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Savage Impulses	By : TropicalFool Category: +A through F > Dragon Age (all) > Dragon Age (all) Views: 5160 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Dragon Age & all characters are owned by BioWare & EA, not me. I make no money from this story.

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Permission to touch. It was what I had waited years for, imagining my dark hand against that pale skin, caressing. But now that it was given, that consent, I found myself afraid. What if all my imaginings were wrong, foolish, overblown? Had I just wasted years on a fantasy?
I knew from the first moment I saw him in that dark alley, his fingers dripping crimson. I had felt a frisson that tingled from my mouth to my groin. I had no idea who he was, although I was soon to learn his status—both in the eyes of his hunters and in his own. A former slave, or a runaway slave, and an elf. I don't particularly like elves, not physically at least. They are too small, too thin. Those wide child like eyes so disconcerting in the bedroom, their strange noses and frail bodies. And in this case the lips were too full, too sensuous. No, it was not his appearance that appealed, I found him then, and still do, to be quite unlovely, but the attraction could not be denied.
I am a man who likes men, large men, those who can overtop my six foot plus with shoulders and chests broader then mine. Men with narrow hips sitting atop tree trunk thick thighs. Men who can dominate me after a struggle. Sex is the only time, it seems, that I can relinquish control, be the one taking orders, not giving them, for a few precious moments. But these last few years I had been denied even that fleeting pleasure.
He was easy to recruit, this fugitive slave, and I did not think much more of the moment when I had shivered on seeing him until I found that I was useless to anyone else. In those days I had many friends and many of them were lovers, but after seeing Fenris, I had no interest in more than a drink and a laugh.
For many years I'd visited Sven at the Blooming Rose. He was, physically and in many other ways, everything I liked in a man. Taller then me by a head, broad and chiseled, his dark hair and blue eyes striking, and wiling to do anything I could imagine for adequate coin. I had even asked him out for a drink one time, only to be told gently that he had been in a relationship for years. I was startled by the revelation, but could think nothing except that his partner was a very lucky man.
When I found my libido had fled, it was Sven that I naturally turned to. He had never failed to arouse me, even when I found myself exhausted or morose, but this time, nothing. We started as usual, carefully laying aside our clothes and wrestling until he had me pinned or in some way incapacitated and in his power, in this case astride me, firmly holding my hands above my head. I enjoyed the exercise, but this time, unlike all the others, that was all it was to me, there was no rising desire, no desire at all. I hung as limp as a flag on a still day.
Sven had looked at me quizzically and when he started to release the pressure on my hands I nodded. It was then that he turned from my gigolo to my confidant. In all those years, it was only Sven that I spoke to, only Sven that knew of my problem. For the others, I kept up a good front, playing them against each other so that each thought I was bedding another. It was tiring, but I couldn't admit to them, and usually not to myself, that I was celibate, impotent, mooning for a hopeless love.
I visited Sven weekly, which was good for my reputation, but all we did was talk. I tried to explain and found him a great listener. Occasionally he would offer a thought or suggestion, but he understood that what I needed most was someone to talk to and in the talking, to work it out for myself.
I had, of course, approached Fenris. He had not turned me down, had shown no aversion to being approached by another man, but had offered nothing either. He had simply remained neutral, showing no interest in man or woman, or, as far as I could tell, dog or sheep for that matter. This being who was the most sexual of creatures in my eyes seemed to have no sexuality of his own, until tonight.
I wasn't sure what had triggered this willingness. We had been sitting, talking and not talking, drinking, like so many nights before, but tonight the invitation came, the invitation to touch.
At first I thought that I had not heard correctly, but he repeated almost word for word. "For years I have watched you. For years you've wanted to touch me. Wondered what it would be like. I appreciate that you gave me that time, it has not been easy adjusting to freedom, so tonight, if you are willing, your patience will be rewarded."
There is was. No coyness, no doubt, no hesitation, just a blatant invitation to indulge my desires. And here I sat. And sat. I'd raised my hand once, then let it drop back. We had perfect privacy, sitting in the large dining hall of the mansion he'd never bothered to restore. I had been given the permission I had so longed for, and yet I found I could not move.
And one point he had placed his hand over mine in encouragement, not restraint, and I was startled at how soft it was. This was a man who wielded the largest two handed broadsword I had ever seen in use, and did so almost daily, but his hands were as soft as a child's except for the seams of lyrium that ran along the palm and up each finger. I mused that it must be the this lyrium that saved them from the callouses that roughened my own and those of every lover I had ever had. Even Sven, despite his soft profession, excised regularly to maintain his physique and his hands showed the effect.
Finally I found the courage to touch that white hair that so intrigued me. It was feather light, flowing between my fingers like down. Taking strength from this move, however tentative, I allowed my hand to brush his cheek, his eyes, across that strange nose. As in my dreams, the contrast between his white skin and my dark hand was stimulating. For the first time in these many years I felt a stirring of desire and I almost fainted with relief. I was very afraid that I had become a eunuch in practice if not in body, and to know that I could feel, have stirrings, was a great reassurance.
He smiled at my expression, his face gentle but his amusement obvious. With startling insight he said, "So, I had unmanned you. I didn't realize that it extended so far. I am sorry for that."
I wanted to be offended, to deny the allegation, but it was no less than the truth. That night in that alley I had been unmanned by this dark elf, but perhaps that was about to change.
I allowed by thumb to wander down from his unmarked face to his chin where the first lyrium burns crept up as if seeking to consume him wholly. As I touched the raised welt gently he shuddered and pulled away, then dropped his head saying, "And I am sorry for that too. It is the memories. For so long no one has dared that move, but Denarius used to stroke me in such a way when he was thinking. I was, of course, nothing but a useful pet to him. I shouldn't react so to you. Please forgive me, pretend, if you will, that it never happened."
Strangely this reaction, negative though it was, emboldened me. That he felt something at my touch, anything, was so much better than his passive acceptance. I stood and walked deliberately around the table holding my hands out to him. As he rose, I placed my hands on each side of his neck, holding him at arms' length. He looked up at me, staring into my eyes, and asked, "Tell me, you are a man who likes strong men, yes? I've seen your lovers or those who would be. I know of your visits to Sven." I narrowed my eyes at the evidence of his spying, then realized that I had been doing the same, watching him closely to see who he spent time with, who he seemed to like, if anyone.
Taking his challenge, I replied honestly. "Yes, I like large strong men, not lanky elves, or I did until I saw you. I can't say that there is anything in your appearance that appeals to me and yet I find myself… smitten." The word seemed weak for what I was feeling, but I had no other that did not seem overly dramatic.
He laughed at this candor, not at all offended, and answered, "But perhaps it is that you saw in me a strength beyond that of your muscle bound comrades? You've seen me fight, you know what I've been through, or at least you know of it. Do you think I would submit to you?" He watched my face carefully, then continued, "Ah, but that's not what you want, is it? You think at times that perhaps you would be happy had you been born a slave rather than fated to lead men?" Again that uncanny perception and again my face betrayed me. He laughed, a dark and bitter laugh, and said, "It is strange, but I find that I may be willing to play this role for you. It is a measure of the hold that you have over me that I would consider such a thing."
I blinked at this, surprised. That I had a hold over him was something that I had not considered, in truth had not thought possible. But then he had been observing me, knew my preferences, cared.
I allowed my hand to wander down to the silver button that held his tunic. He stood passive as I released it from its loop, then the next and the next. One of the questions that had kept me awake many nights was how extensive those lyrium burns were. Over all the years, despite the hours and days together in the wilderness, I had never seen more than his face and arms. Now I saw that the intricate pattern extended down his chest, growing more complex the lower I went. The shirt was now totally open and I could see how the scrolling wrapped carefully around each small hard nipple and wound down to disappear below his belt. I followed the pattern with my finger and then my tongue, pleased to hear him groan. Whether in pleasure or pain didn't really matter to me, the reaction was what I craved.
As I licked, I fumbled with his belt and then the laces to each side of his britches, finally releasing them. As my hand explored, he moaned, this time clearly in pleasure. I pulled back and dropped to my knees, anxious to see what treasure I had uncovered. When I did, I gasped. They had not stopped with the torment even on his most sensitive parts. Why his face had been spared I could not imagine as I stared in disbelief at the branch like tendrils running up his cock and making a net for his balls. I was stunned. I could not imagine the agony of even one sliver, let alone this extensive network. I didn't know what to say or do, my plans out the window.
Fenris pulled me up roughly, snarling, "Yes, it was worse than you can envision. Now perhaps you understand a little, but only a little. But first you get what you think you want. Certainly not my tiny elf dick."
Actually he wasn't so small for an elf, or for anyone of his stature, but yes, compared to what I was used to I would hardly notice him. He sneered when he saw this truth in my eyes and without warning rent my jerkin from neck to waist. It was soft doeskin and a garment I was fond of—I had worn it especially to please him—so I felt a moment of anger. As my brows lowered and my eyes narrowed I felt myself picked up off my feet by a single hand on my neck. I am not light, 16 stone on a good day, but I was dangling, my toes barely touching, and it seemed that he could hold me there as long as he willed, there was no weakness nor trembling in that iron arm. If it didn't let go soon though, he would be holding my corpse since I was rapidly running out of air.
Rather than drop me, he lowered me gently down, only to slam me against the wall. He reached around and I felt the laces on my own britches give, severed by those lethal fingers. As I sprang into this hand he laughed, smirking. "Proud human." He squeezed and I screamed. "I could rip it out by the root, you know?" He had let off the pressure so that it only throbbed and I nodded. Oh yes, I believed absolutely that he could do just as he said, and made a small prayer that he would not decide to do so.
As I recovered my breath, he'd pulled the pants down and wrapped his other arm from the crack of my buttocks through my legs to cradle my balls. He held them gently for now, but the threat was there. Oh Maker, what had I gotten myself into?
"Would you fight me now?" he asked. "Do anything I desired?"
I all but shouted, "No! Yes!" desperate to be heard and understood. I had never felt more vulnerable or more helpless, and while it was true that he had stoked my lust, I also felt a very real fear.
I was sure that he could hear fright in my voice and he laughed, that harsh sound that had filled so many of my dreams. He released my delicate parts, but faster than thought had a hand at my neck. "You've watched me, and I've watched you watching me, when I reach into a body and take a heart. You find it erotic and that disturbs you." It was true, every word. "But I have control," he continued, "control of what I penetrate and how."
With that I felt his fingers exploring my nether hole. I was no virgin despite lack of use lately and he soon had three fingers deep within me. I could not believe how much I had missed that sensation in all those years of denial. I let my eyes close and head drop at the pleasure, then was snapped to attention as the fingers became a fist and the fist thrust deep and hard. For the second time that evening I screamed, the call made up of equal parts lust and pain.
Fenris mouth was at my ear as he said, "You would never be happy with less, would you. Not with my modest elven self. This is what you would have of me and what only I can give you." As the word trailed off he thrust again and I moaned calling for him to stop, to continue, to give me what I needed but feared.
It did not take much time, it had been too long. I came in copious gushes, feeling that all of my insides were being pumped out of me, that I was being drained like some fetid swamp. I was gasping, leaning against the wall, unable to think or move… and I found myself unbearably grateful. I had been made a man again, and if this was what was required it was, well, it was perfect. I would like to have been able to tell myself that it was too brutal, too violent even for me… but it was perfect.
"My turn now," was whispered in my ear as I felt my hair grabbed and was slammed back to fall hard to the floor. As my head bounced, Fenris stepped delicately over me, falling into a soft upholstered chair my the fire. "Come here," he said, and I willingly complied.
"I know it is hardly worthy of your notice," he said, indicating his erect cock, "but I would have it attended to."
Feeling brave, or possibly foolish, I asked, "How?"
He snorted. "I think we have had enough of the exotic for tonight, the traditional should be sufficient. I expect that you are talented with your mouth and hands. Show me."
That is exactly what I did, and he used every bit of my skill until finally he could withhold from me no more and I felt the thick salty libation that I craved surge down my throat.
We sat for hours, my head in his lap, his hand idly stroking my hair, not a word between us. Then he nudged me with his knees, saying quietly, "Get up. Dress yourself." I was puzzled, but not alarmed. He found a new lacing for my britches and my belt held the ruined tunic well enough. It was not until he placed his hands on my shoulders, looking me in the eye, that I felt afraid.
"It is too much," he began. "I thought that the time had come that I could be free, but it seems it is not yet. I am sorry, but this will not happen again. Go, please, as a kindness to me."
He turned and left the room as I stood too shocked to move. Had everything come to this one night? Was this to be all? Would I again become a monk, waiting for the slightest hint of favor?
There was nothing for it. I made my way out into the dark streets hoping for something to kill—anything would do—a bandit, a stray dog, even a rat, but for once found my way home without opposition.
That night, alone in my bed, I wept for the first time since I was a young boy.
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Savage Impulses