Work Text:
“Shh, you’re doing so well, love.” Anders’ low croon was punctuated by the swish of the bottle he was half finished with.
Hawke recognized that tone of voice. It wasn’t the soft, bedside-manner whisper he used on patients, even though Hawke was in considerable pain. No, this was the low, seductive voice Anders used when he had Hawke tied to the bed frame, fucking him ‘til he cried and telling him how well he was taking it.
Hawke tightened his grip on Anders’ knee.
The hand holding Hawke’s hair against the back of his neck eased up a little, thumb rubbing soothing trails up the strained tendons there. Isabela’s friend was a talented multitasker—his opposite hand never slowed its motion as he continued to ink the broad span of a bird of prey’s wings across Hawke’s back.
He’d asked for a hawk. It only seemed fitting.
It wasn’t his first tattoo. His body had become a veritable canvas during his years in Kirkwall, sometimes inked by Isabela or Merrill, sometimes by friends he made at the docks, sometimes by artists who came through the Hanged Man and did quick pieces for coppers on whatever drunk patron was paying. That was how he’d ended up with Varric’s name inside a heart on his left forearm. “With an arrow stuck through, you know, for Bianca.”
This was, however, the first time he’d been tattooed by an Antivan Crow, even if Zevran was only a former Antivan Crow.
Hawke had noticed Zevran’s tattoos immediately. On his face, they were thin whorls of ink accentuating his cheekbones, but on the rest of his body, there was bold blackwork that covered more of his skin than Merrill’s delicate line work or even Fenris’ bright trails of lyrium.
Zevran caught him admiring them. And although it went unsaid, he probably caught Hawke admiring much more than the tattoos.
That look of admiration eventually led to Garrett spread out on his belly on the floor of Zevran’s rented room. He was sprawled across Anders’ legs with Zevran straddling his hips, leaning over to prick and ink Hawke’s skin in a steady, even flow. He had a practiced hand, and a good eye. Before he started working, he’d admired several of Hawke’s other pieces, lingering over the high dragon on Hawke’s hip.
“That one was a fellow who worked out of the Rose for a few months,” Hawke had said. “Carver was madly jealous he’d missed him, last he visited.”
“The placement is very good. I wonder where the tail of it ends.”
(The tail pointed directly at his crotch.)
All night, Hawke had been making eyes at Anders, the kind that said, ‘we ought to show him the rest of that tattoo.’ It wouldn’t be the first time they’d had a third person in their bed. That had been Isabela’s birthday a few years back.
Isabela, of course, was along for this adventure. While Zevran worked, Anders drank, and Hawke tried to decide whether the sharp sting of the needle made the whole situation more or less of a turn-on, she’d been rolling cigarettes.
She and Zevran were chatting back and forth, and while Hawke had been able to keep up at first, he started to drift after a while. It was Isabela’s, “—and if you’d been a few months later in coming by the Pearl with that darling chantry sister, you’d have met Anders too,” that clued him back in.
What really drew Hawke’s attention, though, was Anders saying, “what a pity our paths didn’t cross until now.”
Knowing that during the period they were talking about, Hawke had been doing mercenary work in Lowtown, he said, “and have all that fun without me?”
“Never, darling. Give me a light.” Isabela put a cigarette between her lips, then one between his.
Hawke lifted his finger with one tiny, controlled flame at the tip, holding it at the end of his cigarette and making her lean into light hers, too.
She stood, and he heard her exhale, then the click of her boots as she circled around to look at Zevran’s work. “It’s coming along nice, isn’t it, boys?”
“It is,” Anders agreed, although he could hardly see the tattoo, still pinned beneath Hawke. He downed more of the honey wine he’d been drinking, an imported brew that Hawke always brought with him to a party, because Justice loved it enough to give up his moratorium on alcohol.
“Indeed,” Zevran said. He moved to pick up the rag he’d been using for cleanup, swiping it over Hawke’s freshly tattooed skin in a wave of hot pain that made him groan. This bit, right on his spine, was the worst. “My apologies, my friend. Would you like a break?”
He bent forward to set down the rag. He was straddling the very tops of Hawke’s thighs, and every motion set the swell of his crotch against Hawke’s ass.
“Not if Anders is obliging,” Hawke said.
Anders, who was in a very obliging mood, lifted a hand almost lazily. The coolness of his healing magic suffused beneath Hawke’s skin, and his back prickled with goosebumps, a surprising contrast to the roll of sweat down his chest. It was stifling in this room.
“Now that is a good trick,” Zevran said, running his hand over newly healed skin. “I wish I had that myself, when I got this one—I had weeks of scabbing and itching. Terrible, just terrible.” Hawke assumed he was referring to the thick line of black over his ribcage.
“It’s not the only trick I know.” Anders did not elaborate.
“It won’t take too long to finish, I think,” Zevran said. “Just remain still for me, yes?”
“Mm. Bela, bring that over here,” Hawke said.
She set the ashtray down in front of him and then set herself down in front of him, too. She slipped off Anders’ coat, which she’d been wearing draped over her shoulders, like how Hightown ladies wore expensive furs. “Anders,” she said, “unfortunately, you’ve no secrets left. He knows about the electricity thing.”
Hawke tipped his head just in time to catch Anders’ pout. “But, does he know I can do the same thing with fire?” Hawke asked.
“He does now.” Zevran lifted his hand from Hawke’s skin, leaning his weight forward a little. It pressed his cock to Hawke’s ass.
Anders was looking over Hawke’s shoulder at Zevran, his face delightfully smug. Hawke couldn’t crane around far enough to see how Zevran was looking at Anders, but his guess was something desirous.
“Would the two of you be willing to demonstrate for me?”
“I would,” Anders said. “You’ll have to ask Hawke for his part—though I will be surprised if the answer is no. I’m already surprised he’s done nothing salacious yet.”
“I’ve been being very respectful,” Hawke said. “It’s been such a trial.” He spoke with a tease to his voice but it was closer to the truth than he’d like to admit. He had been wet for a long while, now. Laying across his lover’s lap while Anders got steadily tipsier and more obviously turned on, himself, only made it more of a challenge.
Zevran leaned closer, so that his breath fanned against the back of Hawke’s neck as he said, “I would not mind a little disrespect.”
Hawke shifted beneath him, and the grip on his hair tightened. He hissed through his teeth but couldn’t keep the smile off his face.
“Remain still,” Zevran instructed him, “I wouldn’t want my hand to slip.”
Hawke froze again, only his hand moving, petting back and forth on Anders’ thigh and sporadically reaching to take his cigarette from his lips. Zevran worked in relative quiet, while Isabela and Anders chatted about the next tattoo Isabela had planned (a mermaid, she said, on her thigh). Hawke didn’t quite catch the words of their conversation, focusing alternately on the pain of the tattoo needle in his skin and the pleasure of the warm squeeze of Zevran’s thighs around his.
So focused was Hawke, he nearly missed Anders giving Isabela a kiss.
They sat side by side, with Anders leaning into her, so he barely needed to move to press his lips to her neck. Hawke only noticed because their conversation slowed, and he turned his attention to them just in time to see Anders pull away from her neck and put his mouth to hers so he could inhale the smoke she was breathing out.
“Did that one hurt?” Zevran’s voice seemed genuinely concerned, probably incorrectly attributing the way Hawke moaned.
“Mm, no. I just find myself a bit distracted,” Hawke said.
“Ah. I see, now. It is a good thing we’re nearly done. That is a show I would be very sorry to miss.”
“Hurry it,” Anders mumbled, between kisses. “We aren’t slowing down for you.”
“Never would I ask you to,” Zevran said, “but you cannot rush a masterpiece. And a masterpiece is exactly what we are going to make of your Hawke.”
Anders and Isabela did not respond. Her hair was hiding most of the show, but from the sound of things, their mouths were otherwise occupied.
Zevran’s hands paused their work and he leaned in closer, to talk directly in Hawke’s ear. “It looks like you’re going to have to be patient a while longer. You can, can you not?”
“I can try,” said Hawke, who, because Zevran did not actively have a needle in his skin, was already wiggling, shifting himself backward so as to press his ass more purposefully against Zevran’s cock.
Zevran swatted him on the rear for his insubordination. “Isabela did warn me,” he said.
“Warned you of?” Hawke asked.
Zevran re-settled himself, his fingers on Hawke’s back as a warning for the needle pricking shortly thereafter. He did not, however, shift backward. His cock, now half-hard, was firmly pressed to Hawke’s ass. “She said,” he continued, “that you could not sit still unless you were tied there. Let us prove them wrong—you stay right here, Tigre, and be a good man for me, will you? Of course you will.”
“I make no promises," Hawke said, rather mulishly.
Zevran’s hand gripped Hawke’s hair then, suddenly enough that he gasped. “If you behave well,” he said, “you shall be rewarded.”
“Oh, yes—“ Isabela cried, not in response to Zevran, but to whatever Anders was doing with his fingers.
Hawke repeated her sentiment anyway, dropping his head onto his folded arms. The needle pricked, the ink filled out the great wings of his family namesake across his shoulders, and the pretty curl of Zevran’s chuckle made all sorts of delightful promises to him.
There was a bit of a thump as Anders finally gave up on supporting himself in favor of slumping back onto the floor completely, nearly taking Isabela with him. She was saying something to Anders through her laughter, and Anders waved a hand casually at her and squeezed her thigh.
"No, face Hawke," Anders said. He reached up to undo the ties on her shirt from upside-down, which was effective for little more than loosening them enough that she could pull her top off over her head.
It was all she had been wearing.
Hawke gasped, pressing his cheek hard against Anders' knee in a desperate effort to keep still. The pain of the needle was secondary now to what was in front of him—namely, Isabela bracing her knees on either side of Anders' head.
There was a little row of candles on the floor beside them, to provide more light for Zevran's delicate work. One had gone out, two more were beginning to burn low enough that the flicker of the flame hid behind the wax shell of the hollowing candlestick. It didn't take much mana, however, to coax them to a greater height. Such a gorgeous sight deserved better lighting.
It wasn't the first time he'd seen Anders eat Isabela out, but it was the first time he'd had such a uniquely intimate angle. Normally, he was busy himself when the three of them fucked—he liked riding Anders' cock while she rode his tongue—but tonight, he was forced to watch and endure.
And what a lovely sight it was, all of it limned in gold from the candles. The stubble on Anders' chin and the sweat on his neck gleamed, and Hawke watched his throat bob as he swallowed, drinking her in. He could alternately see the flash of Anders' tongue or the curl of his lip, pink where it was crushed against her.
"It's been too long since you've had me this way," Isabela crooned, her fingernails leaving red tracks up Anders' chest. "Your man looks jealous."
"He is," Hawke said.
"You'll be taken care of," Zevran said, rutting against his ass again. Hawke did his best to spread his legs, needing some pressure on his cunt with a desperation that bordered on insanity.
"You asked before if I wanted a break," Hawke said. "I want one now."
"I think not. I am nearly done," Zevran said. He really was just finishing the final details now, with such a light touch Hawke could hardly feel it. All the ache now was deep in his belly and his groin.
"Just a bit. Just long enough for me to come," he begged. "It won't take any time at all—"
"Isabela," Zevran said. "Tell him to be quiet."
"Bela, please—"
Her fingertips rested at his lips for just long enough that he could tell her no. He didn't have a protest, and so she pushed two into his mouth, her thumb hooked below his chin, literally holding his tongue. She tasted like tobacco and metal, either from the rings she'd had on earlier that day or from her daggers in her hands.
She pulled free of his mouth after only just a moment, the positioning too awkward for her to lean all the way over Anders' long torso and gag him. She no longer needed too. He was breathless just watching her brace herself over Anders, though, her thighs flexing and her head tipping to the side as he did something good enough to make her cry out.
Zevran's hands left Hawke's back, and at first Hawke assumed he was just getting more ink, but they didn't return. Hawke made himself speak just to ask, "finished, or just distracted?"
"Oh, I am done," Zevran said.
"Thank fuck—" Hawe tried to squirm out from under him, but Zevran's hands braced firm at the small of his back and held him against the floor.
"Not until Anders heals the rest of that. I will not have you ruin all my work because you roll around on a dirty floor just after I have finished," Zevran said.
Certainly he could not interrupt Anders now. Isabela's back had straightened up and she was moving, riding his face. She'd cut him if he tried to get Anders to stop now. Hawke groaned, abject frustration.
With what movement he did have, he shifted his hand, rubbing at Anders' cock in his trousers. His shoulder smarted, the fresh tattoo stinging. He knew he got a reaction when Anders clutched tighter at Isabela's thighs and his rib cage shifted with a gasp.
"Poor little Tigre, you look so very despondent," Zevran said. "Here, I'll help."
His help involved shifting his seat and wedging his knee between Hawke's thighs, grinding hard against his cunt.
"Fuck." Hawke would have ground back against him, but Zevran's grip on his waist hadn't let up. He was leaning all his weight, forcing Hawke still. And he was moving, rubbing, dragging the wet seam of Hawke's trousers against his cunt. "Oh, Isabela didn't say you were a tease."
"How could you expect any less from a rogue like myself," Zevran said.
Isabela's hair tickled Hawke's face as she leaned in, moving so suddenly she would've cracked her skull into Hawke's if she didn't have such a precise sense of her own movement. Anticipating the reason her head was down here, Hawke flicked open the laces of Anders' trousers one handed, moving a little shaky, because Zevran was still making him see spots with nothing but one knee and the firm pressure of his hands on Hawke's lower back.
Isabela was really too short to suck Anders off while he was eating her out, but she could play her tongue across the tip of his cock and Hawke could stroke him. He was so obviously close, desperately hard in Hawke's palm, his legs twitching underneath Hawke's chest.
Hawke let go of Anders' cock and pushed himself up as far as he could, working against Zevran's full body weight on his lower half, trying to lean in to get a taste.
Zevran sacrificed some of his leverage to snag Hawke's hair again, tugging sharp enough to force Hawke to move away with him. "Ah-ah," he said. "Let her have this—the first cock you ought to put in your mouth tonight is mine."
Hawke whined, but it was lost behind Anders gasping and groaning as Isabela shifted up far enough that he no longer had his mouth in her cunt, but she could take his entire cock.
Hawke could see it in her eyes—Isabela was fucking smirking at him while she made Anders come, leaving Hawke watching helplessly.
When she pulled off, she surged forward and kissed him, one hand on his jaw urging him to open his mouth for her so he could taste Anders' come in her mouth. He lost himself in smoke and salt, sinking into kissing her until he felt a tap on his hand.
"Garrett. Isabela—both of you are still on top of me—I can't feel my legs."
Isabela pulled back, wiping her chin clean with a remarkably smug look on her face. Bastard.
"My work is done, if you don't mind finishing?" Zevran said, and then, finally, Anders' magic flowed through him and sealed the fresh ink. It was looser this time, more healing than he needed, soothing both the tattoo and the strain in Hawke's back and shoulders from lying there for so long. Anders was lazy with his magic right after he came. It flowed out of him easier.
Hawke sat up and stretched, showing the two of them Zevran's handiwork for just a moment, before turning to the artist himself.
"I believe I owe you something."
Zevran got to his feet, leaving Hawke to kneel in front of him. "So you do," he said.
Hawke shifted where he sat, finding himself still a little uncomfortable for the all-encompassing heat of his arousal. "I don't think I'm going to be able to—" He rubbed at himself through his trousers (just as wet as he'd thought he was). "I need something."
"Will your lover oblige?" Zevran asked.
Distantly, because he had not moved, Anders said, "I am too drunk and too fucked for that."
"Just lie there and look pretty, then," Isabela said. "I'll assist."
She sat with her chest pressed against Hawke's back, all of her soft warm skin against his. She didn't bother dressing, and she didn't bother undressing him. She just put her hand down his pants and gave him what he'd been begging for, while Hawke steadied himself with his hands on Zevran's thigh and wet his lips.
Zevran stripped off his shirt first, his slim fingers caressing Hawke's jaw and chin. "What a mess they've made of your beard already," he said. "I intend to finish the job."
He didn't undress any more than Hawke had. A few of the curves of his tattoos went right to the base of his cock.
"Pull his hair," Isabela suggested.
"Could try fucking his face, too." This was Anders' suggestion, pitched in from somewhere in the corner.
"May I?" Zevran said.
Hawke flashed him that grin that usually made somebody want to put something in his mouth. "Oh, baby, you don't need to ask."
Outside the doors of this room, Kirkwall may have been a crumbling, burning disaster, but right here, with Isabela's fingers sinking into his cunt and Zevran's cock sinking into his mouth, it was paradise. Hawke didn't need to be a champion, didn't even need to be a Hawke. He just needed to please and be pleasured.
Isabela got a second hand into the open fly of his trousers, petting his clit while she fingered him, and Hawke sagged back against her, his head only kept in place by Zevran's hand cupping him, keeping him in place. He wasn't really fucking Hawke's mouth, because Hawke wasn't really breathing right even without a cock down his throat. Zevran was stroking himself and rubbing against Hawke's tongue, cursing in Antivan whenever Hawke managed the coordination to actually suck him.
His eyes were closed but he could see sparks, knew he was throwing them, because it was what he did when he was getting fucked this good. Turned into a bloody firework. Anders was probably chuckling at him, but it didn't matter, because Zevran said, "oh, isn't that pretty," right before he came on Hawke's lips and chin, fulfilling his promise to fuck up Hawke's beard pretty much completely.
He kept his hand knotted in Hawke's hair without Hawke needing to ask. Isabela, efficient in her work as always, was bringing him to the edge without even considering the possibility of slowing down.
He squeezed Zevran's thighs tight as he came with a hoarse cry, rocking onto Isabela's fingers and pulling against Zevran's grip on his hair.
Zevran sank to his knees, letting Hawke lean into him and kiss him. Isabela kept touching him, just cupping her hand over him, her free hand tracing over the new tattoo on his back.
"This really is lovely work," she said.
Zevran, who was looking more at the mess he'd made of Hawke's face than the tattoo, said, "quite the masterpiece, indeed."