says after a brief pause, with audible delicacy, “that it might have been past experiences at work.”
“As far as I know, I have always been this way,” Fenris says. “Even when I had…feelings for Hawke, I never thought of her in any way other than the idle consideration of a kiss or a touch.”
“Oh,” Anders says, in a far different, far happier, tone. “I see. I think I understand you.”
“You are…all right with this?”
Anders’ arms tighten around Fenris a little. “As long as you’re all right with it, love,” he says. “I don’t want to cause you any distress. I don’t need—”
“Amatus. You’re not listening again. It pleases me to give you pleasure.”
“I am listening,” Anders protests. “It’s only—”
Fenris kisses Anders. “Hush,” he says, and before Anders can protest further Fenris kisses him again. He gets a soft, exasperated noise in response, but no more than that.
“This is all uncharted territory,” Anders says sleepily, drawing up the blanket. “I think we’re doing quite well, all things being equal.”
“Do not forget the challenges, Anders. Hic sunt dracones,” Fenris says, closing his eyes.
“That one I do know,” Anders says. “Here be dragons.”