Captain Isabela (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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paradisa2012-02-07 05:00 pm
shipper_on_deck) wrote in paradisa2012-02-07 05:00 pm
Entry tags:
11
[looks like somebody's writing in the journal. Again.]
Chapter One
Fenris slammed Anders into the wall, lyrium aglow even as he tried to hold back his fury.
“What,” he spat out, “did you say to me, mage?”
“I said you’re just a scrawny mutt who can’t get one measly hair to even think about relocating to your chin!” Anders yelled as he tried to pry off that firm, iron grip. “I bet you don’t even own a razor!”
“In case you haven’t noticed,” Fenris hissed, “I’m an elf.”
“Exactly. And that is why you have absolutely no chance at all,” he groused, wiggling. “Look. Even I, with my magnificently casual, just-woke-up-beautifully-stubbled look, don’t have a chance. How can you hope to compete with that?!”
Anders gave a strangled sob (that had nothing to do with Fenris’ tightening grip, surely) as he pointed to a scene just over the other man’s shoulder. His eyes narrowed, this has to be a trick. But he finally chanced a quick glance and stayed frozen as a horrified look spread across his face.
There they were. Hawke and Varric. Varric sat comfortably smug, a mug of ale in one hand as Hawke stood behind him, fingers making their way down the collar of that damnably seductive, open neck shirt. She ran her fingers through that luxurious forest of chest hair, delighting in the manly virility that seemed to seep from the dwarf, the Paragon of Manliness.
Fenris felt numb. Andraste’s ass, there was no way he could hope to match Varric’s masculinity. His grip faltered, his knees went slack, and suddenly, there were a pair of strong arms wrapped around him.
“Don’t worry, Fenris,” Anders whispered in his ear, “I-I’m here.”
Fenris held back a sob as he tried to push himself away with arms that suddenly felt like they had the consistency of cooked noodles.
“Get off of me, mage,” he growled, “I hate you.”
“No you don’t,” Anders murmured, arms wrapping tight around Fenris and bringing him closer, “You never have.”
“I – you – how did you know?” Fenris asked, voice quivering as he stopped struggling.
Anders gave a deep chuckle, staring down into the elf’s luminescent green orbs, so reminiscent of a lush field at the break of the dawn, the light greens of nascent buds and the darker emeralds of the trees - both highlighted and overlaid by the sparkle of dew gathered overnight.
“I have always known, Fenfen,” Anders answered easily. “Two souls battered and wrecked by the sea of life. How in the name of the Maker could we not recognize each other and see each other as we are? We see ourselves reflected in the other and we can’t help but hate the scars we see, the weighty troubles of the world we have had to endure.
“But,” he smiled, a hand reached up to Fenris’ brow, brushing a stray lock of hair back in place, “if we learn to look past what we hate – ”
Anders faltered, eyes snapping to the side in embarrassment before returning, focused sharply onto the inquiring eyes of the elf. He blushed. “ – then we can finally see the beauty that we’ve been too blind to see.”
Fenris was suddenly glad that Anders’ arms were so steady. A detached part of his mind decided that it wasn’t really that odd – the man had to be careful when treating patients after all, despite the fact that the mage regularly wore dresses. He peered into Anders’ dark chocolate orbs, scrutinizing it for any hint of mockery or deception. There was none. Just guileless dark amber eyes, ripples of bourbon. A little beseeching, but it certainly did nothing to hide the pain in his tortured soul. Just like his own eyes, he realized with a start.
“Andy-bear,” he breathed as he smiled just a bit. A quirk of his lips, no more. “My Andy-bear, I’ve been waiting to hear that for years. I-I thought you hated me and the only thing I could do to deaden the cries of my own, unrelenting heart was to hate you back, to pretend that I didn’t care. I’m so happy that I could seek solace in the light of your love.”
Anders gave a laugh, trying to hide the fact that a watery sheen had somehow made itself present in the corner of his eyes.
“Looks like we’ve been running in circles around each other, Fenfen. But we’ve finally reached out and met in the middle,” he said, smiling. “And I don’t ever want to let you go ever again.”
Anders slowly leaned in for a kiss, suddenly aware that his hands were sweaty, that he was nervous, and that every fiber of his being was telling him to kiss the elf. Eyes shut? Eyes open? Are his lips puckering too much, does he look like a fish? Maker’s breath, why is everything so awkward now?
Fenris smiled. And pulled at Anders’ collar, bringing him down for a heated kiss. Anders’ eyes went wide before finally snapping shut and enjoying the kiss. A breathy moan escaped him. Who knew that under his demeanor of calm (even in the heat of battle!) was a literal maelstrom of passion that had him melting into a puddle? (Well, other than the extremely angry sort of passion.)
The elf grunted, finally breaking the kiss and shoving the taller man into the wall with a smirk.
“Patience, Andy-bear. We’re in the middle of the hallway,” Fenris said. “Although I can be convinced with the right argument, Messere Sparklefingers – ”
[and then there’s finally an outbreak of uncontrollable laughter from the esteemed author.
Amidst the laughing she manages to add a bit of a scrawl at the end because it’s all just too much for her to handle.]
TO BE CONTINUED?
Chapter One
Fenris slammed Anders into the wall, lyrium aglow even as he tried to hold back his fury.
“What,” he spat out, “did you say to me, mage?”
“I said you’re just a scrawny mutt who can’t get one measly hair to even think about relocating to your chin!” Anders yelled as he tried to pry off that firm, iron grip. “I bet you don’t even own a razor!”
“In case you haven’t noticed,” Fenris hissed, “I’m an elf.”
“Exactly. And that is why you have absolutely no chance at all,” he groused, wiggling. “Look. Even I, with my magnificently casual, just-woke-up-beautifully-stubbled look, don’t have a chance. How can you hope to compete with that?!”
Anders gave a strangled sob (that had nothing to do with Fenris’ tightening grip, surely) as he pointed to a scene just over the other man’s shoulder. His eyes narrowed, this has to be a trick. But he finally chanced a quick glance and stayed frozen as a horrified look spread across his face.
There they were. Hawke and Varric. Varric sat comfortably smug, a mug of ale in one hand as Hawke stood behind him, fingers making their way down the collar of that damnably seductive, open neck shirt. She ran her fingers through that luxurious forest of chest hair, delighting in the manly virility that seemed to seep from the dwarf, the Paragon of Manliness.
Fenris felt numb. Andraste’s ass, there was no way he could hope to match Varric’s masculinity. His grip faltered, his knees went slack, and suddenly, there were a pair of strong arms wrapped around him.
“Don’t worry, Fenris,” Anders whispered in his ear, “I-I’m here.”
Fenris held back a sob as he tried to push himself away with arms that suddenly felt like they had the consistency of cooked noodles.
“Get off of me, mage,” he growled, “I hate you.”
“No you don’t,” Anders murmured, arms wrapping tight around Fenris and bringing him closer, “You never have.”
“I – you – how did you know?” Fenris asked, voice quivering as he stopped struggling.
Anders gave a deep chuckle, staring down into the elf’s luminescent green orbs, so reminiscent of a lush field at the break of the dawn, the light greens of nascent buds and the darker emeralds of the trees - both highlighted and overlaid by the sparkle of dew gathered overnight.
“I have always known, Fenfen,” Anders answered easily. “Two souls battered and wrecked by the sea of life. How in the name of the Maker could we not recognize each other and see each other as we are? We see ourselves reflected in the other and we can’t help but hate the scars we see, the weighty troubles of the world we have had to endure.
“But,” he smiled, a hand reached up to Fenris’ brow, brushing a stray lock of hair back in place, “if we learn to look past what we hate – ”
Anders faltered, eyes snapping to the side in embarrassment before returning, focused sharply onto the inquiring eyes of the elf. He blushed. “ – then we can finally see the beauty that we’ve been too blind to see.”
Fenris was suddenly glad that Anders’ arms were so steady. A detached part of his mind decided that it wasn’t really that odd – the man had to be careful when treating patients after all, despite the fact that the mage regularly wore dresses. He peered into Anders’ dark chocolate orbs, scrutinizing it for any hint of mockery or deception. There was none. Just guileless dark amber eyes, ripples of bourbon. A little beseeching, but it certainly did nothing to hide the pain in his tortured soul. Just like his own eyes, he realized with a start.
“Andy-bear,” he breathed as he smiled just a bit. A quirk of his lips, no more. “My Andy-bear, I’ve been waiting to hear that for years. I-I thought you hated me and the only thing I could do to deaden the cries of my own, unrelenting heart was to hate you back, to pretend that I didn’t care. I’m so happy that I could seek solace in the light of your love.”
Anders gave a laugh, trying to hide the fact that a watery sheen had somehow made itself present in the corner of his eyes.
“Looks like we’ve been running in circles around each other, Fenfen. But we’ve finally reached out and met in the middle,” he said, smiling. “And I don’t ever want to let you go ever again.”
Anders slowly leaned in for a kiss, suddenly aware that his hands were sweaty, that he was nervous, and that every fiber of his being was telling him to kiss the elf. Eyes shut? Eyes open? Are his lips puckering too much, does he look like a fish? Maker’s breath, why is everything so awkward now?
Fenris smiled. And pulled at Anders’ collar, bringing him down for a heated kiss. Anders’ eyes went wide before finally snapping shut and enjoying the kiss. A breathy moan escaped him. Who knew that under his demeanor of calm (even in the heat of battle!) was a literal maelstrom of passion that had him melting into a puddle? (Well, other than the extremely angry sort of passion.)
The elf grunted, finally breaking the kiss and shoving the taller man into the wall with a smirk.
“Patience, Andy-bear. We’re in the middle of the hallway,” Fenris said. “Although I can be convinced with the right argument, Messere Sparklefingers – ”
[and then there’s finally an outbreak of uncontrollable laughter from the esteemed author.
Amidst the laughing she manages to add a bit of a scrawl at the end because it’s all just too much for her to handle.]
no subject
I hate you.
no subject
no subject
no subject
Andy-wandy?
no subject
[a pause]
Or even better, just stop talking to me. Or about me. Forever.
no subject
no subject
no subject