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Appropos to nothing I am working on. My mind keeps wandering around the idea that Sebastian gives Anders and Merrill to the Circle in Kirkwall anyway, and the aftermath of that. This bit keeps coming back to me, re: Fenris not coping with Sebastian’s choice and the next part will deal with the fallout of their capture and rescue.
TW: Violence, description of rape, trauma
Oh, goodness. This turned out very, very nsfw, and…
Is it okay to get all flustered while you write?
Her tongue dragged across his ear. A sensitive place, a sensitive shiver that moved up his spine and spread like wildfire through his core. Funny, when he thought of Merrill, he always thought of softness, of something indefinably sweet; yet when she was close to him, she burned like flames licking at the most vulnerable, tender places. Fenris couldn’t explain it, couldn’t hope to ever possess the ability to explain it, and so he resolved instead to enjoy it.
“Oh,” Merrill sighed. Her hand moved lower, to his stomach, and lower still, where he was hardest and hottest for her. “You’re just full of surprises,” Merrill whispered. “Let me see what you have for me.”
More bandages, scraps of cloth, lengths of leather thong, of rough twine, of silken cord. Feathers, endless feathers, enough to make several entire coats of them Fenris sometimes thought. Mage staffs, too, standing leaning in dusty corners, dropped on the filth-flecked stones of a winding back alley, hanging in pride-of-place over a richly carved marble mantle, broken in pieces and stuffed into a wood pile.
Books, too, from great leather- or metal-bound tomes with locks holding them shut to the small cheaply-bound pamphlets that street hawkers sold. Anders’ manifesto, in many forms, from single much-creased and well-handled sheets to the entire thick stack of pages, bound in twine. Robes both fine and worn, clean and new-made, stained and torn, hanging neatly on a hook, folded away in a trunk with herbs to keep away the moth, reduced to use as a cleaning rag. A thin, stained blanket, so coarsely woven it seemed like burlap, in someone else’s dream of cells. A silvered metal belt buckle lying on a tray of discarded odds and ends of metalwork in a shop so crowded with things it took them the entire night to find that one item that was Anders, Feynriel in the end reduced to carefully touching everything in reach until he found it.
This hurt… it… excuse me, I have something in my eye.
This fic will be a series of confessions, culminating into… yeah… ^_^v
This is also going to be the most I have ever written Sebastian, or at least, gotten inside his head. I hope I get him right.
The First Confession
“I… I have been thinking about what you said.”
Sebastian Vael started in his seat in the confessional when he heard Fenris’ familiar, cultured tones. He turned his head to the side, and tried to peer through the lattice window that separated a penitent from the confessor. In the dim light, he could barely make out Fenris’ shock of white hair, and one long, elven ear.
Sebastian spent one day every week in the confessional. At first, it had disturbed him, the things he would hear people say. He would sit on his lightly padded bench for hours with his hands clenched into tight fists, as he fought the urge to say something damning.
I am usually good at titles, hell sometimes that’s the easiest part for me. I’m going to post a synopsis under the cut; if anyone has title ideas throw them at me?