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Blackpowder Dominance	By : TropicalFool Category: +A through F > Dragon Age (all) > Dragon Age (all) Views: 2888 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Dragon Age & all characters are owned by BioWare & EA, not me. I make no money from this story.

Chapter List
- 9
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"You are a pitiful thing," the elf remarked as he examined the exhausted mage drooping before him. "I really am surprised that the Arishok would bother, but I suppose there is no accounting for taste, as the old saw goes. Your magic, it is intact?"
Anders looked up angrily. "Why do you care what the rest of me is? Yes, the magic still works, more's the pity. It would please me to tell you that your plan backfired, that I can no longer do that which you crave, but it is not the case." To demonstrate, he threw a small fireball that scorched the wall.
"Uh uh, no more of that," the elf scolded. "Remember, if you will, that this hold I have over you is absolute. At this point I intend to use it only for my pleasure, since I am more compassionate than you, but push me or displease me and you may find your life unpleasant in subtle and creative ways. How much do you think Varric would pay for a detailed description of your most intimate anatomy? I'm sure he would find it useful for spicing up his stories, at least for comic relief. Or I could sell you to Isabella, she's had eyes for you for some time. Or better yet, just take you to the Blooming Rose and rent you out. I have been eying a case of particularly costly Antivan brandy. I think, even with your meager talents, a few nights in the Rose just might make the tariff."
Staring in stark horror, Anders considered what he had just heard. He had not thought of the implications of Fenris hold over him beyond the obvious—but it was true that a lever was a lever and could have many uses. If it had not been for his mission, the belief that he was the one who could save the mages from virtual slavery, he would have walked down to the docks and continued walking out to sea. And he didn't have the drakestone yet, wasn't sure he could convince Hawke to help him get it. Before, even with Justice inhabiting his mind and body, life had seemed a grand adventure, now it would be something to be endured. He wondered if the elf would take every pleasure from him, then realized that that was the least of his worries—to be denied pleasure, yes, that would be bad, but the humiliation and pain that might replace it could be much worse.
While he gave the mage time to ponder his fate, Fenris lay back, consuming Anders' chocolate and brandy. He ignored the cheese and other offerings. Later he would wrap them and take them with him, preferably in the mage's best scarf.
Fenris was surprised to find, now that he had Anders' at his fingertips, his need was much less urgent. Oh, he would require and receive release today, but there was none of the desperation that had been there when he was the supplicant. He was getting almost as much pleasure from contemplating the many ways that he might torment the mage as he was from envisaging his own satisfaction.
Anders still needed that drink, more than he had before, and there lay the arrogant elf, consuming his best cognac as if it were Denerim plonk. He hated to ask for anything, but if he didn't have the alcohol to steady his nerves, he was afraid that he might make an error that the elf would punish via one of his threats, or worse. Steeling himself, he said in a calm voice, "Fenris, may I have a glass of brandy before we begin?"
Ah, the elf thought, the first entreaty. How lovely. He was beginning to see the advantages of owning a slave, not one who was born or sold into that state, but one who absolutely had earned his fate through his own actions. And Fenris knew exactly how a slave should be treated.
Swirling the amber liquid and holding it to the light, he watched the mage's avid eyes. He held out the glass, and when Anders reached for it, poured it deliberately onto the tile floor where it pooled, bits of soot and dirt floating to the surface. "Yours if you want it," the elf said, pouring himself another glass.
Anders closed his eyes and tried to will himself dead, hoping that he would never be reduced to lapping up Fenris' leavings, but knowing that it could all too easily come to that.
"Ah, not so thirsty as you thought?" the elf mocked. "I could order you to drink it, you know? And you would, wouldn't you?" He paused and waited for the reluctant nod. "But not just now. Something to contemplate for the future, hummm?
"Now, I think I would like to see what you do with that thing between your legs when you're laying in your lonely bed dreaming of me." The mage's eyes narrowed, hoping he was not being asked to do what he thought he was being asked to do. The elf continued, "Don't be coy. You know exactly what I mean. Take yourself in hand and show me your technique. Certainly forcing unwilling elves to do unpleasant things can't be the only way you find relief. There must be times when you are reduced to your own devices. It is those devices I would now have demonstrated. Please, proceed."
Fenris took another bite of chocolate and a sip of cognac while he waited, enjoying the discomfort of the naked mage. Anders' hand slowly crept towards his crotch, but could not seem to complete the journey. Finally he said, "I can't."
"You will," was the elf's reply.
Anders let his head fall back and closed his eyes. Perhaps his imagination would save him, but then he heard the command, "Eyes open and looking at me." Oh Maker, every small concession was taken from him. If he had not been so exhausted he might have found the will to resist, but then he realized the foolishness of that notion. There would be no sanctuary for him now.
He stared at the elf, hoping that his hatred would enflame him. He sought for Justice and cursed the cowardly spirit—of all times he could use a little oblivion, it was now. His hand moved round and cupped his balls and he thought he would faint from the humiliation as a slow smile spread over the damnable elf's lips. Calling on his anger, not knowing if he preferred that to become aroused or stay limp, he let his hand move to his flaccid cock, rolling and stoking, moving the foreskin up and back. The familiar, comforting gestures started to have their age old effect and he felt the first stirrings, the very nascent stiffening, and found that he was glad for that. Better to show his prowess than to be seen to be impotent before Fenris' icy gaze.
As he stiffened and his grip become tighter, his movements more brisk, he started to pant lightly. He was amused to see the elf shift uncomfortably, stroking the lyrium burn on his arm as if he could find his own release, and realized his superiority. Anders could, any time he had the desire and a bit of privacy, find his own satisfaction, but that was, apparently, something always to be denied to Fenris. It was a small consolation, but it gave impetus to his current activity. With a slight smirk he began to stroke himself with more purpose, pausing to thumb the head and let his fingers ripple over the shaft. He was very close to climax, his cock swelling even more in his hand, slick with his fluids, when Fenris said, "Enough."
The command was so shocking, so unexpected, that he did pause. When he began to jerk his hand up again, the elf said in a low growl, "Unhand yourself now, this instant, or there will be consequences." Fenris voice was intimidating always, but now it carried a special menace. Anders found his hand flying away, to be held out as if he were demonstrating that he held no weapon. He was so close to orgasm that it was positively painful to stop. His breath came in little sobs and his eyes were glazed with need.
"Yes," Fenris said. "Now you understand a little, but only a little, of what it is to be me." He rose gracefully and strode up to the mage, pulling his head down roughly by the hair. Careful to not touch the engorged cock, knowing that the lightest pressure would set it off, he growled, "You will control yourself. You will not come. That is your first lesson. Do you understand?" Anders nodded and Fenris pulled his head down further until their lips met. The mage struggled briefly, then realized that this would only anger the elf who was poking at him with an imperious tongue. Reluctantly, praying for control, he opened his mouth. It did not matter that it was his most hated enemy, the sensations were still those that his body recognized as the elf's long tongue explored, and Anders sunk his nails into the tender skin of his belly, drawing blood, as he fought to restrain himself.
Shoving the mage back, Fenris looked down to see that the cock was still hard and pulsing with need. He smiled tightly and went to retrieve and refill the brandy snifter, bringing it to Anders and holding it for the mage to have a sip.
- 9
- 10
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Blackpowder Dominance