"his body’s wand stands erect, like an alabaster staff topped with the ruby of its head. Uthlin knew the ways of that wand. Their magic passed through it as surely as it might invade the lyrium enchantments of a battle staff, and Thenerassan was helpless to prevent his body from answering them." lmao Fey I love this so much ily plz, give us Varrics altered book version??
…Honestly how could I resist?
Ask Thenerassan what he thought of the Dalish mage Uthlin, and he would probably give you a lot of different answers, depending on the time of day. But most of those answers would have a theme. Savage. Rakish. Socially unacceptable. Dangerous, but always with a certain look in his eye, that said that more of him liked that danger than he cared to admit.
It was evening when Uthlin chased the glint in Thenerassan’s eyes to the door to his chambers. The mysterious elven mage had a way of appearing in places, seemingly out of nowhere at times. Blink and you’d miss the sight of them moving through the shadows of the keep. Darting here and there, like a figure more out of tall tales about elves than the reality. Thenerassan was sure that the hunter knew more secret passageways than anyone else.
Oh yes.
Uthlin knew a lot about ‘secret passageways’, Thenerassan would bet. And he had an interest in finding out just how far that knowledge went - little though he might have admitted it around polite company.
“My I come in?” Uthlin asked.
The Circle Mage glanced around, looking for witnesses, as he debated his answer. He was hard up for it, and he knew it. Elicit encounters were easier to hide when no templars were breathing down your neck, but so far, despite the many hints he’d dropped, no one but Uthlin had seemed interested in taking the bait.
“If anyone asks, I told you no,” he insisted, before opening the door wider.
Uthlin smirked.
They could live with that arrangement. Of course they could. And if they couldn’t, well. They could pretend to be satisfied with it for now, anyway. They shut the bedroom door behind them, and flicked the lock shut for good measure.
“I am going to rip these pretty clothes right off of you,” they declared, with unwavering certainty.
Certainty that made Thenerassan as hot as the irons in the keep’s forge.
“Be gentle with me,” he insisted. Even so, he was almost surprised when Uthlin responded to that by reaching for his face, and brushing his cheek. Gentle as requested.
“Are you sure that’s what you want?” they asked him, as they inched closer. Thenerassan could smell the wine on their breath. Liquid courage; apparently it had taken the hunter more to work up the nerve for this than he might have guessed.
He hesitated. What he wanted was the sort of thing a man like himself didn’t admit, in case the Maker overheard it. But his hesitation was answer enough to give Uthlin a hint, and with a smirk, they pushed him down towards the bed. Covered the window, and raised a finger to their lips.
“Our little secret?” they suggested.
Thenerassan was like a match, and more than anything, he wanted to be struck.
“…Don’t be gentle,” he amended.
It was the last piece of the puzzle that Uthlin needed, and they pounced like a jungle cat. Excitement lit up the air as they tore Thenerassan’s clothes from him, playing the part of the savage he’d wanted so badly. He was so hard he could barely see straight. Rain began to strike against the window coverings, a low, icy patter, that masked the scraping his bedpost against the wall. Uthlin banged him like a chantry door caught in a hurricane.
“Holy Maker!” he cried, as he was given the pounding of his life.
“If you plan on invoking any names, I would prefer my own,” Uthlin replied, between thrusts and grunts. The low rasp of their voice nearly sent Thenerassan over the edge. It had been too long, much too long.
“Never,” Uthlin promised, as if they could keep it. And they made a good attempt. The bedpost scraped the wall hard enough to clean a line of paint clear off of it, and Thenerassan came as the storm outside built up, crashing over the edge so hard he was afraid his magic might betray him. But Uthlin just held him tighter, and kept going until they reached their own end.
The aftermath was awkward.
It always was.
Thenerassan let out a shuddering breath, and waited for his oldest friend - shame - to make its courtesy call.
It never left him waiting long.
He looked away from Uthlin. Covered his face, and nearly regretted it. He had to work with them, after all. Had to see them every day. This wouldn’t be like his trysts in the farms outside of Ostwick, with those burly human peasants, who would be gone from his life the moment he went back into the Circle. This time, Thenerassan didn’t even know if there would be a Circle to go back to; and Uthlin would still be in the keep come morning.
“Here, now,” they asked, once they’d caught their breath. They took him by the shoulder. “What’s wrong?”
Thenerassan shrugged them off.
“Nothing,” he insisted. “Just… keep your promise. Don’t tell anyone?”
Uthlin settled a hand against his jaw. Gentle, again. Even without him asking this time.
“If that’s what you want,” they agreed.
It wasn’t what Thenerassan wanted. What he wanted was for them to lean in close, and kiss the breath right out of him. For them to be gentle, now that the rough stuff was done. But he didn’t know how to ask for what he wanted. He never had. So he nodded, and he hoped.
