Chapter Text
This is really happening. I’m not in the Fade. I’m in a fancy hotel in Antiva and I’m taking Varel to my room. They stood as far apart as possible by unspoken agreement, knowing that once they got started, it would be hard (literally) to stop.
The moment the elevator dinged, Anders grabbed his hand, pulling him through the doors before they finished opening. He fished out the keycard as he trotted down the hall, pants tight, breath fast, belly fluttering, and feeling Varel’s fingers squeezing rhythmically with each step. Lust made him clumsy, and it took two tries to get the card into the door slot, but as soon as it beeped, he spun around to tug Varel into a kiss, a kiss he’d been aching for for over five years.
As their lips finally met, he backed into the room. Varel tasted of gin and lemonade and the tiny hint of stubble on his jaw rasped along Anders’ chin. He kissed Anders like he was drowning, like he was the only air he'd ever wanted, and his arms slid around him, no longer pulling, but pushing, making Anders stumble with surprise. Something fell somewhere, a book or a coat, with a muted thud, but who cares? Hands untucked his shirt then slipped under it, clutching at his skin, and still the kiss went on, until he was dizzy, until his knees buckled. He slid down the wall, gulping in breaths, and reached for Varel’s zipper, tracing his fingers across the thickness growing beneath it.
“No, not like this,” Varel said, and dropped to the floor in front of him. One popped loudly, and he winced. “I'm an old man,” he grumbled. “And I've waited too long to just fuck your throat and be done with it. And certainly not on a hotel floor.”
You waited. It didn't matter how he meant it. If didn't matter if he'd fucked a hundred people or zero since that night. All that mattered was he'd wanted him for years, and Anders wanted him right back. “Bed's right there,” he offered, then turned to point at it.
And at Fenris.
Sitting on it. Reading the complimentary guidebook. He flipped a page, but didn't look up.
“Uh.” The word hung in the air like a smelly fart, and just as ruinous to the moment. “Uh,” Anders added, as eloquent as a piano falling off a building.
“No, don't stop on my account.” Fenris flipped another page. “It's your vacation too. Live it up.”
Anders flushed hot, then cold as he tried to figure out what to say. In the end, he just gave Varel a helpless glance.
Varel sat back on his heels with an uneasy sigh. “Perhaps this was too hasty.”
Fenris, you asshole. He had to have known, right? Had to have set this up just to fuck up Anders’ one fucking chance for a night with Varel. But… no. How could Fenris have possibly known he'd come back so soon? Or, for that matter, come back at all? Varel had a room too.
No, he hadn't planned this. In fact, if Anders looked past the perfectly cool unfathomably steady voice, if he really looked at him, it was obvious Fenris was as surprised as they were. He'd just had thirty more seconds than they did to compose himself. But he wasn't composed at all. Not really. His hair was mussed, and a book was on the floor. Like he'd dropped it in surprise. The guidebook had been on the nightstand before, but it was in Antivan, not Trade. Had he grabbed the first thing he saw to try to pretend he wasn't watching?
He caught Varel by the shirt collar, as he stared at Fenris, searching for answers to a question that fluttered in the back of his mind. Stared at the curve of his mouth, and the way it creased under the edge of his teeth. Stared at the hand clutching the page hard enough that it looked about to rip. Stared at those wide green eyes full of an emotion Anders had never seen in them before. Like he wanted Anders to keep going.
It was ludicrous, but that had to be it, and he wasn't going to question it. Questions led to answers, answers led to more questions, and those usually led to wasted chances. Chances like this one. He looked back at Varel. “It wasn't. Too hasty, I mean.”
Varel glanced at Fenris. “You're okay with this?”
He put the guidebook back on the nightstand as one ear twitched. “Is that a problem?” he asked.
“It's… unique,” Varel admitted. “Not the evening I expected when I woke up. For several reasons.” He touched Anders’ wrist as he stood, making it clear that he wasn't pulling away, and tugged Anders up with him.
Anders leaned into him and pressed his mouth to Varel’s ear, pitching his voice low, but not so low Fenris wouldn’t hear. “He wants to watch,” he murmured, still looking at Fenris. “He wants to see you make me beg.”
Even in the dim light from the one lamp on the table, Fenris’ reaction was unmistakable. He swallowed once, then twice, then, after a resigned shudder, nodded.
Varel’s hand tightened around his wrist. “Would you? Would you beg?”
“I- I'm begging right now.” Anders rolled his hips to rub his aching cock against him, but his eyes were still on Fenris. It was thrilling and filthy to somehow plead with them both to let this happen, to make this happen, not for him, but to him. “You left once; don't do it again. Please, Varel. I can feel what you've got down there.” He slotted his knee between Varel’s legs, then slid up, grinding slightly. “He wants to see what you'll –”
“Not another word.” The order wasn't unexpected. The source was. Fenris slid off the bed and crossed the room, standing so close that he was almost touching Varel’ back. “The only thing that belongs on your lips is a name or a cock.”
Anders’ insides fluttered as Fenris grasped his hand, then they liquified as Fenris slowly walked around them, twisting his arm behind his waist. He took Anders’ other hand from Varel and did the same, pinning both wrists to the small of his back, then firmly pushed him back to his knees. Varel's fingers dragged up his chest as he sank down, ending up resting on Anders’ shoulders.
No one spoke. Fenris had said his piece, Anders was forbidden, and Varel was just speechless. He looked bewildered and bewitched, like he didn't quite know what was happening, but didn't have it in him to stop it. His thumb stroked the edge of Anders’ collarbone.
Not on a hotel floor may have been the plan, but the bulge in his slacks didn't have any qualms. It twitched, desperate for a hand or a mouth or anything. Anders didn't have use of his arms, but that only made this a challenge. He liked challenges. These kinds of challenges, at least.
He wiggled slightly, testing what Fenris (what the void, how what Fenris part of this?) would allow. There was no reproving noise behind him, and no tightening of his grip, so Anders leaned forward, touching his nose to the quivering dick mere inches away, separated only by a layer or two of fabric.
Varel hissed in barely restrained appreciation, but that was it. He didn't grab Anders’ hair, or unzip. A fucking gentleman. Well, not a fucking one yet. His hesitance was endearing, but not what Anders needed or wanted. He tried again, foregoing another soft stroke with his nose, and pressed open mouthed kisses to Varel’s cock instead. Varel's hands began to tremble, and even through cloth, Anders could feel his pulse racing. Up and down his length he went, biting softly, not teasing, but begging with everything but words. Please, Varel, his breath said. Now, Varel, his teeth pleaded.
It still took longer than Anders expected for his resolve to break, but break it did. One moment, he had a mouth full of fabric, and the next, fingers were tangling in his hair, the zipper was open, and a cock was pressed – shoved – between his lips. He bobbed on it in delight, savoring the feel, enraptured by the flavor that was so like so many of the dicks he'd had, but different. Better because it was Varel’s.
It tasted of sweat and want, salty and bitter, and was thick enough that it made his bruised cheek sting as it forced his mouth open. Tears pricked in his eyes, but Maker, no matter what, he wasn't going to call it quits now. Nothing could be more important than Varel’s dick, not even air, and he pressed forward, swallowing, then swallowing again, as his gag reflex surrendered to his libido, and his throat and lips were stretched to the breaking point.
“Beautiful.” Anders barely heard it over the pounding in his ears. His eyes had closed at some point, and his body felt heavy. The throbbing of his own arousal was a distant nuisance, overshadowed by the tingle of each caress along his head and shoulders. Three hands, to be exact: one in his hair, one on his shoulder, and a third up and down his back. The fourth one didn't caress, but clenched rhythmically on his wrists.
He was so lost in feeling that he almost choked in surprise when Fenris’ warm lips touched his ear. “Now fuck his mouth.”
Varel was ready. With a broken groan, he pulled back enough for Anders to take a single breath, then his hips snapped forward. Anders lapped at the underside as it slid over his tongue. He wanted to grab Varel’s hips, but Fenris still knelt behind him, holding his arms in place, breathing harshly against his ear. Varel set a fast pace, going deeper each time, and the hand on Anders’ shoulder tightened with every thrust. The one in his hair vanished at the same time Fenris gasped, then Anders was pushed forward, until his nose pressed into the damp curls of hair below Varel’s belly.
He was trapped, gloriously trapped, unable to move save for the trembling that shook him all over. Varel took a half-step back, then drove into his mouth again before shuddering to a halt.
“I can't – you're like a dream,” he groaned. His cock jerked once, then, with a ragged moan, he pulled himself free and leaned on the wall. “Don't have the stamina I used to,” was the apologetic explanation. “Need a moment, or we'll be done too soon.”
Anders swayed, but Fenris caught him, just like he had at the coffee shop a week ago. A hand was splayed across his middle, and two fingers had slid between the buttons. They burned on Anders’ skin, dragging his soul screaming back into every sensation cascading through his body. Blood roared in his skull and breath rattled in his lungs. The bruise across his face throbbed from holding his mouth open, and his dick felt like it was strangled by his boxers. He moved to reach for it and adjust, but his wrists were still pinned, not by a hand, but by Fenris’ entire body.
No words except a name. That had been the rule. One he'd not exactly agreed to, but was enjoying all the same. He turned his head, brushing the edge of his jaw on Fenris’ lips. When he opened his mouth, he paused, feeling both men's attention as they yearned to hear him call out for them. Fenris’ hand twitched, and Varel pushed himself from the wall. His dick still shined from Anders’ spit, and jerked when he glanced at it.
He closed his mouth, then smirked, satisfied with himself for managing to tease them both by doing exactly what he’d been told. It was worth missing out on the touches he could’ve begged for to put them so off balance. It made them… genuine. More real than they could be otherwise. He had to keep pushing and pressing to be sure this wasn’t a dream. It couldn’t be, of course. Not really. Fenris was there, after all, and some things were so unbelievable not even the Fade would try to make them up.
Speaking of…
“At least undress him while you take your break.” Fenris stood up and rested a hand in Anders’ hair, like he was a prized pet.
Varel’s mouth twitched in the ghost of a fond smile. “Efficient.” He tucked himself back into his pants, much to Anders’ dismay, then held out his fingers to him, much to Anders’ delight. “Come here.”
Without Fenris’ weight against him, he actually could. He pushed himself to his feet, then touched Varel’s palm. He pulled Anders’ hand to his lips and kissed each knuckle as he wrapped an arm around him. “Fenris,” he murmured, “I could use some help with this, if you don’t mind?”
“Oh?” He sounded curious and amused. Willing to play along, at least for now. The bastard better be, after making this so damn complicated.
He caught Anders’ other hand and tugged him around to look at Fenris. “He’s very hard to let go of, and I can’t hold him and undress him at once.”
It was the first time Anders had seen his face since he’d pushed him to his knees. Instead of his usual mask of slightly aggrieved neutrality, open admiration shined on it. His eyes raked over him like a physical force, pressing into Anders’ chest, then down to his legs before traveling back up to his crotch. His tongue peaked out of the side of his mouth as he reached for him, plucking at the top button of his shirt, then the one below it. He left the tie in place, and, in fact, tightened it then yanked twice with a knowing smile.
The constriction was painful and perfect. How does he know to do this to me? He hadn’t talked that much about his sex life, had he? And even if had, why the void had Fenrus been listening? Again, he found himself without the use of his hands, though less roughly than before. Varel’s lips were softer than he expected, and when two of his fingers were pressed past them into Varel's mouth, he swore.
Fenris stopped halfway down his shirt and looked up. “Varel, was that a name?”
He pulled Anders’ fingers free with a wet pop. “Not of anyone in this room. Perhaps someone should cover his mouth, or put something in it to assist him with… restraint.”
Fuck, fuck, fuuuuuuuuuuuck. How did Varel know what he likes too? No, scratch that, he knew why. Anders had listed off all of Nate’s – ahem – charms that he’d miss during that stupid bloody night at the bar, including the sexy ones. He shivered and squeezed his eyes shut, pleading silently for more as the warmth in his cheeks traveled down his chest to meet the fire roaring up from his belly.
“Perhaps someone should,” Fenris agreed. The amusement was still there, but floating like a bit of driftwood in a sea of desire. It made his fingers tremble and roughened his voice. “But I’m occupied. As requested.”
His own thumb was pushed into his mouth as Fenris’ hands slid down from the last button to his pants. Was it careless or deliberate that a palm cupped his dick when he grabbed the zipper? He moaned and bucked forward, overtaken by the instinct to grind against anything, and the palm obliged, offering firm pressure for him to rut into.
Hands slid up and down his body. It couldn’t be more than the four he'd counted, but they were everywhere, squeezing and rubbing him all over. Anders gave up trying to keep track, gave in to the thrill of simply existing and being touched.
Cloth and metal rubbed on his cock as the zipper inched open, then he was free, free and thrusting a fist. Those hand kept moving, one yanked hard on his tie again, making fireworks explode behind his eyes. The tug didn't end, and the fist on his cock squeezed. The tie led him into a hesitant shuffle across the carpet, and sure, he could’ve opened his eyes, but where was the fun in that? Besides, the bed wasn't far, and it had to be their destination.
The tie went slack, and his dick was stroked once more before it too was released.
More hands, guiding him forward. He landed chest first on the bed with a whump. More hands, sliding his shirt off, tugging down his pants, pulling off his shoes. His arms were free again, and he tried to push himself up and finish climbing on to the mattress, but more hands pushed him down as other ones caressed his inner thighs.
“Varel…” Fenris breathed above him and to the right. “Do you still need a few more moments?” Fingers dug into Anders’ skin, belying the politeness of his words.
The hand between Anders’ legs disappeared as Varel chuckled to his left. “You’re kind to offer, ser. An evening like this is a young man’s game, but I think I can manage on my own. For a time, at least.” He paused, and two fingers ran from the base of Anders’ spine down the cleft of his ass. “Though I do need some…”
The hand between his shoulder blades slid off, then the bed shifted. “Ah.” One of Varel’s hands – and they were Varel’s, he could tell the difference now – began to rub slow circles just above his hip as those two damned fingers continued to trace up and down, teasing gently. It felt so good that it hurt, and he stuttered a whimper as he pushed back against them, begging for more with everything but his mouth.
Varel wasn’t cruel, but he wasn’t kind. “Soon, Anders,” he promised, bending over to press a kiss to the back of his neck, but at least had the courtesy to curl his fingers and press the knuckles just behind his balls. “You waited for years, you can wait a little longer.”
A the mattress dipped again, then Fenris was sitting next to him, so close Anders could feel the warmth of his skin. Wait, his skin? Was he naked too? “Here.”
“Could you – perfect.” The lube was startlingly chilly, but warmed as Varel smeared it over his hole. “That’s it,” he murmured. “There you are, and here I am.”
He didn’t start with just one. Anders hissed in pleasure as two fingers firmly pushed inside, filling him up like nothing else could. Nothing but a dick, but this was the first step to getting one, and Maker, it felt so damn good. They plunged in and out, twisting just right to make him see stars. Anders’ hips rolled on instinct as his ears filled with the sound of soft whimpers he barely recognized as his own.
“Varel, I –” a hand covered his mouth as Varel’s fingers stilled, waiting for confirmation whether that broken the rules. Fenris’s. “Shhhh,” he whispered, so gently that Anders’ eyes snapped open in surprise. “He has you. He'll take care of you.” He wasn't wrong, but he wasn't right. No, it wasn't right.
What about you? He turned to lean his cheek into Fenris’ palm, to look at him, at his overbright eyes, his flushed cheeks, and a lower lip puffy and damp from the number of times he must've bitten it. Who's going to take care of you? “Fenris?”
He snorted and shook his head, like he'd read Anders’ mind and didn't want him to worry.
“You know,” Varel said slowly, “I might need another moment after all. If you wouldn't mind taking over?” His fingers eased out slowly, caressing that bundle of nerves once more, making Anders shiver and bite back a moan.
Fenris whipped around and yanked his hand back like he'd been burned, or been caught stealing from a cookie jar. “I cou – I shouldn't,” he stammered thickly.
“You only want to… assist?” Varel asked.
“Y – no.” Fenrus inched closer.
Everything crystalized into this single moment, a razor edge of before and after. No matter what happened, there would be no going back. Anders propped himself up on one elbow, then slid a hand across the covers until it touched Fenris' wrist. There were a dozen things he wanted to say or ask, but he stuck to the rules. “Fenris?”
Fenris suddenly pulled away and stood up. Damn. Damn it. Too much, always too much. Anders dropped back to the bed, pillowing his face in his arms, burning with incomprehensible shame and want.
“Say it again,” he muttered, sounding just as ashamed, just as needy, as Anders felt.
What was the worst that could happen if he did? “Fenris,” he whispered, not looking up.
A different finger on a different hand touched his hole, and sparks danced up his spine. “Again.” A command. One he couldn’t bear to ignore. The emptiness ached inside him as he fought to keep still, to only accept what was given, be it a gentle teasing or a savage railing.
“Fenris.” His voice was reedy and thin. Did he sound pathetic? Encouraging? Hopefully the latter, but probably the former.
“Fenris,” Varel echoed, far more confident, but edged with awe. “You should. You could.”
That same finger pushed in, but only just. It tugged at his rim, forcing and explosive moan from Anders’ lips. “I can,” Fenris murmured. “I will.” Two more fingers plunged in deep, as another hand cupped his balls.
His senses twisted, tied up, and reversed. He could taste the sound of Fenris’ breathing, smell the feel of Varel's hand on his back, hear the shadows playing aross the covers as the lamp flickered, rocked by the force of the bed shaking the end table. Everything was upside-down, sideways, and impossible, and nothing more so impossible than the fact that Fenris, of all people, had half his fist in Anders’ ass.
It was breathtaking, literally. Anders’ gasped and wailed, but every inhale was a fraction of the air he needed, punched out of his lungs before it ever made it far enough to matter.
Something tore somewhere behind him. Not his skin, thank the Maker. A wrapper? Foil. Before he could wonder more, Varel grabbed his shoulder and rolled him over, rotating him on Fenris’ hand like a chicken on a rotisserie. That'll be funny later, he thought distantly, but when he saw their faces, the idea shattered and blew away.
Adoration. Pure, undeserved adoration. Anders was nobody, and could never have earned that. It made his heart want to burst, made his eyes want to tear up, but Varel stopped both by leaning down to press the gentlest kiss he'd ever known to his forehead just as Fenris’ swiped a thumb across the tip of his aching cock.
He bowed up, moaning, despairingly certain he was going to come, going to lose this magical connection too soon, but Varel's hand was suddenly there too, squeezing the base of his dick, stopping the orgasm just in time. Instead, pleasure rocketed backward, in instead of out, stoking that fire in his belly to a height he'd never known. Was he dying? Maybe, but what a way to go.
“Easy, easy. Not yet; no one is done with you yet,” was all he said.
The pressure faded, diffusing through his limbs, leaving him wrung out but still hard, gasping from the force of the sensations careening through his body. Fenris had stopped fingering him at some point during his paroxysm of bliss, and he was empty again, too drained to even mourn the loss.
Varel laid down next to him. His clothes were gone, and a condom had been slipped over his dick. At Anders' glance, he chuckled. “I think I've had enough moments. If you're not too tired, that is.”
Never. He almost said it, but he didn’t want to break the rules. He reached over to run his hand across Varel's chest. Time may have slowed for him, but it hadn't stopped. The hair was graying and soft, but darker than his head, and his muscles weren't as defined as Anders’ remembered, but they still rippled under his touch, sparking renewed desire in his belly. “Varel,” he murmured.
Permission granted, Varel tugged him to his side to face him, then guided one of Anders’ legs up over his hip. His cock slapped wetly against the lube on Anders’ thighs before Varel lined it up to rest against his hole. Anders shivered and nodded, promising that it was what he wanted, what he needed, before burying his face in Varel’s throat.
The bed dipped behind him and then Fenris was there too, stroking his back, dick nestled between his cheeks. There wasn't time to wonder what that might mean because Varel’s hips rocked forward, and it was a thousand times better, sliding in further than the longest finger ever could, then further still. Anders tried to pull back and roll against him, but only suceeded in grinding on Fenris. He moaned too, but softer, like he was surprised, but how could that be? He'd put himself there, so what else could he have expected?
It wasn't difficult to put the question out of his mind when Varel started thrusting in earnest: sharp quick ones that made his cock bounce between them. It felt unnaturally heavy and thick, and each slap of skin on skin sent fresh tingles racing along his nerves. “V-Varel,” he stammered, wishing he could say more, but afraid to break the spell.
“Anders, oh Maker, Anders!” Varel's pace stuttered, still fast, but uneven. He pressed sweaty kisses to his Anders’ equally sweaty brow, punctuating them with shallow gasps as he drove in, harder and deeper.
His attention was fractured in too many pieces, broken apart by the sounds and smells outside and molten desire that boiled in his blood. He didn't want it over yet, but all he could do was hang on, cooing wordlessly and tightening his leg, urging him to give more, to take more, and do it right now.
It was Fenris who saved them all. He reached past Anders’ waist to flatten his palm on Varel’s belly, pushing him away while they both groaned in protest, until only the tip was still left in Anders’ hole. He tried to angle his hips differently and pull himself down, but Fenris grabbed his thigh to force him still. “Not done. Not yet.” His voice rumbled against Anders’ back. “None of us.” His hand snaked between Anders’ legs to rub where Varel was joined with him. They both jerked in surprise and hissed, but he moved too quickly, wrapping his hand around Varel’s length to prevent him from thrusting home. “Not yet,” he murmured again, then something else slid up to his hole.
Another cock.
Sweet Andraste, is he going to –
He was.
He did.
Anders panted and whined as he was stretched on a second dick that pushed in next to the first. His eyes snapped up to Varel’s stunned face, looking for discomfort or anger or, or, anything, anything that might give him a reason to call this off, to say no, to pull away, but all he saw was shocked awe.
“Fenris?” Varel breathed, then his eyes fluttered shut. His arm slid over Anders’ hips, then it was Fenris who hissed as he sank into Anders all the way. It was perfect delicious agony, to have a cock buried in him so deep, while the pressure on his hole burned from opening so wide to accommodate a second one.
Lips brushed his shoulder, hot breath coming in shallow gasps that made him moan and his belly clench, but he had nowhere to go. Nowhere he wanted to go either. Fenris trembled behind him, then, ever so softly, he whispered, “Varel.”
The tension snapped, and so did Varel’s restraint. He drove in with a low cry of his own, turning Anders’ bones into jelly. He managed to roll his hips once, clenching around them as hard as he could, then, then, then, everything happened at once and forever.
The world narrowed to only two things: push and pull, in and out. As they found a rhythm, he lost his, lost his body, knew only blissful fullness and agonizing emptiness as they battered him into a mewling wreck of sensation cascading upon sensation, all piling on top of each other in a heap that crushed him into the happiest dust imaginable. He was nothing, just a hole filled to bursting, bursting with –
When he came, splattering across Varel's chest, they didn't slow. They didn't even pause, only redoubled their pace, furiously pounding into him until Varel stiffened against him with a breathless groan before slipping out and rolling to his back, panting and shaking from exertion and orgasm.
Fenris didn't slow for that either. It hurt now, but it hurt so good that all it did was bring Anders back to his body and the awareness that he might be getting fucked, but that didn't mean he couldn't fuck back. He remembered how his arms worked, and threw one behind, digging his fingernails into Fenris’ hip as he ground against the steel rod inside him, urging him on.
It worked better than he expected. With a ragged moan, he pulled him backwards, stretching him out on top of him, then driving up as he clamped an arm around his waist, pinning his back to Fenris’ chest. The other hand wormed up, yanking the tie hard, choking him, making his vision gray. Anders forgot his body again, torn apart by Fenris, but held together too.
He writhed, barely able to breathe, and still Fenris continued hammering and tugging. On and on it went, until he couldn’t see, until his hands felt cold and numb, then wetness flooded him and spurted out over Anders’ thighs.
Fenris shuddered as his grip on the tie slackened, then he went still. Anders flopped off to his side, more puddle than man, and with more strength that he thought he possessed, managed to grasp Varel’s hand. His mouth was dry, but his insides were so very wet, and every movement made something squish and send another wave of shuddering aftershocks tingling through his nerves.
Was it over?
Was he allowed to speak?
They couldn't unfuck him if he did, right?
“I – wow,” he croaked.
Varel scooted closer and pulled Anders' fingers to his lips. “Wow indeed.” He smiled fondly. “There's semen on your tie.”
Anders glanced down. “Shit.” He loosened it with clumsy fingers then tossed it away. “Beach wedding, right? Nate and Elissa won't care that much. I'll just tell them it's yours.”
“My tie or my leavings?”
He shrugged. “Which is worse?”
A deep throaty chuckle erupted behind him, interrupted by a round of coughing. When it subsided, Fenris cleared his throat, then rolled over to spoon Anders. “You’re insane, both of you. What are we actually going to tell them?”
“It's your anniversary,” Varel said firmly. “Of what, they don't need to know.”
“It's not,” Fenris said, and the bottom fell out of Anders’ stomach. His blood turned to ice, and shame wrapped around his heart in like an oily black tar. He'd done everything wrong, used and lied to his friends, ruined this whole trip because he couldn't simply admit what a failure he was. He'd tasted paradise, and it was all getting ripped away because he hadn't earned it.
“It's not,” Fenris said again, either oblivious to or reveling in twisting the knife further. Then his hand slid down Anders’ arm to cup his and Varel’s fingers. “It's ours.”
Varel frowned in confusion. “Fenris, we just met; you can't possibly –”
“I can, and I do.” Fenris squeezed their linked fingers. “Anders is worth anything I can give, if that's what he wants. And I, unlike Nate, am willing to try long distance.”
The creeping chill in his veins began to thaw, replaced by a soft warmth, like a drink left in the sun. Anders twisted around in their arms to face Fenris. “All this time, and you never said anything?” It wasn't quite an accusation, but it was close.
Fenris eyed him coolly. As if they were still sitting back at the coffee shop in Kirkwall. As if they were tangled in bed together. As if Anders' ass wasn't sore and leaking. “I have now.” Then, with more dignity than any naked man should ever possess, he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Would you be interested?”
Anders tilted his head to catch Fenris’ lips, and kissing him felt like coming home to a place he'd only visited in his dreams. It stole his breath and claimed his soul. How had he not known? How could he have missed that the reason his dates were so lacking in follow through was he'd already met the man – the men – of his dreams?
And they were both here. Right now. Holding him.
He broke off and rolled to his back to tug Varel in for a kiss of his own, then sought their hands, pulling them both to his chest. Then he took a long breath, and gave them his answer.
“Happy anniversary. To the three of us.”