I Couldn't Stop Thinking About You

In the cold nighttime breeze, underneath the oil lamp's dull light, Fenris stared at the open door of the Blooming Rose and felt his jaw clench. He made his way inside.

The white haired madame stood there, at the decorated bar, pouring over the books. She did not notice his presence until a waitress nodded her attention over to him. Lusine waved the girl off in annoyance, and spun around to greet him. Her face quickly betrayed her hostess position, her wandering eyes clearly appraising him as some sort of common drunk who wandered in off the street.

"Madame Lusine," he greeted.

Her face quickly fell back to graciousness in recognition.

"Ah! Mesere Fenris! You are one of Hawke's companions, yes? My pardons, I did not recognize you."

"That's fine, I don't blame you," he had spent the entire journey picking his sticky, cold shirt off as it kept adhering to him. He supposed he'd be more familiar if he had the sword he left in the entryway with the coat check.

"Of course. You are not here with Mistress Hawke... What can I help you with today?"

The mention of Hawke at his mere presence taunted him.

"What makes you mention her?"

"Ah, well, she's quite popular here, you know. Sometimes I have to remind my workers that they do have to take her coin at the end."

The sinking feeling returned. Fenris tried to keep his face as unaffected as possible, but he knew he was failing. He struggled to eke out a reply.

"Right... Well, I'm actually here at her suggestion."

She didn't respond for a moment, clearly confused at his lie, at this roundabout conversation with a customer. He suspected that she didn't speak for this long with many patrons, if any.

"Will you be enjoying our services today? What are your preferences?"

He didn't give his reply a moments' thought.

"Which whore is Hawke's favorite?"

"Excuse me?" She balked.

"Who is--Whose company does Hawke enlist most often? She suggested I come and ask after her favorite."

"I see..."

If Madame Lusine was taken aback before, she was not now. Her eyes seemed to light up at the mention of a "favorite," and she quickly turned to her big book to flip through the pages of dates and times.

"A-ha! It appears as if Mesere Hawke has a few favorites. She tips them most generously, though from their manner afterwards I suspect they may just like her, the bastards," Lusine rambled, not looking up.

"I'll tip just as well, if that's a concern," he started.

"It is of no worry. I know any friend of Mistress Amell pays just as well... here," she turned the book so Fenris could see and gestured, "she prefers these two. Ellasan and Nalya. Sometimes separately, sometimes both at once."

There were countless things in that statement that Fenris could pick apart, doubtless that would all turn him on to the idea more than he already was, but none more so than the fact that the names were both elvhen.

"I'll take both," he said, without hesitation.

"Excellent choice, messere," she nodded to the assistant waiting to relay the message, "They'll be waiting for you in the furthest room on the right, second floor. Don't hesitate to use our washroom should you wish to freshen up. And, of course, enjoy yourself."

Lusine gestured with the flourishes of a well-experienced hostess, doubtless giving some sort of signal to the whores waiting on the floor of the bar to head to the room ahead of him. Fenris took his leave.

The washing up consisted of removing his tunic and dabbing at his undershirt with a dubiously moist washcloth. He didn't wish to smell any more than he might already after a day's battles. With a final splash of basin water onto his face, he left for the room where his--no, Hawke's--whores were waiting.

As he entered, he was greeted by a well-prepared sight. The room was lazy with the smell of Antivan incense, its walls and floors adorned in exotic Orlesian rugs and tapestries. The furniture, all clear of actual ornamentation, was intricately carved Fereldan woodwork--including the grand four poster bed, though that was draped in Orlesian finery instead. Draped across the bed itself, however, were two half naked elves, their bodies free from vallaslin. Instead, they were freshly perfumed, with clean, soft skin. Unlike his own, of course. Together they sat, slowly running their hands over each other's bodies, the man dressed only in a loose pair of linen pants, the woman in a very revealing shift of silk.

"Hello messere," said the male Ellasan, "we heard you were asking after us."

"Yes, and we're glad to hear it," the female Nalya was laid out next to him on the bed, "if you're anything like your friend, we'll be glad to help you out."

She gave a knowing nod to his pants, which he hadn't noticed had tightened around him so much until this moment. He shifted uncomfortably, adjusting himself, before replying to the pair.

"I came to you at her suggestion," his voice cracked.

An obvious lie. They smiled knowingly, and slowly crawled out of the bed, moving the finery out of the way.

"Just tell us whatever you want to do, big guy," Ellasan cooed.

Nalya moved to his front and placed a hand on his chest, tracing her other on the line of his jaw from his ear to his lips. Ellasan moved to his other side, but stood behind him. His hand grabbed at his waist and the other moved to snake up his shirt. Fenris grabbed his wrist gently and pulled his face away from the woman's light touch.

"I want you to show me how she likes it," he finally replied, lessening his grip.

"How who likes it?"

"Hawke. I want you to show me how she likes to use you."

The two of them paused for a second, but shrugged off any sort of doubt they had as they moved to touch him again, to treat him like Hawke. He stepped back at their advances, trying to avoid being touched again. It would take him out of this fantasy.

"Not on me. On each other. I would just like to watch."

Nalya and Ellasan looked at each other, a little perplexed, but again shouldered off any sort of judgment. One look back and Fenris could tell they were intrigued by the idea, that fire in their eyes ignited again. He would still give them more coin later, he decided, for being so willing to indulge him. Quickly he pulled up one of the ornate chairs and faced it towards the edge of the bed.

"Okay, dear," Nalya took Ellasan by the hand and twirled him around, "would you like us to narrate for you?"

Fenris nodded. She shoved Ellasan to the bed, where she now stood over him. Immediately she began to kneel.

"Usually she starts by begging to suck me off," Ellasan said.

He smirked at Fenris' reaction, though Fenris could not say what that was. He leaned back, eyes closing as Nalya untied his breeches and took him into her hand. She looked back at Fenris, and stroked him masterfully to an erection for him to watch. Slowly--tantalizingly--she started at the underside of his dick, near the base, and gave a long lick up his length all while maintaining eye contact. She paused.

"Or, of course, to do something similar to me."

She took him into her mouth expertly, and this was no small feat. The man was sized quite well for his medium stature. She fondled his balls with one hand while carefully stroking him in the moments where he wasn't in her throat with the other. Fenris sat enraptured in this audible act of fellatio, sizing the two up in a moment of lucidity.

Nalya was, of course, an elvhen beauty. She was tall, though not yet Fenris' height, and had strong legs and arms. You could especially see the strength as she knelt down, her legs acting as a rest for the ass that poked out of her shift. Her dark hair was tied back at the moment, framing her pointed ears, but loose it might look more like Hawke's untamed mane. It certainly moved like hers as she throated Ellasan. The man was shorter than he was, but taller than Nalya. He was not built like a bulkhead, but he was muscular, the way most sailors returned looking like after a long voyage. His thighs were strong, like Nalya's, but they were clean shaven. All of him was clean shaven, save for his golden bush. His honeyed hair was cut short, but he ran his fingers through it all the same while holding Nalya's head down with the other hand. He moaned out obscenities, all while referring to the girl as Hawke.

The time spent appraising the two was apparently enough for Ellasan to tap out. He had been rocking his hips on the bed, in a mock attempt at fucking her face, but she toyed with him by keeping herself the perfect distance away. He stopped his bucking in an act of self-control. The blonde patted her shoulder to let her know to come up, and he once again turned his gaze on Fenris.

"Nayla's pretty good, but mistress Hawke is very passionate about this part," he smirked, "usually I shoot right down her throat."

Fenris held back the rage building in his throat, the rage gripping the arms of the chair, and focused instead on his arousal. The thought of his companion sitting in this perfumed bedroom, day after day, night after night, begging on her knees made his own weak.

"But tonight I want to save myself for the end."

It was like the bastard city-elf knew what he was doing here--what the object of his arousal truly was--and that he wanted to earn his ire while he was at it. Like he was challenging Fenris to do something about his attitude. The smugness, blondeness, and attraction to Hawke reminded him eerily of another he did not wish to think of at the present. He cleared his throat, saying his first words since the command to start.

"What next?"

Nayla had been sitting there waiting for a response, slowly jacking Ellasan's large manhood, staring at Fenris. Still she had lust in her eyes reserved for him, he could tell. Her gaze continuously flickered between his well-established bulge and making eye contact.

"Next, she likes to ride one of our faces, or our hands, until she's well and finished off," replied Nayla, giggling, "she often makes a mess of the sheets."

The male whore grinned. The thought of the act tickled Fenris' throat. He moved to keep a hand on his tent pole erection, still aching, untouched for who knows how long. He did nothing, just gripped it, trying to steel himself in the slightest. Ellasan peered down at the girl with his manhood in her hand.

"Mistress Hawke, what is your wish?"

"Ellasan," Nayla put on an impression of Hawke's voice, "I want you to lick my pot of honey, just as I sucked your cock."

Ellasan gleefully pushed himself backwards onto the grand bed, now lying flat on his back. Nayla hopped on the bed after him, taking her shift off in one fell swoop, and straddled his face. Her backside was just as clean and soft as the rest of her, her ass the perfect shape for riding, her hips the right size for holding on to. Slowly, she lowered herself down, facing away from Fenris still.

She moaned as his mouth made contact with her wetness. From what he could tell, her hands mostly caressed her tits and held his head by the hair. At the angle he was at, Fenris mostly saw her rocking back and forth, not his face or mouth; The noises his mouth made as he licked frantically were hard to miss. Of course, he could also see that Ellasan was still rock hard, his dick swaying as his heels dug into the bed for support while his hands held her by the hips. He leaked all over himself, his pillar and stones now shining in the faint light of the candles.

Nayla took one of the hands fondling herself and took out the tie holding her hair up, and let it fall down to just above her shoulders. In the darkness of the bed's canopy, without much more than the candlelight from the bed stands, it looked black instead of brown. Shadows framed her backside, and suddenly she was a mirror image of the version of Hawke that haunted Fenris' guiltiest dreams. His hand subconsciously began to stroke his erection through his pants, though slowly still. The only thing he could honestly say looked unlike Hawke were her thin elvhen ears sticking out from the mass of dark waves. Nayla moved her hips faster now, her quiet moans increasing in frequency, her breathing quickening. Within moments, he could see her hands move from fondling yet again, instead falling to grab Ellasan's hair in desperation, clawing at her own thighs as she approached her climax. He stroked himself through his pants faster instinctually.

The woman with Hawke's hair and behind came all over the light-haired elf's face, her moans reaching a crescendo. Ellasan's hips tightened and rose a few inches off the bed, imitating his own climax, but he only leaked more precum all over himself. Stroking faster still, Fenris caught his own breathing speeding up, approaching the point of no control. He tore his hand away from his trousers, the sensation of orgasm draining from him with an ache, his balls slowly loosening. It was electric torture.

Nayla giggled and climbed off Ellasan's high-arched elvhen nose. He sat up to meet her, sitting at his side on the bed, and the two made out. In the moments in between where the blonde caught his breath, she kissed all along his jaw and collarbone, licking her own juices off where they had leaked. Ellasan moaned Hawke's name quietly, as if Nayla herself was forgotten. He stroked himself in the hand he wasn't using to take a sizable grip off the woman's ass, fingers inching again towards her wetness. Fenris' grip on the chair's arms was white-knuckled as he watched them kiss and catch their breaths.

Finally, Nayla spent a moment hickeying Ellasan's neck before looking back at the white haired man in the chair. Her gaze was sultry, her expression a clear invitation to join them--as the wet spot on his trousers so clearly indicated he might wish to do. Fenris shook it off yet again. He swallowed hard.

"What next?"

The breath in Nayla's throat caught as she looked up at Ellasan, waiting for his response with her head resting on his chest.

"What's next? What's next is I mount and breed her like the Fereldan bitch she is," he answered.

Ellasan caressed the woman one last time, running his hand lightly down her arm and down to her hip, where he took hold. He deftly flipped her onto her hands and knees, perpendicular to the foot of the bed so Fenris could see every part of their bodies.

"She loves it like this, right Hawke?"

"Please--!" Nayla moaned desperately.

Fenris's rage ignited at the bastard's behavior, but it was like he was constrained to the chair. The sinking feeling was gone, he felt no sort of jealousy, no envy. The rage boiled away to pure arousal, and he watched the elves slack-jawed, imagining Hawke bent over and begging for seed in this very room, on that very bed. His erection was hurting him. Pressed against the linen of his bottoms it ached, but it had never been this engorged before. He looked and felt bigger in the bulge. He fished himself out, letting it stick angrily into the air, untouched.

Both the elves looked over as he did this. They both smirked and gave each other a look of celebration, like they had been hoping to achieve this. With each giving a final appreciative glance at his raging erection, they focused back on their own actions. Nayla held herself up by her hands and bit her lip, preparing herself. Ellasan took his own, equally hard, dick into his hand and guided himself smoothly inside her pussy. The two moaned simultaneously. He took her by the hips, where she was seemingly meant to be handled, and began pounding away.

They moved in unsurprising unison, being trained experts. It was no less mesmerizing. She knew exactly how to bound against him, when and how to squeeze his length, though it could obviously not be seen. He knew the exact force she needed, when to time his strokes, how far out to pull and how quickly to slam back in. They made outrageously lewd noises even outside of their moaning. She was well slick, and he was not making her any drier. His large stones hung low, too, and they slapped noisily against her with every stroke.

After a bit of time, Ellasan was clearly beginning to show signs of needing to burst. His back arched forward, and he leaned closer to Nayla's own backside with every passing moment. The muscles in his legs clenched along with his tight ass as he held himself back. His hands previously holding him upright against her hips now wandered her body, with one finding and fondling her small tits and the other expertly playing with her womanhood. He was clearly an expert at timing, and knew exactly how to time Nayla to go off when he did. Fenris wondered if he knew exactly when to start with Hawke, too, if she had any buttons he would be eager to press when the time was right.

Before he could give it too much thought, though, the time was nigh. Ellasan was hovering on the precipice, his torso now pressed to Nayla's, his strokes inside her very reminiscent of animals rutting. His balls tightened clearly enough for Fenris to notice. Nayla's moaning was growing louder too. Without prompt, Ellasan turned to Fenris and gave a final strained narration.

"This is when," he moaned out between grunts, "mistress Hawke usually demands... my elvhen seed. But she usually begs."

Immediately he followed with a deep groan and a final strong stroke, burying himself up to the hilt as he came deep inside Nayla, who furiously rubbed herself to completion at the same time. Ellasan remained buried inside her for at least half a minute, his moans softening and stones pulsating as if they continued to shoot rope after rope. He pulled himself out and fell back on his legs. Nayla rolled over, blissfully moaning to herself.

Fenris' pants were now completely soaked. It was as if he had spilled another pint directly onto his lap. His dick was a raging red, and swayed slightly with every twitch he made in the chair. It was a wonder it didn't just blow without him even touching it.

Ellasan glanced over at him and chuckled. He combed his hair back with his hand and laced his trousers while Nayla tied her hair up again, still lying naked on the bed. The blonde stepped off the bed while the dark haired elf donned the shift she threw to the pillows seemingly hours ago. Dressed again, the two elves stood between Fenris and the bed, nodding to his hardon. He shook his head. He crooked his neck towards the dresser by the door where he had placed their payments, and they nodded in understanding. They began to leave--clearly disappointed. Ellasan clapped a hand to his shoulder as he passed.

"I'll leave you your tips on the way out," he shouted after them as the door closed.

He shot out of the chair for the bed, desperately grasping for the soiled sheets the elvhen pair had left behind. His pants could not have come off faster; he felt the duvet frantically for the spot wetted by both of their fluids and found it. The bed was made with the precision of a guardsman's cot, and Fenris could not be bothered to force the duvet up to his face. He took as big of a grip of the material as possible and instead shoved his face into it, taking the largest continuous sniff he could while bent over the bed. He furiously stroked himself imagining that the combination of Ellasan's seed and Nayla's cum was not theirs, but his and Hawke's. He imagined the sweaty, primal scent was what Hawke would smell like, lying exhausted in bed next to him. He need not stroke himself for long, even the smallest touch was like lightning throughout his body, through his tattoos.

He exploded all over the sheets, groaning in ecstasy; Rope after rope shot onto the stains left by the whores, adding half of what he wished was soaking through the material. His stones pulsated, timed perfectly with each ejaculation. The muscles through his body were clenched, but his thighs were like solid iron as the sensation passed through him.