"Ser Bryant," Tannusen purred into the man's ear, leaning down from behind the seated man, "it is good to see that you survived..."
The templar jumped nearly out of his skin before he half-turned on the bench to see who it was. Tannu straightened, and made a show of brushing a wrinkle out of his dark robes, giving the man a chance to regain his composure.
"You are the Warden we were sent to assist?" Bryant's surprise was obvious, "You found the Ashes and cured Arl Eamon, and prevented Teyrn Loghain from taking the throne? And you saved the Circle from the Right of Annulment?" he stared, "And to think, I was surprised when you merely killed those bandits for us."
"Quite," the young mage slid onto the bench beside the templar. "A very good thing you didn't answer that bounty on my head, isn't it? A messy end before I could even begin."
"I had far more important things to do than... than that," Bryant sounded a bit offended, and Tannusen laughed, and set his elbows on the table, his chin in his hands, tipping his head to one side to look up at the knight beside him. Older, stronger, calloused... handsome Ser Bryant. Pious, but... practical. And such a lovely, soothing voice.
There was always that little edge of danger, of forbidden fruit, in even the idea of laying with a templar. It would be a shame not to get at least a taste of such a long-held fantasy before quite possibly dying to the darkspawn... he decided that he would be a fool to not at least try.
"Indeed, you are a most pragmatic man," Tannusen agreed readily, his ever-present purr caressing his words, turning them into warm velvet, "and very capable, to have survived all of this. You would have... taken... me most easily, I am certain."
Ser Bryant noticed the emphasis, and his brow furrowed a little as he looked down and over at the mage. Tannusen smiled his pretty smile, and tipped his head a little more to the side, fully aware that his blond hair had fallen forward and he was exposing the smooth, pale skin of his neck to a man trained from childhood in the ways of slaying mages.
Mages were considered delicate with their lack of true physical armor, he knew. It was something he often took advantage of; that appearance of vulnerability. His build was not all that slender, but it had nothing to do with musculature. He was still... exposed, when compared to the plate-wearing man. The question was, was it appealing?
"Oh, I know it to be true," Tannusen continued when Bryant said nothing, only stared, "I go down so very easily under a skillful sword." The furrow in Bryant's brow deepened, the knight looking troubled. But he didn't move away, or interrupt, and that was telling all by itself, now wasn't it?
"Ser Bryant," the mage could feel his smile widen, and his velvet purr was sly, almost lewd. "Would you pray with me tonight?"
"I... I see no harm in prayer," Ser Bryant said cautiously, slowly, "although I suspect..." he trailed off, uncertain.
"Oh, I'll kneel before the altar if you like," Tannusen offered pleasantly, "but my mouth may be too busy to give the chant. You'll just have to fill in with that lovely voice of yours." It was difficult to tell with his complexion -- was he from the Free Marches? -- but Tannusen was fairly sure that Ser Bryant's cheeks darkened, just a little.
"It is a matter of duty, I suppose," Ser Bryant offered, slowly, "to make sure the Chant is done correctly..."
Tannusen's smile was infectious as he agreed.
- - - - -
The Chantry was moon-lit that night, silver light shining in through the large windows. The darkness almost hid the mage's dark robes, and softened Bryant's dark skin and hair. But by contrast, the templar's armor shone like molten steel, and Tannusen's own pale skin was like fine ivory; his white-blond hair looking silver in the light.
He knelt with a whisper of cloth robes on the floor, and clever fingers found the ends of a maroon sash, slipped between layers of cloth and finely-knit chainmail and parted them, running his hands over the templar's thighs through his trousers as he did so. If the knights wore plate on their legs beneath all the layers of skirt, it seemed that Byrant had chosen to leave some of his armor in the barracks. Wise man.
"Now now," Tannusen admonished, his purr breaking the silence, "don't forget that you're here to chant."
"I was merely reflecting on which Canticle to offer first," Ser Bryant ran gauntlet-covered fingertips carefully over Tannusen's hair, grazing the long edge of a pointed ear. "Perhaps I should begin with Shartan."
"At Shartan's word, the sky grew black with arrows," Tannusen murmured, as his fingers tugged the ties of the templar's breeches apart. "At Our Lady's, ten thousand swords rang from their sheaths..." the mage palmed the older man through his clothing, squeezed gently, and leaned close to run his lips over the growing bulge still hidden from his eyes, his breath hot through such thin cloth. "A great hymn rose over Valarian Fields gladly proclaiming: those who had been slaves were now free."
"I am... surprised you know that one," Bryant sounded just a touch distracted, and Tannu smiled against him through his trousers. "It was stricken from the spoken Chant."
"Mages have precious little to do for hobbies other than read forbidden texts," the blond purred, dragging his lips and the vibrations of his voice along the man's length. He was pleased when he reached the concealed head, and Bryant's careful stroking of his hair became a clasp, spider-web strands of white-gold immediately tangling in the joints between the cold metal plates of the man's gauntlet.
"Among... other things, it would seem," the templar noted, and an interested pulse was felt against Tannusen's lips, making the mage chuckle softly against him in turn.
"Among other things," Tannu agreed, and finally peeled the thin cloth aside and down, exposing Bryant to the mage and the moonlight. "Now then," he purred, and wrapped pale fingers around the base of the other man, looking up from beneath heavy eyelids, "chant."
And so the templar did, shakily, but his soft voice seemed to stroke over Tannu's senses, each stutter and choked gasp; every clench of armored fingers in his hair making the elf just a little harder beneath his robes. The taste of Bryant was not unpleasant on his tongue, the feel of silken flesh over a hard core beneath his lips as he traced a ridge; mapped a vein with damp warmth.
"...Those who oppose thee shall know the wrath of h-heaven," Bryant trembled beneath his hands as Tannusen took the tip of him between soft, hot lips. "Field and forest shall... shall b-burn... the seas shall rise and dev... de-devour the-them -- ah! Maker!" The templar's hips flexed slowly, and Tannusen watched Bryant, as the man in turn stared down at himself slowly sinking further into the mage's willing, soft mouth, a hard shudder going through the older man.
Tannusen let him slide a thumb-length in before he pulled back, his hands keeping the templar from following instinctively. "That isn't how it goes," he purred, giving the tip of him a hard, swirling lick. "Start over."
Ser Bryant didn't argue, although his hand tightened in Tannusen's hair in frustration he did as ordered. The elven mage was the one on his knees on the cold stone floor at the human templar's feet, but it was clearly the the mage who was in charge of this encounter. It was delicious.
He restrained himself to small teasing licks and open-mouthed kisses along the knight's length until Bryant caught back up to his original place in the Canticle. Then, with a soft chuckle at the templar's plight, Tannusen slowly began to take him into his mouth once more.
"The wind shall tear their nations from the face of the earth," Tannu watched as the man tried desperately to keep his composure this time. "Lightning shall rain down from the sky. They shall c-cry out... ah!... to their false g-gods..." Ser Bryant's eyes shut for a moment, a deep shudder going through his frame that had nothing to do with the Chant, as Tannu gave him a slow, almost-lazy suck. "--And find silence."
Bryant's hips flexed slowly again, and Tannu allowed it, letting the man touch the back of his throat before he leaned forward, opening the angle, taking the rest of him down to the root. The templar's voice echoed in the empty Chantry from his startled cry, and Tannusen shuddered at the sound.
"Here, I decree, opposition in all things:" Bryant whispered, skipping into a different part of a different Canticle. But that was fine, Tannusen had never told him to go in any particular order. The blond hummed softly around him as Bryant's free hand stroked his cheek, the metal cold against his hot skin. "For earth, sky. For winter, summer. For darkness, Light. Ah... b-by... by My Will alone is Balance s-sundered... and the world given new life..."
Tannusen remained until he was nearly dizzy from not breathing, and then backed off of the other man completely. "Does this chain come off?" he asked, tugging at the chainmail layer of skirt in his other hand, even as Bryant's armored thumb-tip stroked across his lips, the templar staring down at him in an odd sort of wonder. He couldn't help but to tongue the metal lewdly, making eye-contact with the older man as he did so.
"...Y-yes, of course," it took a moment for Ser Bryant to register his words, it seemed. The darker man tried to gently extract his other hand from Tannusen's hair, wincing when he noticed how many strands came free in the armored joints. Tannusen only smiled, and gave the cold metal at his mouth a leisurely kiss. "You..." Bryant continued to stare for a moment, enraptured, and then took his hands back with obvious reluctance so that he could undo hidden clasps beneath cloth to drop the layer of chain to the floor. "Only the chain?"
"Mm, only the chain, this time," Tannusen confirmed, sitting back on his heels. "I've been wanting to do naughty things with a templar for a long, long time," he purred, and fingered the soft, maroon-colored cloth that remained, "is this your first time with a man, Ser Bryant?"
"It is my first time at all, Grey Warden," the human looked distinctly nervous, "I... hope I am preforming acceptably?"
"You are 'performing' most excellently," Tannu chuckled, letting go of Bryant's cloth skirts and letting them fall back into place, "that isn't why I asked, don't worry," and he climbed to his feet and closed the distance between them, throwing his arms over the hard metal pauldrons and pulling the other man's head down enough to kiss him, grinding them together below the man's plate armor with only a few layers of cloth in between. The knight gasped against his lips, rocking his hips forward, both men shuddering.
"We... haven't done anything for you," Ser Bryant managed to get out while Tannu nibbled on his bottom lip.
"Trust me," the elven mage smiled, pulling away and tugging Bryant along with him, in the direction of the nearby altar, "you are doing plenty. Now," he purred, turning back to the knight and letting the backs of his thighs touch the table. "Let's test that templar stamina of yours, shall we? Do you know how to take the robes off a mage?"
He didn't wait for the man's embarrassment at the question to even register, taking both gauntlets in his hands and guiding the human's fingers to the proper ties. Once his robes hung open from his arms, he draped himself backwards over the altar, exposing all of himself to the other man. Dark eyes raked over his moon-silvered skin, the templar's stare almost palpable over the dips and planes of muscle.
Tannusen smirked, drawing a vial of oil from a pocket in the open robes. He wasn't scrawny like one might expect of an elf or a mage, and it didn't seem that Bryant minded this discovery at all by the look of him. "Would you like me to recite something, while I touch myself for you?"
"Yes," Ser Bryant whispered, sinking to his knees. The elf shuddered at the symbolism, even as he draped one leg over the cold metal of a shoulder pauldron, giving himself access for a slippery fingertip to tease his own entrance under the templar's piercing stare. He circled himself slowly, eyes fixed on Byrant's face to gauge his reactions.
"And no longer was it formless, ever-changing," Tannusen licked his suddenly-dry lips, and raised his knee a bit further yet, wide open, as he pushed the very tip of his finger inside. Putting on a show was generally hot all by itself, in his own estimation, but doing so for a trained mage-hunter made a bead of moisture form at the very tip of him. "But held fast, immutable, with Words for heaven and for earth, sea and sky..."
Tannu was startled, for once, when the templar suddenly leaned forward and licked that droplet away, his gaze shyly flickering up to the mage's face for approval. The elf groaned softly, and continued the Canticle, "At last did the Maker from the living world make men..." Ser Bryant seemed to take that as encouragement, and licked again, his hot tongue grazing the very tip of Tannusen's sex.
The blond allowed his head to roll back against the edge of the altar, and jerked his hips when a gauntlet pushed the back of his hand forward, sliding his own finger into himself to the base in one long, slow push. "You're not playing fair, ser templar," he noted, his ever-present purr sounding ragged and breathless. He wasn't playing fair at all, and Tannu was enjoying every second of it.
"Perhaps you should start over on that Canticle, ser mage," was the utterly smug reply, "that isn't part of the verse, even if true."
Ser Bryant was a fast learner. Tannusen managed a soft laugh and then started over, catching back up to himself and continuing. "Immutable, as the substance of the earth, with souls made of dream and idea, hope and fear," two fingers, by now, slippery with oil and guided inwards by a gauntlet on the back of his hand, the templar in control of the pace. "End -- endless possibilities!" The emphasis was all his own as his fingertips slid against one particular place inside and his hips gave a twitch upwards.
"Am I to take you now?" Ser Bryant's soft voice pierced the haze, cold metal fingers skating hesitantly across Tannusen's thigh.
"Please do," Tannu shuddered as his leg was slid down off the other man's shoulder so that Bryant could rise back to his feet. The mage sat partially up, explaining breathlessly to the templar how to loop his arms under his knees to open the angle up, even as his slippery fingers pushed maroon cloth aside and then stroked over hot flesh, slickening the mage-hunter in oil.
"Now," Tannusen purred, laying back and, making sure that Bryant watched him do it, slid a single fingertip down his own length and allowed a shudder. "Time to play 'conquer the mage', templar."
"Hm, is it?" Ser Bryant smirked, doing as he'd been told with Tannu's pale legs. The armor was cold and harsh, and the chainmail pinched sharply, buckles for straps digging in... and the flared edges of the templar's gauntlets would definitely be leaving bruises. And it was hot, Tannusen's single fingertip turning into a full stroke of his hand, "...I hadn't noticed."
"It is if you want me to peel you out of that armor and make you sing the Chant, later," Tannusen threw his head back again as the older man slid home at the threat, grazing the hardened spot inside and making his vision fog. The thought of the templar trying to sing while Tannusen did wonderful things to his exposed body certainly didn't hurt matters, either!
"M-Maker," Bryant gasped. "This is..." the darker man shuddered, closing his eyes and gasping as Tannusen levered himself up on one elbow, shifting around him as he bent himself nearly in half to nip at the older man's lips.
"Just move," the mage demanded. He was no inexperienced flower, to need a long pause!
Ser Bryant, as it turned out, was very good at taking orders. He did indeed move, and Tannusen collapsed back onto the altar, coherent thought quickly lost to him under the barrage of sensation.
This, he decided hazily, had been one of his most brilliant decisions ever. And he would definitely make the templar sing before they parted company again!