Chapter Text
Fenris has a diet.
He doesn't like it, necessarily, because it's a lot more effort than the bread and cheese and Hanged Man Surprise that he subsisted off for so long, but he likes it for that reason, too. There's something fulfilling in eating a meal he prepared—and even more so in watching the ladies enjoy something he's cooked for them.
Sometimes they'll have little get-togethers—either just the ladies or the entire party—and Fenris will prepare a simple dish (usually only consisting of chicken or nug and a vegetable) for everyone to eat. The ladies are proud of his attempts, even the bad ones; Aveline commends his efforts frequently, Merrill titters happily about his progress, Isabela teases him about being a pretty houseboy in the same breath she praises his growing abilities, but none of them are so pleased as Hawke.
For whatever reason, Hawke adores his cooking, often groaning around a mouthful of shockingly plain rice as if it's just been invented. It's just cheap bagged rice, he wants to tell her, and barely seasoned, at that. He gets so worried about overloading his ladies' southern palettes… Only Isabela has the taste for spice, but even she indulges so rarely that he worries her mouth could be out of practice. Still, he overdoes it, and his food comes out tasting flavorless and bland to him.
When he tried telling Hawke that, she wouldn't hear any of it. It brings a smile to his face to think about, wry and affectionate. Hawke likes what she likes.
She likes it so much, in fact, that she insisted he cook for her family tonight to show Bethany his new cooking skill. He isn't sure he can call his attempts a skill , not just yet, but with some help, he's hoping to cook something actually lovely for her.
But cooking means groceries which means shopping , an act he hasn't begun to like any more than he used to. Domme-demanded diet or not, he avoids the chore whenever he can, often shopping only for the ladies and keeping his own food supply low.
He doesn't think he'll be doing that anymore though. Just a few days ago, while she was visiting him, Aveline noticed that he was running low on groceries and was very displeased.
You won't have enough to eat, she'd said. He can still remember the strict tone, the disappointed look. Oh, how her eyes had flashed when he'd scoffed! I expect you to care for yourself, Fenris .
He doesn't remember what he'd said—he had been feeling defensive, tired from some job with Hawke or some errand for Isabela. He doesn't remember. With his cage back on in his good health, he's gotten all kinds of mouthy. Whatever it was, Aveline had taken offense to it, likely rightfully so, and deemed it necessary for disciplining.
Oh yes, Fenris thinks with a sigh as he fights the urge to rub his behind, the ghost of pain somehow still making itself known. She had walloped him good . That girl likes the cane more than she likes her husband! At least Donnic never has to feel the cane the day after. Fenris isn't sure which one of them is the lucky bastard in this scenario.
Regardless, he's here at the market, doing his least favorite chore. Hawke has him picking up a few ingredients for Bethany's dinner, but the ghost of Aveline's cane is suspended behind him, very convincingly pushing him to find fruits and meats within his budget. That's another thing Aveline has him doing: budgeting. He doesn't understand why, but she wants him living in a real house in a real neighborhood and eating real meals consisting of real food, all of which he finds utterly ridiculous.
He gets all his gold from killing people—and he's good at it, which is another thing that hasn't changed since giving himself away. It's not like he's a citizen with a respectable job. Not to mention he's still a man on the run. How does budgeting even begin to fit into his life? And wouldn't it be easier to budget if he could go back to eating bread, cheese, and apples?
Picking up an imported plum, he shakes his head ruefully. This is what he signed up for. He can't go complaining now, especially not when he's got a full belly and a wonderfully sore bum almost every day. And he'll never have a proper house, anyways. Not even Aveline can make him do that. Even just the thought of paying rent to the human noble that would own his house makes him want to become Kirkwall's first elvhen serial killer; Aveline would never endanger the city that way.
Fenris pays for the plum, a couple of apples, and a melon before going off to another stall. He stops mid stride.
Aveline's not usually one for a swift punishment like the one from three weeks ago. Now that he thinks about it, it's very uncharacteristic of her. She tends to lecture first, really drive the lesson home so he knows what he's done and can strive to do better. But that day, she'd pulled him over her knee and barely had her gauntlet off before she was tanning his hide with what he had assumed at the time was a warm-up spank. Now it seems more like she'd beaten him impulsively and found, after his ass was red and she was still angry, that her hand simply wasn't enough.
Perhaps work has been stressful for her , Fenris thinks. The city is getting nervous with the Qunari lingering about. Violence against elves is higher because of it—and retaliation by elves higher because of that . Tensions like this, it won't be long yet until the city really does see a serial killer, elvhen or otherwise. And not just the usual bandits or mercenaries, either, but the kind of creep that makes art out of peoples' entrails and writes cryptic messages in their blood.
He should be helping make her life easier, not making it worse by bratting. As if the woman doesn't have enough on her plate without worrying what's on his. As if he doesn't have enough on his plate. He brings his mental shopping list to the forefront of his mind and adds a few more things to it.
He can't undo his sassy remarks, but he can make up for them. He can be better. As soon as Bethany is back to Grey Warden business, he'll run to Aveline's office in the Keep and kneel to kiss her boots and ask, as sweetly as he knows how, if he may make her and Donnic something special.
(And if that means he gets something a little special in return, well, he's an elf living in Kirkwall. He deserves a blighted trophy for that—if they want to make him the filling in their sandwich, that will just have to do.)
*
Bethany is as sweet as she ever is, affectionate and rough like a child with a kitten, but there's something different about her too, something Fenris noticed the moment she met his eyes.
She seems…haunted.
It makes sense. Grey Wardens fight some of the most fearsome creatures of Thedas. She has seen horrible things. And if the gossip Fenris hears from Anders is true, felt horrible things too—might still be feeling it, hearing the whispers of Darkspawn rattling about in her head even as she laughs and sips at her juice, then at her wine.
Fenris nuzzles against her thigh again. It's warm and strong and, like the rest of her, all too thin.
"Aww, so cuddly!" Her hand is in his hair, brushing it back from his forehead and out of his eyes. "You seem a lot less nervous than when I was here last. Time's been good to you, Fenris."
He wishes he could say the same thing about her. She's more mature now, but he doesn't take that as a victory. "Thank you, Mistress." He kisses her thigh, as if he can somehow apologize for the Blight that runs through her.
As she reclines back against her seat and pets his hair, Bethany sighs contentedly. "I'm so glad we got the estate back."
Beside her, her sister laughs, somewhat mirthlessly. It's a sound of agreement more than amusement. "Me too," she says. "It comes with its own problems, but anything's better than Gamlen's hovel."
"Agreed." Bethany lays her head on Hawke's shoulder. "Y'know, if he wasn't such an arse, I'd feel bad he doesn't live with us."
Fenris doesn't feel bad. Gamlen is a disease of a man. The way he talks about Isabela alone is enough to make his stomach churn, not to mention the smell that lingers on that man. He can pity Gamlen his gambling addiction, but that's about the closest to compassion Fenris feels willing to practice.
"He's family," Hawke says, and it only sounds a little forced. "He comes to visit Mother sometimes, or whisks her off somewhere like he did tonight—" And isn't Fenris glad he did! "—but surprisingly, he's never tried to weasel himself under our roof permanently."
"And thank the Maker for that."
Fenris agrees wholeheartedly. It's hard enough to do his duty to Hawke with Leandra around. If it weren't for her taking tea with the other noblewomen in town, it would be near impossible. He can only imagine how much harder it would be with Gamlen in the picture.
With a tender hand under his chin, Bethany lifts his head suddenly, holding him in a way that suggests she'd like to move him herself. She guides his gaze to face her and he meets her eyes questioningly.
"Fenris?" she asks.
"Yes, Mistress?"
"Did you make enough supper for seconds?"
With difficulty, he nods. "Yes, Mistress."
Bethany grins. "Get me another plate? No meat—not that it wasn't tasty, but it's quite filling. Just a bit of the gravy over rice."
"Oh, yum! I love Fenris' rice." Hawke puts up two fingers. "Two please."
"Yes, Hawke." Fenris kisses Bethany's hand when he pulls away before making his way out of the room.
When he gets to the kitchen, he's greeted by a large pot of white rice and a smaller pan of nug meat. In hindsight, the amount of rice he made is a little ridiculous, but that just means he can stuff it all in the icebox and eat it himself later.
He spoons two bowls half-full of the sticky rice, glad now that he left the pot over the stove. It's still warm, so he just heats the meat pan a bit before ladling the thin gravy over the rice.
It was meant to be curry, but given that both the women he's serving are Fereldan, he didn't want to make them sick by cooking them something too spicy. It has a bit of kick, so despite it being rather bland, it's still good enough to eat. He'll likely even enjoy a bowl of his own for an early lunch tomorrow.
One can't go wrong with meat over rice, Fenris supposes.
He pours into each bowl a generous amount from the meat pan, careful to avoid any of the meat sliding in. He doesn't know how well the meat will hold, so he'll probably leave it out for Sandal and Bodahn to nibble at. Hopefully Bodahn will appreciate it. He can be a bit proud sometimes about other people serving Hawke and Fenris doesn't want to overstep.
He grabs both bowls carefully, feeling the heat seep through the thin china to touch his fingers, and turns—directly into Hawke. He avoids spilling any of the food on her, but only because she pivots out of the way and grabs one of them from his hands.
"Ah! Sorry, Fenris, I didn't mean to sneak up on you."
Fenris sighs, willing his heart to calm. "No matter. Was I taking too long?"
"No, you're fine. But Bethany wanted to have some time alone with you, so I'll be retiring to my study, I think." She takes a few quick bites of her rice. "Mm. If you don't stay the night in her room, you can join me in mine."
Fenris opens his mouth to ask, but decides against it. "Yes, Hawke. As you wish."
She puts her hand on his arm and smiles before leaving, her attention fully on her meal as she goes.
Hopefully Bethany is still in the room they were in before. He makes his way there, holding Bethany's helping much more tightly. Indeed, when he opens the door, Bethany is on the other side of it, sitting still on the loveseat she'd occupied before, only this time looking much more strung-out than she had beside her sister.
When she sees him enter, she relaxes marginally. "Oh, good." She stands and—he blinks in surprise—begins to remove her clothing. "Lock the door, will you?"
Fenris does so. "What can I do for you, Mistress?"
She steps out of her robes and kicks it before seeming to think better of it, going on to pick them up and fold them over the opposite chair instead. "I don't need to spell it out, do I?"
Fenris huffs, amused. "I...am more than capable of guessing. However, I find I prefer instruction."
At that, Bethany laughs too. "Alright, then. Nothing fancy yet. I just want you to, well—" She straightens from removing her smallclothes and huffs a laugh. "I'd like you to essentially be a cockwarmer while I eat. I am actually still hungry, it wasn't all a ruse to ask Marian permission to have you." She sits again, legs spread to reveal bright pink flesh, peeking out through dark-as-night curls. Her bra-band remains on. "On your knees, thank you."
It's only a few strides over to her, the room being small and cozy, but he takes them quickly. He drops to his knees in front of her, holding the bowl for her to take. Before she's even taken it, he's nose-deep in her mound, eagerly having his first taste of her.
"Oh!" The air leaves her like she's been hit. He laps at her steadily, quickly, sucking at her folds, and she moans shudderingly before she can speak again. "I said nothing fancy! Just… keep your mouth on me until I'm ready."
Fenris groans softly in disappointment, but schools himself quickly. His upper lip tucked over his teeth and his tongue flat and wide to cup her, he assumes a position he's taken many times already. The angle of his neck is a bit difficult, like always, but there's not much to be done about that. Any crick he gets can be soothed away by Anders or Karl anyhow—for now, he'll focus on serving Bethany.
It's heady, for all of five minutes. She pets his hair, his ear, the pad of her thumb gentle against his skin, but mostly she just… eats. It's a fight not to lap at her, to reach the tip of his tongue up into her. All he can do is listen to her eat and try not to sigh too obviously.
The smell of the meal overpowers anything else after a while, and he starts to wish he'd thought ahead and eaten with them. He hadn't thought himself hungry then, but now that his mouth is full of pussy he can't eat, he's perfectly starved.
With a clack, the spoon falls against the side of the bowl and Bethany sighs, sucking a bit of spice from her thumb. "That was good," she breathes. "It's been a little while, you know? And I don't just mean a good meal."
Fenris hums his understanding, fighting a smile—though it grows more difficult when Bethany moans at his vibrations. His eyes grow wide where his grin cannot and he looks up at her searchingly beneath his eyelashes. This look often works on Isabela, leaving her giggling and covering her mouth, and it works again here.
Lip bitten between her white teeth, Bethany smiles girlishly. "Oh, get on with it then!"
She shifts her weight, lifting her legs to wrap them around his shoulders. She only pulls her quim away from his mouth for a short moment, but it's enough to let a shiver pass through Fenris at the cold air hitting his wet mouth.
As soon as she's comfortable, he grabs her thighs and goes for the kill. She's got a hand in his hair immediately, a small eep! splitting the air around them, but he doesn't slow or pull away. He uses every trick he knows, mindless of whatever sounds he's bound to be making or the distant pain of his cock straining against its cage. It's a large estate, but if her moaning hasn't woken someone , he'll be shocked.
When she cums the first time, he doesn't stop at all, sucking her through the trembling of her thighs and the tightening of her fingers. He doesn't stop after that either. He listens to the sweet whines she makes as she's licked to a second orgasm, then the not-quite-swallowed scream as she shakes through her third.
"Stop! Maker, stop!" Only then does he pull away. She's completely boneless over him, wrapped around his head like a fancy Orlesian scarf. "Do you do that for everyone?"
The gasping rumble of her voice has him biting down a smug smile. "Only for the brave young girls who fight Darkspawn."
At that, she snorts, the hand in his hair finally softening. She uses it to pet him gently. "I guess being a Warden has its perks after all." It seems to be more for herself than for him, but he answers her with a kiss to the thigh anyhow.
Finally, she straightens. Her back pops as she does, like rocks tumbling together. He flinches at the sound, but she just sighs contentedly.
"Alright, now! Where's your cock?"
What? He looks up at her in stunned confusion, eyebrow raised. "I cannot imagine it's gone anywhere since last I saw it."
"Don't tease!" She flicks his nose. "I meant 'spread your legs'."
With a nod, he pulls away and spreads, displaying the silver cage and the too-hard member beneath it. "Not much to be done- NNN!"
She laughs, her hand still tight around his balls. "Oh, hush. After what you put me through, Ser, I think you can handle a little poking. It's all in good fun…" Her fingers move searchingly, light as a breeze on his skin, and it makes him groan to feel them attempt to push through the bars of his cockcage.
"Mistress…" he whines.
Bethany huffs, disbelieving. "Can this cage not be removed? Surely it comes off sometimes..."
A laugh leaves Fenris. "I haven't the key, Mistress." He drops his forehead against her sweaty stomach when she tries again to slide her finger through the small gap. It hurts, but he wants her to succeed.
Finally, she pulls away with a sigh. "Is there truly no way to return the favor? Surely you can—er, 'find your bliss' somehow!"
Fenris thinks about the last time he was given an orgasm while in the cage—the pleasure-pain of his cock fighting the little metal prison while his prostate was mercilessly stimulated.
"I find my bliss in serving you, Mistress," he says.
She falls back with a sigh, her knees falling open for him to continue kneeling between. "Well, maybe I can let Marian know I want you to be rewarded. She'll decide what it is, right?"
Fenris nods. "I assume so. Thank you, Bethany."
"Mhm." Her hand finds his hair, twirling white strands around between her fingers. "Thank you, Fenris. You're a fun toy."
Sighing happily, he nuzzles against her knee. "I live to serve."