JUST AN ARRANGEMENT
About a month had elapsed since that eventful night in the office. Ciardha Hawke had made good on his promise to continue negotiations, most of which involved Orsino being on his knees, using his mouth. It wasn't quite what he'd had in mind when he intended to persuade the Champion to his side... but Hawke was not only an excellent fighter, but an influential nobleman, a figurehead for the people, and a necessary ally for when the templars pushed too far – as they eventually would, he knew. If this help came at the cost of Orsino's own dignity, so be it.
It was admittedly quite a large chunk of his dignity, mostly due to that – that thing Hawke kept doing to his ears. It was a breach of etiquette, you didn't just grab someone's ears whenever you felt like it, especially if they were an elf. But Ciardha did it anyway, shamelessly teasing and rubbing and stroking and nibbling and... and...
It just wasn't playing fair.
But it was worth it for the end result, and he could always shrug the shame off afterwards, albeit with some difficulty. His ears still twitched at the memories, and his dreams had taken a strange turn lately, but at least the alliance was secured. All he had to do was give up the occasional evening-
“Good afternoon, First Enchanter.”
Sheer strength of will kept him from jumping out of his chair. The man had materialised from the shade as he was so fond of doing; usually Orsino heard him beforehand, but of course, he'd been distracted. “Champion,” he greeted, voice tight. He certainly hadn't invited him over. “What can I do for you today?”
Hawke idly examined his fingernails, “I thought we could negotiate a little.”
He raised his eyebrows incredulously, then leaned forwards to speak in a low, conspirational whisper: “Evenings, Champion, that was what we agreed upon. I'm not available during the day.”
“I don’t see anyone else here occupying you.”
“People pass by my office all the time. Anyone could hear us, or walk in.” He didn't even want to think about what would happen if people found out about this. He'd have to sign up for tranquillity just to escape the shame.
“Exactly,” Ciardha's smirk widened, “The risk of being caught is exciting, don't you think?”
He just stared.
“No,” he said at last, shaking his head. “No, I – I can't, that's going too far. If you come by tonight-”
“I don't want you tonight, I want you now.”
“Keep your voice down!” he whispered urgently, “And I can't. What do you think would happen if the First Enchanter was caught on his knees before the Champion of Kirkwall?”
“Voyeurism, I should think. Anyway, I don't want you on your knees.”
“What do you want, then?”
A predatory gleam in Ciardha's eyes, “I want you bent over your desk.”
“What?!” They'd never gone that far before. He'd used his mouth and hands, but to give his entire body up like a common whore? His hands curled into fists, teeth gritted. “No. Absolutely not.”
“No?” the smirk dropped instantly. Ciardha kept unblinking eye contact for a minute or so, then when Orsino didn't give in, tutted and stood up. “Have it your way, then. No negotiation, no alliance. Good day.”
Orsino stared at him in disbelief, until it was elbowed aside for desperation. “Wait!” he called out frantically before Hawke could walk out, his hands stilling on the door. “Is there no alternative? Anything at all, just – not this.”
Ciardha turned back to meet his gaze, coolly dispassionate. “My way or no way at all, First Enchanter.”
He looked down, biting his lower lip, heartbeat thudding in his ears. Was this really worth it? Not just offering his body, but putting himself in a situation where he could be so easily caught... the Champion's reputation would be fine – everyone had already heard about his exploits at the Blooming Rose, there was nothing he could lose – but Orsino would be ruined. Yet without Hawke's allegiance, the entire Circle was doomed.
“Drag something in front of the door, then” he said weakly, unable to believe he was actually going to go through with this. “Meredith won't let me have locks.”
The smirk returned as quickly as it had disappeared. He couldn't move any heavy furniture without attracting attention, but Hawke propped a chair up against the door with a few weighty books; anyone could still barge in with a good push, but it would at least stall them, and that would have to do. With legs that felt more liquid than solid at the moment, Orsino stood and cleared the paperwork from his desk. He stayed silent and stock-still as Ciardha prowled over to him, a deliberate, sultry slowness in his step.
“You're tense as a drawn bow, Enchanter,” he murmured, coming to a halt behind him, “Stop worrying so much.”
“Easy for you to say. If I get caught I'm going to end up either dead or tranquil.”
“Not necessarily,” he moved a step closer, lips grazing the shell of Orsino's ear, warm breath tickling his skin. Unable to help himself, the elf shivered. “So pessimistic. For all you know, someone might catch you and then ask to join in.”
“Don't say things like that.” As if he didn't feel cheap enough already.
Ciardha placed a single kiss to the tip of his ear. “Just try to relax, Orsino.”
It was, as it turned out, incredibly difficult to relax when someone was trailing their tongue along your ear, one hand undoing clasps while the other buried beneath layers of robes to seek out a nipple. He lightly pinched it while simultaneously nipping an earlobe, and Orsino gave a sharp cry – then immediately snapped his mouth shut and looked over at the door, panicked.
“No-one heard,” Ciardha hushed him, one arm locked around his slender waist to keep him from squirming away, “Though you might want to keep it quiet. I plan on doing much more than just this to you.”
“Please,” Orsino choked out through his fingers, “No teasing. Just get it over and done with.”
“Excuse me. I believe I'm the one in charge here.”
With a shaky sigh, he relented and closed his eyes lest the door become too distracting, letting Hawke do whatever he liked. Which involved a ludicrous amount of attention paid to his ears while the human's hands wandered just about everywhere else. He bit back a gasp when they drifted a little too close to his groin, but fortunately Hawke left that one area alone. He was, shamefully, already half-hard, though he hadn't the faintest idea how since all he could think about were the being-caught scenarios. It had to be the arousal and fear accelerating his heart rate, pumping his blood southwards twice as fast as usual. Traitorous body.
It was only when he was truly good and flustered that a firm hand on his back pushed him over the desk. He bit back any pleasure as fingers trailed sensually over his shoulder blades, down his spine... and ended up on the curve of his rump where they lingered, rubbing back and forth.
“Delectable,” Hawke purred, giving it a squeeze, and Orsino might have spluttered if he weren't so worried about someone running in to investigate. Hawke often remarked on his appearance in such a way, and he was never sure whether to feel complimented or patronised. Knowing Ciardha, that was probably the intention.
With a thoughtful hum, Hawke bent down to grasp the hem of Orsino's robes, lifting them as he straightened and leaving them bunched up around the elf's narrow waist. At least he didn't outright remove the clothing, and if anyone walked in Orsino could just straighten up and everything would fall back into place. He'd have to explain a few askew pieces and unfastened buckles, but he could just blame it on the heat. He had an emergency plan. Everything was fine. No need to panic.
Of course, he would still have to answer why the Champion of Kirkwall was in his office, stood behind him and no doubt smirking like a tomcat. Or – here he swallowed nervously, feeling Hawke unlace his breeches – why he had a clearly visible erection under his robes.
No need to panic, no need to panic...
“You seem nervous, Orsino,” Ciardha remarked casually. He didn't pull the breeches down right away, but loosened them enough to slip his hands beneath the waistband, palms sliding over smooth, bare flesh. “How long since you were last touched like this?”
It was an extremely personal question, but he had no choice but to answer: “More years than I care to remember, Champion.”
“Have you ever been with another man before?”
He felt his cheeks heat. Back in his youth, kissing and shy touches with experimental friends... kept away from the rest of civilisation, with no ideals about marriage and family to uphold, gender was a minor issue in the Circle. “Not – all the way,” he confessed in a mumble, “No actual sex. Only with women.”
“So technically I'm your first?” Ciardha sounded amused, “Don't worry. I'll make it feel good.”
Therein lay the problem. He didn't want to feel good about having another man inside him, using him like an object and discarding him afterwards. He would rather it was painful, so he could grit his teeth and bear it for the greater good, that way he could say he did what he did because he had to, not because he wanted to. Only it was difficult to make such claims when the hardness between his legs insisted otherwise.
Ciardha voiced as much when one hand moved around the front of Orsino's breeches: “Well well, seems you're enjoying yourself already.”
“It's just stimulation,” he muttered, heat spreading across his face, probably turning it bright red knowing his luck.
A chuckle, “But I haven't even touched you yet.” He ran one finger down the erect length, and Orsino had to bite down hard on his lower lip to keep from crying out. “I suppose you don't want me to either. In that case I'll leave it alone,” and with that he withdrew his hand., to Orsino's immense relief; being denied climax was considered by most to be a bad thing, but here it meant he might just escape with some pride intact. He was, however, still going to get used. Hawke peeled the breeches off of him, leaving Orsino clothed from the knee downwards and the waist upwards, completely nude and exposed in-between. If anyone saw him like this... his heart hammered wildly with anxiety, doubly so when Hawke set down a small bottle of oil beside him on the desk. He knew what it was for, and it only brought home the reality of what was about to happen to him.
“To think I'll be the first man in here,” Ciardha closed the gap between them to grind against the mage's ass, and Orsino's eyes widened at the distinct hardness he could feel underneath Hawke's leathers. “Your ears are turning red, Enchanter,” he commented with a low chuckle, “You're not embarrassed, are you?”
With his ass in the air and his face roughly the colour of beetroot – matched by his dick, which was currently pressing against his desk and likely to leave a stain, Orsino gasped: “No, not embarrassed at all.”
“I'll have to try harder then,” was the teasing reply. The bottle of oil was picked up and presented to him, “Bite down on the cork.”
He did so, and Ciardha pulled it back until the bottle dislodged itself with a popping sound and the sudden scent of elfroot. Orsino moved to drop the cork but then thought better of it, deciding to keep biting down for now. It was just as well; Ciardha's finger circled his entrance a few times before slowly pushing in, passing the tightness of his sphincter. Even well-lubed it hurt, the cork almost snapping between his clenched teeth as his body automatically resisted the unfamiliar and unpleasant sensation. He wasn't sure what an actual cock in there would feel like, but he wasn't looking forward to it, to say the least. Not to mention if someone tried to walk into his office, and Hawke had to abruptly pull out so Orsino could slam himself back into his seat... just thinking about it made him wince.
Still, grimacing was better than enjoying it like a whore. His erection was wilting already, maybe be could escape this with his pride somewhat intact.
And then Ciardha crooked his finger.
He scraped against something, a little raised bump inside Orsino that he hadn't even been aware of until now. Like anything being touched for the very first time, the stimulation was enough to send a shock through his entire body; the cork dropped from his mouth as a surprised yelp escaped him, followed by an immediate onset of panic that someone outside had heard.
Ciardha, of course, was not worried about that in the slightest. He couldn't see the man's face, but no doubt he was grinning, “Liked that?”
“Don't-” even as he said it, Ciardha did it again, firmly stroking over that inner sweet spot. His limbs twitched of their own accord, and he very nearly cried out again. “Don't! Meredith's office is just opposite, if she hears us...”
“You'll have to be quiet then, won't you?”
“Champion,” he tried to plead, but to no avail. The finger pumped in and out curling just so, and every time a whine of pleasure escaped him, no matter how hard he tried to suppress it. His body warred over whether to feel lusty, fearful or just plain guilty over this – this – violation. His erection returned full-force, if not worse than before.
“Doesn't that feel good?” Ciardha purred into his ear, a warm weight against his back, “You already look overwhelmed. I can't wait to watch you come like this.”
He swallowed thickly. Surely he didn't plan to...? “You said you wouldn't-”
“Ah-ah, I said I wouldn't touch you. And I won't... you'll climax just from the feel of me inside you,” he nipped the tapered tip of Orsino's ear, then pulled back to oil up another finger.
The First Enchanter could do nothing but stay there as two fingers entered, head hanging in shame at the pleasure coursing through his body. His arms shook so badly that they could no longer support him, and he dropped onto his elbows instead, further arching his back and presenting his ass, to Ciardha's voiced approval. He looked for the cork again – not for the pain, which faded as more lubricant was applied and his body grew accustomed, but in an attempt to stop those sounds clawing their way from his throat. But it had rolled off his desk, and clenched teeth alone weren't enough to stop a succession of quiet moans.
“Why?” he asked at last, “Why must you do this?”
“I have to prepare you first, otherwise you'll be limping tomorrow and people will ask questions.”
“But why are you doing that?”
“Doing what? You'll have to be more specific.”
He felt his face flush with heat again, “You know what I mean.”
A chuckle from Ciardha as his fingers stroked firmly over the prostate, drawing out a ragged cry. “I'm sure I don't. What precisely am I doing to you, Orsino?”
“Making it feel-” enjoyable, pleasurable, he couldn't bring himself to say it, “-Good,” he finished lamely.
“Just good? Not great, fantastic, mind-blowing? Well, we're still just warming up.” The words sent dread and – much as he hated himself for it – a thrill of excitement through him.”And I do it because I want to. You need no other reason than that.”
Getting a straight answer from Ciardha was a bit like pulling teeth. His groan was equal parts frustration and sensation as the man pulled back, re-oiled his hand, then returned. Three fingers stretched and slicked him from within, and he wanted to hate it but his body disagreed. His cock was leaking freely now, smearing against the smooth wood of his desk, aching in a way he'd never experienced before. He'd been celibate for years and even when he was younger, his sex life had never been that active. But even so, it was unfathomable that he'd lived this long and never known this kind of intensity.
“That should do it,” the fingers withdrew, and he was granted a brief respite. He tried to calm his breathing, willing everything to slow down before he either had a seizure or a cardiac arrest, but it was difficult when he could hear cloth and leather being shifted behind him, the wet sounds of someone slicking themselves up. It was apprehension, he told himself, that ran through his veins. Apprehension, not anticipation.
“Try not to tense too much,” Ciardha instructed in a murmur, grasping Orsino's hips to align himself. He felt the head of an erect cock nudge against his entrance, slippery smooth from the oil. Elfroot permeated the air, along with the scents of sweat and sex. “Now I need you to... push out, for lack of a better term.”
He did so, the motion making it a little easier for Ciardha to press himself inside. It was very different to fingers, certainly much bigger, although not as painful as he'd first thought. There was some resistance until the flared base of the head – the widest part of the girth – eased and squeezed its way in; he could feel his sphincter stretch then shut again behind it.
“Still just 'good'?” Ciardha's voice had a hoarse quality to it as though he'd been shouting, even though he'd remained quiet throughout this entire thing. Listening to slow, controlled breathing, Orsino wondered how much self-restraint the man was exercising, whether he was struggling not to give in and just start rutting. A part of him wished he would, but was that because he wanted the fucking to start, or end as soon as possible? His pride demanded the latter, but truthfully, he wasn't so sure anymore.
Not trusting himself to speak, he nodded wordlessly, drawing in a great ragged breath as Ciardha moved deeper in. It didn't hurt but he felt so – so – full, there was no other way to describe it. The part of him that wanted Ciardha out was being overwhelmed by something more base and primal, something that didn't care if it had to cry or scream or beg so long as it could have more, more. Blood rushed southwards, leaving him disoriented and fuzzy; he was only vaguely aware of the ache in his jaw from gritting his teeth too hard, or that his nails were leaving grooves in his wooden desk. All that mattered was that he was rock hard, his balls so tight they might just implode, and he was going to come right now-
There was a knock at the door.
“First Enchanter?” a familiar, albeit muffled, female voice from the other side – his assistant. “I brought you some supper. May I come in?”
Orsino had frozen in place, having no idea what to do next. Ciardha, however, was still pushing his way inside, giving a soft grunt as he closed the last few centimetres. “What are you doing?!” the mage hissed in disbelief, trying to wriggle away, but there was nowhere to go, “Get out!”
“First Enchanter?” to his horror, the door opened a fraction, stopped by the chair, “Are you in there?”
“Send her away,” Hawke murmured in his ear, calm as you please.
“A-actually I'm a little busy at the moment!” he called out, trying not to sound too frantic, “I'll give supper a miss, keep the food for yourself!”
“But you skipped lunch too-”
“Yes, well, lots to do, paperwork and such!” he noisily rustled the stacked papers on his desk for effect. He tried twisting around to push Ciardha away, but he wouldn't budge. “Really, no time to eat!”
“You work too hard, First Enchanter. I could just leave it for you-”
“No no, I insist!” his voice climbed an octave as the door creaked open again.
“If you say so...” reluctance in her tone, but his assistant shut the door before she could see anything. He waited until the sound of her footsteps had faded before letting out a shaky sigh.
“Wasn't that exciting?” Ciardha said.
His hands curled into fists. “You – you –!” there were no words strong enough for someone so utterly infuriating. “What were you thinking?! She was about to come in and you would've just let her see-”
“She didn't come in, though,” there was absolutely no remorse in the man's voice. In fact he sounded quite pleased with himself. “Did you know, you clench in the most delightful way when you're terrified?”
“Did you – I can't – you're just-” he spluttered, unable to even begin. He finally settled for a furious, “Get out. I don't want to do this anymore.”
“Now Orsino, you don't mean that.”
“I almost had a heart attack, and you have the nerve to just – just smirk and-”
“She would've left right away if you'd ordered her. Failing that, you could've kept the door shut with a force spell,” Hawke reminded him patiently. “Failing that, I could've knocked her out with a sleeping dart before she saw anything,” before Orsino could blink a dart suddenly found itself embedded in the door, thrown so swiftly that he only registered the whoosh sound after it had been and gone. “You're not in nearly as much danger as you think.”
He stared at the dart in his door numbly. The surge of panic when he'd been about to climax had left him thoroughly dizzy, not quite able to comprehend everything right now. “But you – if she had seen-”
“If, if, if. If she had seen, she might have told others, presuming she couldn't be bribed or threatened into silence,” the Champion told him, rubbing soothingly along his spine. Perhaps it was meant to be an apology. “Or she might have just stood there and stared. I'll bet she wouldn't have been able to take her eyes off you, in fact.” The hands slid further down over his posterior, caressing and squeezing as his tone grew more lewd: “Bent over your desk with another man balls-deep inside you... cheeks red, eyes glazed and come splashed all over the desk, yourself...”
The mental image was mortifying, yet it sent a ripple of heat through him, “Hawke...”
“Imagine her there, watching you get fucked-” here he pulled out a little and slammed back in, leaving Orsino gasping, “-Over and over again, making those little sounds of yours. No, I don't think anyone would be able to look away,” another slam, and a cry wrung itself from his throat. “Why Enchanter, I'd almost think you liked the idea of someone else being there.”
A shuddering breath, “D-don't be ridiculous.”
A soft laugh from Ciardha suggested the other man didn't believe him in the slightest, but he said no more. His earlier wish to end things forgotten, the elf went back to withholding his vocals, quite unsuccessfully, as the other man drove in and out, in and out. Each time he hit home, there sounded the light slap of skin on skin as his sac hit the back of Orsino's, sending a jolt of pleasure through him.
Soon even his elbows weren't enough to support him and he bent lower still, sprawled over his desk with his face against the surface. Oh, his back was going to be sore later, his trembling legs ached already and Ciardha was gripping his hips hard enough to leave bruises. But the new position had angled him so that Hawke drove into his prostate over and over, until his vision went dark and his ears rang and he had only just enough sense to muffle his sharp cries into the sleeve of his robes. It built and built until everything at last toppled over, and just as Ciardha had promised, he found his release without being touched at all.
He was mildly aware that he was clenching hard around the length inside him, enough to turn Hawke's cool, controlled silence into a low moan. The hands digging into his hips shoved him forwards roughly, causing the desk to creak in protest against the forceful thrusting motions until Hawke abruptly pressed all the way in and stayed there, muscles tensed as he spent himself. Orsino could feel the hot fluid trickle inside him, just like the warmth on his stomach and thighs where he had spilled over himself.
It was over, and only then did he realise just how much noise they had made.
“Meredith-” he began, panicked.
“-Not in her office. She's with the recruits, I checked before coming here,” Ciardha told him, sounding drowsy with pleasure. “If she were, she'd have heard us long ago.”
“Oh.” It occurred to him that Ciardha could have told him this at the start. Deliberately withheld information, no doubt, to keep things 'exciting'. He did so love seeing Orsino flustered, it seemed.
“Although we could maybe sneak in there for a quick tryst-”
“No,” he said immediately. Ciardha didn't use his allegiance card for once, but simply laughed, neither confirming nor denying that he would pursue the idea some other time. He shifted and pulled his softening cock out, and Orsino was struck by the sudden feeling of emptiness... that, and seed leaking from his abused entrance, Ciardha hadn't exactly been gentle in the last few minutes. Yet he was too exhausted to pay attention to any discomfort, weak with the twin relief of orgasm and not getting caught. He had to admit it felt... good. Great, fantastic, mind-blowing.
Unfortunately, with the simplistic, sex-driven part of him now sated and curled away, his more rational side returned. The one that reminded him: You had rough, humiliating sex with another man and really enjoyed it. Now there was semen inside him and all over his desk, and his office smelt like the inside of a cheap brothel. Fitting, since he had technically just whored himself out. Yes, his shame had definitely returned.
Ciardha, naturally, felt no such thing.
“All tired out, are we?” he queried, giving Orsino's still-exposed backside a fond pat (Causing Orsino to hastily pull his breeches up, embarrassed). “Not that I'm surprised, you negotiated very... admirably. I think we're ready to move on to more adventurous things.”
He froze. “More adventurous?” Today's panic had already sheared a few years off his lifespan, he was sure.
“Oh yes, I have more in mind than office se- mm, negotiation. Not that I don't plan on also having that occasionally. Frequently. But we can do so much more.”
“We will do so much more, you mean,” Orsino said tiredly, since he already knew he wouldn't have a choice in the matter.
“That's the spirit,” was the cheerful answer, “You'll enjoy yourself, just you wait,”
“I – I won't,” he insisted, though it came out as feeble as he felt. Later on, he wondered if all his protests were an effort to convince Ciardha, or himself.