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Apr. 20th, 2011 06:55 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
the_morningstar616This one was written for a prompt on the Dragon Age Kink meme over at livejournal. The prompt was: Of the two, Fenris usually takes the lead in bed. Hawke (gender up to write-anon) takes it into Hawke's head that it would be interesting to switch things up. Maybe Hawke has always wanted to play the Magister and the Blood Slave, idk.
Fenris agrees to give it a go - and it goes wrong. Anon is not seeking PTSD flashback angst, just sex!fail for the lulz. Fenris just knows too much about how masters are supposed to be and Hawke is doing it wrong. And since Fenris can never pass up an opportunity to harp on the evils of Tevinter magisters, he just has to explain.
Bonus points if they revert to type before their experiment is over. and this is what it spawned:
I'd like to try, Hawke had said, and Fenris had agreed, happily. It was surprising what became interesting, arousing even, when one was no longer living through it.
And besides, with his past an ever-present thorn in his side, what better method of exorcism for all his demons than to recreate them in the comfort of Hawke's concern for him? Though he'd expected Hawke to be better than this.
The man had sought him out first of all his companions, actively courting him with an insistence which at times bordered on single-mindedness, and Fenris had liked it. Decades of shying away from any touch and he'd eventually crumbled in the face of Hawke's earnest pursuit. He'd expected the mage to be at least as insistent in private; strong and forceful he'd imagined Hawke, without ever being rough or unkind in any way. Though he'd found, pleasantly surprised by the fact at first, that Hawke was a considerate lover, happy to cater to whatever Fenris needed, happy to submit.
He'd welcomed it at first, the opportunity to dictate this new stage of their relationship. Though now it was becoming something of an irritation. Maker, could the man not just take what he wanted? It was after all Hawke's fantasy, however quickly Fenris had obliged him.
I don't want to hurt you. Fenris had almost laughed at that, though it would certainly have spoilt the mood. As a powerful mage (and yes, he'd been sceptical about that at first, but the man had proven himself to be unlike any other Fenris had ever met) Hawke could have felled entire armies with a wave of his staff, and yet was surprisingly powerless in hand-to-hand combat. How ironic then that Hawke would now shy away from the mere notion of treating a slave as one should.
Do you think Danarius ever worried about hurting me? Hawke looks suitably chastised by that, though Fenris can still see the light of concern in his blue eyes.
Fine, Hawke responds, on the bed, slave.
Though Fenris can't help himself correcting, on my knees.
What?
Danarius would never have me take pleasure in the act of ...servicing him. I would be on my knees. The words sound bitter, though in reality they aren't, not any more. Most of the bitterness Fenris harboured has been eroded, gradually, in the face of Hawke's unexpected kindness.
As Fenris lowers himself to his knees before Hawke, the man shakes his head Fenris-
Fenris shakes his head, this is supposed to be pleasurable for both of them, not a cause for concern. One would never address a slave unless giving orders. It is considered demeaning for a magister to lower himself so. He reprimands Hawke, enjoying the hitch in the other man's breath as he looks up from his position at Hawke's feet.
A small smile plays over Hawke's lips, one which is equal parts amusement and irritation as he slips off his robes. He's beautiful, Fenris can't deny, all tanned skin stretched over taut muscles. He's half-erect already, enjoying their game despite Fenris' numerous interruptions. When he next speaks he sounds simultaneously more in control and deeper into his own arousal.
Suck me, then.
Fenris can't help the small smile of his own at that. Much better, he murmurs as he obliges Hawke, only to scowl in frustration moments later when Hawke refuses to do more than rest his hands gingerly on Fenris' head. In Tevinter slaves are property, not people. A magister would not flinch at being a little rough, wounds can be healed later after all.
Hawke's eyes narrow in annoyance. Fine, what would you have me do Fenris?
Maker, but the man was irresistible when angry. I am yours, he responds, take what you will.
I-
Hawke still sounds unsure, and Fenris snaps, for someone who refuses to hurt people you chose the wrong career path, mage.
His harsh words have the opposite effect however, Hawke draws back, eyes large and wounded. Fenris sees the words forming, the apologetic look on his face, and snarls don't apologise, but if you won't take what you want allow me to do so.
Watching Hawke's eyes widen, pupils dilated with lust, and a little fear, is rewarding. Fenris can't help the growl which escapes his throat. This was Hawke's fantasy, yes but now he wants. Before he can begin to rationalise his own actions he has Hawke pinned to the bed, prone and ready for Fenris to take for himself what Hawke wanted.
Fenris agrees to give it a go - and it goes wrong. Anon is not seeking PTSD flashback angst, just sex!fail for the lulz. Fenris just knows too much about how masters are supposed to be and Hawke is doing it wrong. And since Fenris can never pass up an opportunity to harp on the evils of Tevinter magisters, he just has to explain.
Bonus points if they revert to type before their experiment is over. and this is what it spawned:
I'd like to try, Hawke had said, and Fenris had agreed, happily. It was surprising what became interesting, arousing even, when one was no longer living through it.
And besides, with his past an ever-present thorn in his side, what better method of exorcism for all his demons than to recreate them in the comfort of Hawke's concern for him? Though he'd expected Hawke to be better than this.
The man had sought him out first of all his companions, actively courting him with an insistence which at times bordered on single-mindedness, and Fenris had liked it. Decades of shying away from any touch and he'd eventually crumbled in the face of Hawke's earnest pursuit. He'd expected the mage to be at least as insistent in private; strong and forceful he'd imagined Hawke, without ever being rough or unkind in any way. Though he'd found, pleasantly surprised by the fact at first, that Hawke was a considerate lover, happy to cater to whatever Fenris needed, happy to submit.
He'd welcomed it at first, the opportunity to dictate this new stage of their relationship. Though now it was becoming something of an irritation. Maker, could the man not just take what he wanted? It was after all Hawke's fantasy, however quickly Fenris had obliged him.
I don't want to hurt you. Fenris had almost laughed at that, though it would certainly have spoilt the mood. As a powerful mage (and yes, he'd been sceptical about that at first, but the man had proven himself to be unlike any other Fenris had ever met) Hawke could have felled entire armies with a wave of his staff, and yet was surprisingly powerless in hand-to-hand combat. How ironic then that Hawke would now shy away from the mere notion of treating a slave as one should.
Do you think Danarius ever worried about hurting me? Hawke looks suitably chastised by that, though Fenris can still see the light of concern in his blue eyes.
Fine, Hawke responds, on the bed, slave.
Though Fenris can't help himself correcting, on my knees.
What?
Danarius would never have me take pleasure in the act of ...servicing him. I would be on my knees. The words sound bitter, though in reality they aren't, not any more. Most of the bitterness Fenris harboured has been eroded, gradually, in the face of Hawke's unexpected kindness.
As Fenris lowers himself to his knees before Hawke, the man shakes his head Fenris-
Fenris shakes his head, this is supposed to be pleasurable for both of them, not a cause for concern. One would never address a slave unless giving orders. It is considered demeaning for a magister to lower himself so. He reprimands Hawke, enjoying the hitch in the other man's breath as he looks up from his position at Hawke's feet.
A small smile plays over Hawke's lips, one which is equal parts amusement and irritation as he slips off his robes. He's beautiful, Fenris can't deny, all tanned skin stretched over taut muscles. He's half-erect already, enjoying their game despite Fenris' numerous interruptions. When he next speaks he sounds simultaneously more in control and deeper into his own arousal.
Suck me, then.
Fenris can't help the small smile of his own at that. Much better, he murmurs as he obliges Hawke, only to scowl in frustration moments later when Hawke refuses to do more than rest his hands gingerly on Fenris' head. In Tevinter slaves are property, not people. A magister would not flinch at being a little rough, wounds can be healed later after all.
Hawke's eyes narrow in annoyance. Fine, what would you have me do Fenris?
Maker, but the man was irresistible when angry. I am yours, he responds, take what you will.
I-
Hawke still sounds unsure, and Fenris snaps, for someone who refuses to hurt people you chose the wrong career path, mage.
His harsh words have the opposite effect however, Hawke draws back, eyes large and wounded. Fenris sees the words forming, the apologetic look on his face, and snarls don't apologise, but if you won't take what you want allow me to do so.
Watching Hawke's eyes widen, pupils dilated with lust, and a little fear, is rewarding. Fenris can't help the growl which escapes his throat. This was Hawke's fantasy, yes but now he wants. Before he can begin to rationalise his own actions he has Hawke pinned to the bed, prone and ready for Fenris to take for himself what Hawke wanted.
