No one special.
Just a ginger, nerdy writer who posts little things that amuse me.
On occasion the ramblings of a spoilt brat.
Mostly Dragon Age, kittens, Star Trek, gorgeous ladies, gaming, shoes and sometimes NSFW - be aware.
Should you wish to see what I actually look like (for whatever reason) you can do so - here.
He grabbed the elf by the waist and pulled him onto his lap.
“Carver, what are you -”
With a drunken chuckle, he arranged Fenris comfortably on his lap, draped an arm about his shoulders, began to run circles on his back with tender fingers. “I’m sick of dancing around this. Everyone knows, Fenris. I don’t see why we have to hide it anymore.”
“We’re in the Hanged Man, little Hawke. It’s not our companions’ opinions I care about.” Fenris cast a wary eye around the room, but he didn’t move to get up. Instead he took a deep breath and relaxed, draping his leg across Carver’s, leaning into the Warden’s broad chest. The young man smelt like ale and rust, like sweat, like masculinity. Fenris found it stirring and for a moment he forgot where they were, sliding a hand sensually across Carver’s shoulders and down his arm. “Mmm. I have missed you, you know,”
Carver smiled and rested his forehead on Fenris’, looking deeply into his lover’s eyes. “I’ve missed you. I’ve missed our sparring matches, your cursed mansion – that bed,” his eyes crinkled in the corners, leading a smile in which his mouth was soon to follow. “We should get out of here. Soon.”
Fenris stole a kiss, lingering, mouth too soft to imply anything short of longing. The scent of Carver, the feel of this muscled warrior beneath him was setting him aflame. He was losing control of his wandering hands… “Very soon, little Hawke.”
“Oh don’t stop on our account, Fenris,” Isabela’s smouldering voice called across the table. Fenris jerked his head up to find the entire group watching them intently, even Hawke – even Anders. With a wry smile he shook his head as Isabela fanned at her face mockingly. “This is something I never thought I’d see outside of my own imagination. Hot. Very hot in here.”
Like some teenager showing off, Carver grabbed Fenris and pulled him into a hungry kiss. The elf knew it was for the sole purpose of stirring their audience, but he obliged, and a round of catcalls and whistles answered them, led by Isabela’s chant of “take your shirts off!”. Breaking the kiss with a laugh, Fenris got to his feet, fingers entwined with Carver’s.
“I think we’ll stop exciting the pirate and flustering your brother,” He murmured into Carver’s ear as the Warden stood beside him, sparing a second to kiss at his lobe. “Come. Let’s… go elsewhere.”
Love this pairing. I cannot get enough of Carver at the moment.