The kitten pit

Human ears were small, round, and in Anders’ case, freckled from some long-ago sun. Occasionally they were reddened, when Anders tugged on them in frustration or when he flushed in anger–behavior Fenris had notticed much less of lately.

Now Anders’ ears were red, but with warmth and the heat of the Antivan firewine that Varric had pressed on him earlier. The cold dampness of the day was outside, the door to Anders’ clinic was bolted, and they lay on two cots, pushed together in a dim corner of the room. Anders had tossed a bundle of elfroot on the brazier, making the air sweet. It hardly seemed like Darktown anymore.

Anders was drowsing, his hair down from the tight ponytail it was usually in, and the whole ragged length of it–shorter than Fenris would have thought–was spread on the old flat pillow. Their everyday lives–Anders in the clinic, Fenris out with Hawke–afforded few moments of rest and silence. It was rare that Anders lacked the energy and Fenris the motivation to do more sedentary work, but the week had been uniquely terrible, and the ink-stained parchment on the desk was the remnants of one sole hour of activity.

Fenris had found his head drooping, despite his best efforts to keep himself upright, and had gone to lay down on the cot. He knew to get rest when he could. It was not long until Anders was making a hellacious amount of noise dragging a second cot over to lay beside him, and they both had slept.

Feeling more refreshed, Fenris rose to an elbow above Anders, and traced one ear with his finger.

Anders jerked.

“Excuse you,” he said. “I’m ticklish.”

At once he seemed to realize his mistake.

Anders tried to sit up, but Fenris shoved him back down easily. Anders inhaled a breath to yell but yelped instead as Fenris brushed the underside of his ear.

Anders had managed to get a hand free, and Fenris felt a tug on his own ear. He laughed, and levered himself so that he was chest to chest with Anders, pinning him to the mattress, with Anders’ legs bent and pressed to Fenris’ side.

“That is not fair,” Anders said, red-faced and breathing hard. “You’re not even a little bit sensitive there?”

“I imagine that’s a human trait,” Fenris said. “Do you hate it?”

“I don’t like being tickled there, no,” Anders groused.

“But you’re sensitive,” Fenris probed, stroking Anders’ hair to lie flat.

Anders had relaxed, and his face had taken on the devilish look that to Fenris boded a very good night. Anders could be so playful, in calmer times.

“I’d say so,” Anders said, pressing himself closer. “Why do you–ah.”

Fenris kissed Anders’ ear, and Anders’ knees quivered where they were pressed to Fenris.

“Do you hate this?” Fenris asked again.

“No, you maddening man.”