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Blackpowder Dominance	By : TropicalFool Category: +A through F > Dragon Age (all) > Dragon Age (all) Views: 2887 -:- 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
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[DA2 Spoilers! Mature - over 18 only please.]
[This one's for dragon_chewtoy, who kept me writing today. A little spoof just for fun… and because my mind works that way. No, things would not have happened this way—which is rather the whole point of the exercise.]
[The question is, where did Anders get that recipe? And how? What did it cost him?]
Blackpowder Dominance Chapter 1
Fenris was skittish, looking over his shoulder suspiciously and peering into every corner. If he were caught, he would never live down the ridicule. To meet a mage, and not just any mage, but that mage, just because his body craved it. It was a weakness he knew, but one he couldn't resist.
The site for the tryst was Darktown, of course. Literally and poetically the best place for clandestine love affairs. A hidden office in an abandoned warehouse. It was likely to be uncomfortable, but perhaps that would help to assuage some of the guilt that he knew he would feel. He hated mages, but that lean form, it spoke to him—and the magic.
He sidled towards the narrow door, placing his back against the frame and peeking around, relieved to find the tiny room empty. The late afternoon sunlight shone through a high window, playing in the dust and spotlighting the filthy floor.
He'd rolled some blankets into a pack before leaving and added a whisk broom, a candle stick and a bottle of wine. Shoving some of the debris away with his foot, he carefully undid the bindings, removing the small broom, and set to sweeping as best he could. He supposed that the mage could wave a hand and redecorate, but he wanted all that magic for himself—whatever he could do in a mundane way to save mana he would.
As he completed his task and spread the blankets, there was a shimmer in the corner of the room and a soft chuckle. A figure appeared, tall, blond, clad in a worn robe. Fenris had dropped into a crouch at the slight movement. He now straightened, scowling. "You've been watching me this whole time?" he snarled.
"Perhaps not the whole time," came the mocking reply, "but long enough to be glad you didn't bring a broom with a longer handle. A delightful display. Did you know you have a small hole in the seat of those tights?"
Fenris reached back self-consciously, feeling for the hole. "A bit lower. Hummm, right there." As he spoke, the mage came forward and touched the elf's arm, very deliberately grasping the lyrium burn. Fenris gasped as desire shot through the network lacing his body.
Varric had called him broody, but the dwarf could have no idea of the intense frustration that was his daily companion. Since receiving the burns he and found his sexual appetites all consuming and his ability to satisfy them nil. Even self-pleasuring was denied him; despite his need, he could not find release—until he'd been touched by the mage.
It had happened by accident, of course. He'd been staggered at the end of a battle, and Anders had reached out to steady him. Before Fenris could shrug off the offending hold, the pattern of lyrium had sent shock waves through him. The orgasm was simultaneous with the arousal, it had been so long, and he was intensely grateful for the length of his jerkin covering his shame.
As he observed the reaction, his eyes sparkling, the mage moved in closer, gently stroking the elf's snowy hair. When his hand moved to the back of that long neck, Fenris growled, "I'm here for one purpose and it's not romance. Leave off!"
Stepping back, Anders wordlessly indicated the bottle and candle stick standing next to the blankets. He said, "Forgive me for misinterpreting. You seem to have gone to some trouble. You know I could make things more comfortable for us?"
"No!" Fenris shot back. "The magic, no, don't use if for that…"
Anders laughed and retorted, "Ah, so greedy, are we? You must have it all? Not even a bit for my own ease?"
The elf continued to snarl, pacing about the small room and swiping at invisible annoyances. "Why torment me further?" he complained. "You know I hate you and everything you stand for. You know the pain it causes me to come to you like this. And you know the need that compels it as well as the gratitude I have that you would indulge me."
That was the delicious irony that Anders fed on. Each time Fenris grumbled about mages, tried to sway Hawke, Anders only had to give him a look from the corner of his eye and this night and others like it would be remembered. He'd been amused the first time to see a slight coloring and nervous shifting of feet as Fenris tried to continue his argument. His advocacy for the Circle had dropped off some after that, but not completely, for which Anders was grateful since the elf's discomfort was so delicious.
Hitching up his garments, the mage lay back on the blankets, propping his back in the corner for the best view. He wore leggings for warmth, but they were not full pants and only extended over the sides of his hips to tie at a silk band around his waist. The gown was sufficient to cover, and the leggings left him quite bare front and rear when the robe was raised, a convenient compromise. He indicated his erect cock, saying, "The first part of the payment please."
Fenris ground his teeth and looked away. The first part and the part he hated. Best to get it over with perhaps, so that his on enjoyment would not be sullied.
Turning his back, the elf released the clasps on his jerkin slowly, trying to postpone the moment when he would be naked and vulnerable. He undid his wide belt, slinging to towards the wall in a temper, then roughly pulled down the tights, holding them in front of his eyes for a moment to assess the worn hole between the thighs. Finally, with no more excuses, he turned and faced his tormentor. He was erect and annoyed that he had no control over that reaction. He would so much rather of stood there flaccid and blasé, but his damn cock jumped and his burns pulsed betraying his arousal.
He knelt, his hand hesitant, then struck, grabbing the thick shaft tightly as he would if trying to capture a dangerous serpent. The mage gasped, allowing the vocalization to transform into a sigh. It was always this way with Fenris, too much pressure at first and sharp pain that soon became exquisite pleasure. He gestured to the elf's head, then brought his finger down in an explicit command.
Steeling himself, Fenris lowered his mouth and let his long tongue snake out, wrapping it around the rosy head. At least the mage was clean, smelling of sweet herbs, it could have been worse he supposed.
When Anders had first proposed this arrangement, Fenris' two payments in exchange for his salvation, he'd protested that he preferred women, abhorred the idea of sex with men. Of course that was theoretical, since he could remember nothing before the night of the burns and since he'd been unable to find release except through Anders' magic since. Somewhere in that lost pit of his mind, he felt that he should like woman and should object to such activities with men, but he was more dispassionate than any eunuch—he had no feelings for anyone else, just his own burning need which could not be satisfied by natural means.
Anders tapped on the top of his head and he reluctantly bent to his task, opening his mouth as wide as possible to engulf the smooth rod. Maybe he could speed things along, just get it over with. He forced his lips down to meet his hand, fighting his gag reflect and trying to get air through his nose. As he sped up, moving hand and mouth in unison, the mage reached out and caught him by the hair on the back on his head, jerking roughly.
"Uh huh," Anders panted, "you'll not cheat me that way. Slowly, carefully, or I leave now. Do you understand?" The elf nodded, the tip of the penis still in his mouth. Oh to have the courage to bite down, to force his teeth together and end the charade. He could almost taste the blood spurting into his throat, hear the cry of dismay when the mage realized the loss of his most prized portion. It was a vain fantasy though; Fenris would not trade his only release for revenge, no matter how sweet.
As he moved his tongue about the shaft, lapping and sucking, Anders' hand played idly with his hair, occasionally moving over to stroke a pointed ear. These little intimacies were worse than the sex, more personal and more intrusive. He had reached that point in the play where he felt more a slave than he ever had in Tevinter, penned by his own desires and captured by the only one who knew his secret and could satisfy his need.
The mage swelled and thumped within the elf's grasp, lips twitching as soft murmurs escaped. Anders loved watching, always, but it was especially pleasurable to see the drama of Fenris ministrations. The conflict within him played out in his every movement. He could barely bring himself to perform the act, yet he remained hard throughout, his burns pulsing. And he was gaining expertise each time they met. Perhaps Anders would allow these assignation to continue even after he had achieved his purpose.
His hand wandered down from Fenris' head to lightly stroke his back, following a tendril of lyrium. It was the signal that he was ready for the elf to take him to climax and Fenris sighed in relief, quickening his pace and squeezing harder. His other hand came up and cupped the weighty balls, rolling them across his fingers. Anything he could do to hurry the ejaculation that would signal his own release, he would.
Anders struggled to keep his eyes open, to watch that bobbing white head and see himself appear and disappear within that lush mouth. He'd been fascinated by the elf's lips from the first; thick and soft, their blush a contrast to the harsh masculinity of his face. To see those same lips wrapped around his cock, moving rapidly up and down, stimulated him almost as much as the sensation.
Unable to resist further, he arched his back and moaned. Fenris felt the hot liquid hit the back of his throat and struggled to keep from retching. He knew that he would be expected to swallow every drop or be denied the full measure of what the mage could give. His eyes were tearing as he fought to gulp down the thick mess.
Then it was over, Anders almost unconscious in the small death and Fenris humiliated and angry, but relieved to have made it through one more torturous session. He sat up, spat, and wiped his mouth, trying to push away the taste. He reached for the bottle and wished he'd brought two. By the time it was uncorked and Fenris had taken two mighty swigs, Anders was back among the living. He reached for the wine, prying it from the elf's fingers, and turned it up to his mouth, his throat working to Fenris' dismay as he watched fully half its bounty disappear.
When Anders handed the bottle back, it was once again full. Fenris growled at the waste of magic, but at least it was a use he could appreciate. He took one more sip and set the drink aside, standing. He had found that standing was best. There were no burns on the soles of his feet, thank the Maker. When the magic activated the lyrium, or whatever it did, having the veins touch any other surface was painful and distracting.
Anders rose, allowing his robe to fall back in place, and slowly circled the quivering elf, saying, "What shall it be this time? Where shall we begin? Do you have an opinion or shall I choose?" It was a cruel question since Fenris was breathing so hard in need and anticipation that he could not speak. He did manage to growl, which elicited a quiet laugh from the mage.
The tall blond stood back and considered, enjoying his view. Fenris was like no other creature, something unique within himself. The experiment that had produced him had been repeated, of course, but all of the other subjects had died. Only this frail elf had been strong enough to withstand the agony.
Suddenly he reached out and touched a spot just above the clavicle. The elf's head shot back and the lyrium pattern pulsed. Not the white heat that it evinced in battle, but a slower pulsing of all colors, one following the other. Anders has learned that they began at the cooler end of the spectrum and worked their way to hot crimson as Fenris got closer to his unusual climax. The color variation was a nice gauge that allowed the mage to use every bit of his magic… if he wished. Sometimes he was generous and gave it all, but at others it pleased him to hold back, and to then tease by using the excess for extra candles, better wine or perhaps a small snack, something that never failed to enrage the elf.
He strolled to the back, his hand on his chin, considering. Fenris had been good today, and it may be the last time, so as a special treat he would be slow and thorough, possibly see if the power of his magic could outlast the elf's impressive endurance. Rather than touch another vein, he stroked an ear, working his fingers around the whorls and laughing when Fenris snarled in complaint.
Showing a sliver of pity, he touched a spot on the back of the elf's arm, running his finger up until the light changed from deepest indigo to a dark violet then stood back as it started to fade.
He moved to the front and stroked the scrolling that wound from navel to rib, laughing as the elf's long arched cock swelled and throbbed. Snapping his viridian eyes open and fixing them on the mage, Fenris breathed, "I… hate… you!" then moaned and let his head fall back, eyes once more closed in ecstasy.
The lyrium design was glowing a bright blue and tending towards aqua. Time, perhaps, to move things along. Playing the elf like he would a rare instrument, plucking lightly here, pressing firmly there, Anders moved the light from green to a yellow tinted with the faintest blush of orange. He wished that he could know what the elf was feeling, but he had no hope of experiencing it, even vicariously—it was not something Fenris would ever talk about.
The elf was staggering now, spreading his stance to maintain his footing, and panting so hard his chest heaved alarmingly. Anders reached down and lightly touched one of the lyrium tendrils climbing that pale penis, causing a bright orange flare, before stepping back and letting things settle for a moment.
When Fenris' breathing quieted to the point that he was only gasping, the mage said, "Perhaps you've had enough for this evening," and started to turn away.
The hand on his shoulder was iron hard and the nails dug in between bone and muscle. "If you leave now, I swear I will kill you," was the elf's impassioned response.
It had only been a bluff. Coolly the mage turned back and said, "And you would give up all this?" as he ran a hand down the unmarked cheek then touched the very top of the design where it impinged onto Fenris chin.
The elf howled and the pattern pulsed fiery orange. He lurched and almost fell, Anders catching him by his hair, one of the few safe places to touch, to steady him. When Fenris could again stand on his own, the mage asked, "Are you ready?"
"I've been ready for a thousand years, damn you!" Fenris breathed in harsh reply. "Do it or let me die, I cannot stand any more."
Nodding, Anders moved to the side, holding up his two forefingers and rubbing them lightly to draw the magic. He would give all tonight and perhaps the elf would get his wish, perhaps he would die of a surfeit of pleasure.
His left hand went to the front, just before the elf's navel and the right to the back to hover above the dimple topping his hard buttocks. The fingers turned to face each other and electricity crackled between them. The were drawn together as if by a magnet, moving slowly towards their targets.
When the two fingers touched, each at the thickest part of the lyrium pattern, front and back, Fenris screamed, a sound that echoed throughout the empty warehouse. His pattern blazed bright scarlet, then pulsed between the orangey red and deepest maroon as the scream went on and on. Anders held his fingers in place, allowing the last of his reserves to flow into the elf, wondering what the result would be.
His body as rigid as his cock, Fenris exploded in orgasm, drenching the mage's hand. Still Anders held position and still he fed magic into the delicate frame. He could smell brimstone and felt the heat, almost too much to endure, as the room was lit by the strobing glow of the elf's rapture.
Finally he felt the his magic ebbing, the last trickles flowing from his fingers. Removing them carefully, he struggled to the blanket and collapsed there, watching Fenris carefully. The light was fading and he could see a fluttering of eyelids. The elf's chest didn't seem to be moving, but then he gave a huge sigh and started to pant softly. His eyes slowly opened, looking slightly dazed, and he shook his head hard.
In the next moment he was on the mage, pushing his mouth onto Anders' astonished lips and clawing at the back of his head. Of the outcomes that the mage envisioned for his little experiment, a kiss from the hostile elf was not among them. He opened his mouth to the insistent probing, wrapped his arms around the narrow back, and lay back to enjoy.
When Fenris finally came up for air, he snarled, "If anyone, anyone, but especially Hawke, ever hears of this I will make you dead very very slowly." As pillow talk it was unique, but Anders didn't doubt its sincerity. Sitting up and cradling the scowling elf in his arm, he reached for the bottle.
[next chapter… the second part of Fenris' payment]
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Blackpowder Dominance