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lesetoilesfous · 4 years

Note

For the prompts, Anders/Fenris C1 being dared to have sex by someone else.

Hey, thank you so much for the prompt!!

(If you want me to write you a dragon age ficlet tonight, send me a prompt from here!)

@dadrunkwriting

Pairing: Fenders

Characters: Fenris, Anders

Tags: modern AU, college AU, no magic, random frat boys, what happens when the boys aren’t chaperoned for thirty seconds, I’m sorry I’m British what even are american universities, smoking

Rating: Mature

“I think you two should fuck. I dare you.” Jackson has had too much to drink. Everyone has had too much to drink, but Kirkwall U’s champion hockey player has really, really had too much. His fair skin is red and blotched with alcohol, he’s sweating a little, and his pupils are dilated. Anders and Fenris level him with matching unimpressed glares. The rest of the team lolls against the couches, plastic cups gripped loosely in sweating palms.

Anders gets to his feet. Music is thumping through the walls of the house loudly enough to shiver through the carpet, and he’s been too hot for a while anyway. He’d kill for a breath of fresh air, and a cigarette to boot. The hockey captain getting weird was as good an excuse as any. “Not that I haven’t always wanted a sneak peek into the kinky corners of your mind, Jackson, but I haven’t. Ciao.”

He leaves the loose ring of hockey players without a backwards glance, and finds himself wondering briefly why the hell he’d stayed at all without Kristoff. Anders weaves through the crowd without thinking much of anything, feeling the alcohol in his body slosh warmly through his blood and leaving his head dizzy with its sudden absence. He breathes, and tastes body odour and tequila. By the time he gets to the wide balcony doors he’s nearly gasping for fresh air - and the chlorinated stink of the swimming pool soaked in muffled music is like a brief taste of heaven.

Anders slips his hand into his pocket, pulling out a crumpled pack of tobacco and rolling himself a cigarette before fumbling for his lighter. His fingers hit the bottom of his jeans’ cotton pocket and he curses, tucking the cigarette behind his ear, and briefly weighing the value of going back inside or bumming a light off a stranger. His fingers tap against his leg as he thinks about it, full now of nervous energy.

He hates being alone at these things, and Isabela had dragged off Marian to ‘celebrate her victory’ about two hours ago. Kristoff was...somewhere, and Anders would be more worried about him if he wasn’t sure the man was damn near indestructable. He was probably off being dragged into something stupid by Nate.

The wind rushes over the trees in a great whispering hush, and the soft splash of people in the pool plays cymbal crashes under the low murmur of conversation. Anders really, really wants a cigarette.

“Need a light?”

Fenris’ voice is as low, rough, and unreasonably attractive as it ever is. Anders barely resists the childish urge to groan out loud, and turns to see Fenris standing quietly, a lighter held up in the air between them like a white flag. Reluctantly, Anders drags the bitter protesting teenager inside himself back under control, and forces himself to give Fenris a polite smile, snatching the lighter out of his hand before he can think better of it.

“Thanks.”

Fenris nods, and hums softly, his own cigarette held loosely between his fingers. He takes a drag whilst Anders burns his thumb on the lighter and finally, finally gets the little flickering flame between his fingers to catch his cigarette with a scratching snap. Anders breathes in, lets warm smoke fill his lungs, and feels himself relax. He shuts his eyes, and huffs out a cloud of tobacco with a contented sigh. Fenris chuckles, softly.

“I owe you.” He gestures with one long elegant hand at the open doors. “I’d been searching for an excuse to depart that miserable little gathering for forty five minutes.”

Anders raises an eyebrow at him. He certainly hadn’t consciously been thinking of an out for Fenris when he’d left. “You’re welcome?” He lifts his voice in question, and tries not to think about the tattoos on Fenris’ throat. The corner of Fenris’ mouth pulls into a small smile that Anders desperately wants to read as fond.

“I said I’d come check on you.” Fenris explains. Around them, fairy lights drip down the side of the house, woven haphazardly into the trellis nailed to the bricks. Anders thinks of Jackson’s ‘dare’. His mouth twists.

“They probably think we’re out here engaging in a liberal dose of PDA.”

Fenris shrugs. He’s wearing a black t-shirt and dark jeans, with a thin silver bracelet Hawke had bought for him years ago. He’s the most handsome man Anders has ever seen. It’s maddening. “I confess that what they think we might be doing matters little to me.”

Anders huffs and takes another drag, savouring the thick bitter taste of tobacco on his tongue. “You say that, you’re not the one who’ll be touted as your latest conquest.” He wrinkles his nose. “Honestly, you sleep with one hockey player and suddenly everyone says you have a thing for them.”

Again, there’s that glimmer of a faint, fond smile at the corner of Fenris’ lips. Anders blinks, and it’s gone. The pool is so bright under the stars it almost glows, rocking like a little ocean between the tiles. “I don’t labour under the impression that you’d sleep with me because I’m a hockey player.”

“That implies you think you know why I would.” The words trip from his tongue before Anders has the chance to think better of them. This was why he shouldn’t attend these events unaccompanied. If Kristoff was here, he’d take this moment to pilot them both back inside to the kitchen, and they’d find some nachos, and he’d listen whilst Anders had a small breakdown about what he just said and what Kristoff thought Fenris thought of it, and Kristoff wouldn’t know but it’d help to talk about it anyway.

Instead, Anders finds himself frozen as Fenris meets and holds his gaze, sucking on his cigarette before he lets go in a thick cloud of smoke. Suddenly, the music and the party seem very far away. Fenris says, a little roughly, “I think you like me because you think I’m kind.”

Distantly, Anders knows he’s blushing. With an effort, he wets his lips, and forces himself to speak, trying for humour and ending up somewhere around embarassingly intrigued. “I’m not in the habit of fucking every good samaritan I meet.”

Fenris hums, but there’s a flash of laughter and something like daring in his eyes as he taps his cigarette. Anders watches the ash fall, still burning orange, onto the tiles. He smokes his cigarette.

“You think I’m intelligent.” Fenris says, softly.

Anders really, really wants a drink. He looks quickly around the pool, where other students stand in bright colours and neon like a flock of tropical birds. He turns back to Fenris, standing in the shade of one of the garden walls, looking calm and confident and more collected than Anders has ever been. Anders forces a chuckle and tucks his hand into his jean pocket before his fingers start tapping again. “Yeah, Fenris, I have a brain. And I also know what your grades are.”

Fenris finishes his cigarette, and stubs it into an ashtray on a nearby table before stepping closer. Anders imagines he can feel his body heat and knows they aren’t standing close enough together for that to possibly be true. It’s hard to tell out here, where the electric lights of the house blaze into the darkness and fade quickly, but Anders thinks Fenris is blushing.

Fenris says, quietly, “You think I am attractive.”

Anders looks away, and swallows, and tries to ignore the furious pounding of his heart and the flush burning up the back of his neck. “Again, I have eyes.” He stabs his cigarette butt into the ashtray with more ferocity than is strictly necessary, and freezes when Fenris very, very gently tucks his hair behind his ear.

Fenris is shorter than Anders, but it’s always been hard for Anders to think of him as small - and not only because he’s pretty sure the other man could benchpress him. There’s something about Fenris, and the careful way with which he speaks and acts, which demands the same kind of dedicated attention in return. Fenris’ other hand moves to tangle gently with Anders’ fingers. Anders stops breathing.

Fenris looks at him, “I think you know that in the end, despite our best efforts, you and I are very much alike.”

Anders lets out the breath he’d been holding and it feels like he’s coming up for air. The wind rushes through the trees, and above them, where they’re not hidden by the blaze of artificial light, the stars glimmer in a blue summer sky. “Careful. I might get the wrong idea.”

Fenris’ hand tightens, just a little, around Anders’. There’s something earnest and unguarded in his green eyes that Anders thinks he’s never seen before. When Fenris speaks, his voice is a little uneven, and as he moves the lights of the house brush over his dark skin, and Anders catches the depth of his blush as it spreads over his cheeks. “I am hoping that you will get the right one.”

Anders grins a little, nervous and shaky, and squeezes Fenris’ hand back. “Well, you know me. I’m always a bit slow on the uptake.”

Then he catches the side of Fenris’ face in his free hand, and bends down, and kisses him. He tastes like tequila and cigarettes. Around them twists the warm embrace of a gentle summer breeze.

#dadwc #fenders #da2 #sneakyneighboururchin #fenris #anders #da2 fic #my fic #fenders fic

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honeylikewords · 5 years

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Cudly Poe on Both man, that's what I need. I'm freezing right now, and I want Poe to come give me cuddles.

Honestly, me too, especially while getting over this nasty flu :’0 Cuddles are such a comfort and a good thing, and make everything better!

So, without further ado, here comes some Blatant Self Indulgence For Myself!

“You know, I think she does this just to pick on me,” Poe grumbles, rubbing his arms through his heavy jacket sleeves.

Snap looks over at his friend, setting his mouth tightly with annoyance, and folds his arms over his chest.

“Are you really calling General Organa petty right now?,” he yells, trying to make himself heard over the whipping of the icy winds.

“Yes! I mean, why else would she put us on ‘guard duty’ out here?”

Poe points a gloved finger accusatorily out towards the unendingly white spans of nothingness before the two of them, then gives an obvious shiver, his teeth chattering.

“Really! We can’t see a damned thing in this kind of weather, anyway, and even if we could, there’s nothing to see! Anything we need to be aware of is easy enough to monitor from inside the base! She put me out on this post as... punishment!”

“Well,” Snap says back, burrowing his arms closer to his chest to keep warm, “Maybe you earned it.”

“She stuck you out here, too!”

“It’s my fault for being friends with you,” he gripes. “I’m being punished for fraternizing!”

Poe is tempted to kick a snow pile at Snap when he hears the familiar groan of metal behind him and turns, seeing the door to base opening. General Organa peeks out with a wry smile, eyeing Poe warily.

“Nice to see you haven’t frozen to death,” she chuckles.

“Oh, har-har.”

“Backtalk me like that and I’ll have you out here on back-to-back shifts,” she offers. Poe can tell by her tone that she’s far from joking.

Leia tosses a hand over her shoulder, beckoning the men indoors.

“We got a snowstorm alert. We’re shutting down for the night. Battening down the hatches, no ins or outs until we have the all-clear.”

Poe and Snap both breathe sighs of relief and rush back into the base, overjoyed when the heavy door seals behind them and blocks out the blasting winds. As Poe slumps against the door and pulls down the massive hood of his winter jacket, he can see Leia smiling at him through his snow goggles, her grin playful.

“Had fun out there, Dameron?”

“You know I was born on a tropical planet,” he grumbles, sliding the goggles up onto his forehead. “That was just cruel.”

“I know,” she laughs. “But you’re fine, aren’t you? Not going to let a little chill get you down, right, Commander?”

“I suppose,” he says, unable to withhold his own smile. He can’t help that Leia has such infectious laughter, after all, and he lets go of his gripes and griefs as he smiles back.

As the three of them walk down the halls and further into the base, Poe tugs his gloves off and clears his throat, running scenarios out in his mind to see which one allowed him to seem the most casual.

“So,” he drawls, tucking his gloves into his pocket. “Have you, uh, heard from--”

“Your girlfriend?,” Leia interjects, making Poe’s face heat with more than just windburn. Her eyes glitter with teasing mirth, knowing full well that she’s embarrassed Poe a twinge. “Yes. She should be over in medbay. I think her shift’s turning over about now, too, so--”

“Right, gotcha, see you all in a little bit, buh-bye,” Poe rushes, blatantly overeager to leave. He throws Snap and Leia a quick nod, and then Poe, clearly too excited to restrain himself, takes off jogging towards the medbay.

As Poe nears the medbay, his embarrassment transforms itself into enthusiastic anticipation, a growing giddiness. He’s been thinking about her all day; out there on guard duty, he’d let his imagination run away with him more than once, taking him back into her warm embrace over and over again. Now, as he gets closer and closer to the reality of her, he can practically feel her warmth on his skin, feel her in his arms. He’s thrilled.

He takes a quick peek in the door of the medbay when he arrives, peering around the corner, and sees her sitting on a chair, someone’s coat spread over her lap, and she appears to be sewing it. Curious, Poe steps into the doorway and pauses, leaning against the doorframe, just watching.

She doesn’t look up from her sewing, instead seeming to be intently focused on her work. She’s patching a rather nasty gash along the shoulder seam, and the span of stitches seems to be near its end, the gash closing up nicely. In and out she pulls the needle, and, with the final loop, pulls the thread taut, sealing the cut fabric together. Making a few knots at the end of the thread, she takes a small pair of scissors and snips the thread, then places the scissors, needle, and thread off to the side and holds the coat up to inspect it.

“It looks good to me,” Poe says, officially breaking the silence and calling her attention to him.

She seems surprised at first, but her expression quickly shifts into one of comfort, a smile growing; she’s happy to see him, and it makes Poe feel warm all over to know she’s smiling because of him.

“Hey, you,” she says softly. “You look cold.”

“What gave it away?”

“You still have snow in your hair.”

At that, she stands up and sets the coat aside, walking over to Poe. She stops short of him by a few inches and reaches up to lightly brush at his bangs, fluffing the hair to disperse the accumulated snow. Poe feels a happy little chill course through him at the sensation of her fingers in his hair, and smiles at her as a few wayward snowflakes flutter free and fall down.

When she’s content that most of the snow has been dislodged, she passes her hand through his hair and traces down the side of his face, looking up at him warmly, and holds his chin, rubbing her fingers on his wind-whipped cheeks.

“They’re like ice,” she mumbles, a smile still playing on her lips. “Here.”

Pulling Poe down by his chin, she kisses each of his cheeks slowly, making sure to linger her lips on his skin. Poe feels more than warmed by the gesture, and puts his hands on her hips, moving his face to follow her kisses, unwilling to miss even a microsecond of her sweet attentions. When she pulls off his cheeks, he remains near to her, still holding her hips, watching her closely with bemusement and adoration.

“Anywhere else cold, Commander?”

“You know, now that I think about it,” he teases, bumping the tip of his nose against hers, “I think my lips are frozen solid, sweetheart.”

“Is that so?,” she teases back. “Well, I think I have just the thing...”

Poe closes his eyes, letting out a dreamy sigh, a dazed, joyful smile spreading across his face as he rubs his nose against her cheek, coaxing her close.

She wraps her arms around his neck and they continue their little dance for a few moments more; she gently rakes her nails down the nape of his neck, warming the skin there as her palm passes over his shorter hairs. He presses their foreheads together and chuckles, their breaths making each other’s faces feel slightly foggy and ever-so-pleasantly hot, and then...

She presses her jaw up and meets his lips, kissing him with such candor and ardency that Poe’s stomach flips. A boyish, jittery excitement takes over him, prompting him to take her chin in his hand, rubbing his thumb against the side of her jaw, allowing him to turn his head side to side and make the kiss deeper, warmer, more intimate.

They stay liplocked, swaying with each other, for a heartbeat longer, until she pulls back, the parting of their lips issuing a soft ‘pop’ that makes Poe’s knees weak.

He brushes his thumb along his darling’s cheek and lets out a breathy, relieved giggle, kissing her forehead as she laughs back softly. Poe still isn’t used to how satisfying and thrilling kissing her can be, and he still finds himself, even after all the time, taken aback by the wonder of it, his stomach still weak with butterflies.

As they calm down from the rush of the kiss, Poe gently pats his sweetheart’s hips and looks around, fishing for an appropriate conversation starter. His eyes fall on the jacket she’d been attending to and he juts his chin at it.

“I meant to ask,” he says, still holding her hips and swaying them side to side slightly, “What was that about?”

“The coat?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, we didn’t have any injuries today,” says his beloved.

Poe offers her a congratulatory high-five. She accepts it.

“But one of the techies ripped his coat trying to squeeze between a ship with hull damage and a wall, and I saw him struggling to try and get help sewing it, so I figured it couldn’t be much different from applying sutures and lent a hand.”

“How utilitarian!,” Poe smiles. “But sweet.”

“Thank you,” she replies, kissing his cheek gratefully. “Now, can we go? I’ve been here for hours and I want to get into bed.”

“You got it, kid.”

Taking her hand, Poe walks out of the medbay, confidently leading his sweetheart through the crowd of workers changing shifts and rebels being ushered inside the base as the blast doors are shut. It’s loud and crowded, but Poe seems to be able to navigate through the sea effortlessly, determined to get where he’s going.

After a good few minutes of swift walking and pointed “excuse me”s and “coming through”s, the two of them find their way to the emptier hallways for the sleeping quarters, and Poe slows in front of the door leading to his sweetheart’s bunk. They come to a stand-still and Poe squeezes her hand, a shy silence replacing his former firm confidence.

“So, should I, you know, head out? Let you rest?”

“Poe,” she giggles exasperatedly, “You know you can come in, right?”

“Well, I didn’t want to just invite myself,” he defends. “That’d be very ungentlemanly!”

“Come on,” she says, tugging him towards the door. “It’s warmer when you’re here.”

Poe feels his cheeks glow at the thought of warming her and follows her into her bunk with a goofy smile plastered to his face.

He stands near the door as it closes behind them and watches his girl head to the bed, sitting on the edge and taking her boots off, then removing her heavy puffer coat. He doesn’t move, just admires the journey of her slow unraveling, her shifting from worker bee to a domestic, comfortable woman, and his heart grows heavy with love at the sight.

She stands to walk over and find her sleeping clothes when she notices Poe lingering near the door, prompting her to come over to his side and take his hand, pulling him towards the bed. He pliantly follows her every instruction and sits down on the bedside when she lightly pushes on his shoulders, and allows her to take his hand and guide it down towards his boots.

“Make yourself comfortable, honey,” she murmurs.

Poe melts at the sound of the word. Honey.

He busies himself with taking off his boots and losing the large, heavy coat, placing them on a nearby chair, as his sweetheart quickly dips into the nearby bathroom to change. While she’s in there, Poe looks behind him at the bed he’s seated on, fidgeting with the hem of the topmost blanket.

It’s one of the military-issue cold weather types, quilted with a mesh of fabrics so that it’s as light as possible while still capturing as much heat as possible. He’s never liked them, himself, and always found them too thin to keep him warm on his own, and starts to imagine what a nicer bed would look like.

It’d be large enough for both of them, he starts with. A side for him and a side for her, though he knows he’d wander over to her side and spend his nights holding her close as can be. The pillows would be larger, too, than these ones, and the sheets softer. A nice, warm red color for the sheets, he imagines, would be very pretty, and with a big, puffy comforter on top for them to cuddle under.

The bed would be in their own bedroom, in their own house, on a planet where plants grow thick and lush, and he’d be able to wake up every morning with her within reach. He pictures windows with gauzy curtains, morning light on her face as she sleeps and he reaches over and--

The door to the bathroom opens and his beloved steps out, now in her sleeping clothes; he recognizes the shirt as one of his own tunic-like tops and smiles.

She goes to her side of the bed and pulls down the covers, sliding between the sheets and curling up into a small ball, facing Poe. She then tugs the corner of the blankets nearest him and pats the bed softly, glancing up at him with inviting eyes.

“I’m cold,” she says simply.

He needs no more instruction.

Poe comes under the covers and reaches out for her, tugging her close to his chest. They wriggle for a few moments, finding the perfect, most comfortable position to be in, aligning their bodies with one another, legs and knees fitting together and heads slotting into crooks of necks, and when they find the perfect alignment, they both release sighs of comfort.

One of Poe’s hands crests up and down her spine as she nudges her cold nose against the warm column of Poe’s neck, and he lets out a brief laugh at the surprising sensation of it. His fingers lightly caress her back and trail up her neck into her hair, where he softly brushes at it and admires its texture, its weight, its warmth. He leans in and takes a breath, the scent of her filling his nose, when he feels her start to giggle into his chest.

“Did you just smell me?,” she teases.

“Well, I--”

Poe stumbles over himself, suddenly self-conscious.

“It’s okay,” she quickly inserts, patting his chest with a free hand. “I’m just giving you a hard time. It’s cute.”

She presses up from her cuddled position to deposit a quick kiss on Poe’s lips, running a few fingertips along his stubbly jawline as she does so. Poe kisses back eagerly, comforted by the affectionate gesture, and feels her scritch her nails under his chin, as if he was a particularly well-behaved dog. He likes it.

When they part, Poe feels much warmer and much more at ease, his arms looped around his lover and cuddling her close, conserving heat between the two of them in a comfortable little bubble. He nuzzles into her cheek and peppers her face with small, chaste pecks, and the two of them slowly sink into a quiet, loving lull.

Their breaths deepen and slow down, eyes growing heavy, and Poe’s hand rubs small, dreamy circles into his sweetheart’s back in dozing repetitions. Both of them tired from their long days, they begin to drift off into a well-earned sleep.

Before Poe finally falls, he gives her one last, sleepy look, and admires her face as it presses against his shoulder, her cheek flat to his chest. He smiles; though perhaps they were not in the largest bed, nor the cushiest, and were not swaddled in the finest blankets and sheets, he can think of no warmer place in all the worlds than here, by her side.

#messages #anonymous #long post #gif warning #poe dameron #I DID IT ....I MADE.... C O N T E N T

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