quick one for Threesomes Week
In the soft warm darkness of Isabela’s room there is a tangle of limbs in three different hues, all with their own scars scattered across them as pathways on the maps of their lives. The body in the middle, however, is marked with scars of such beauty that it is all too easy to forget that scars is what they are; the empty space where more flesh used to be filled with a materia that ought to kill its carrier but is instead used to kill others.
Anders does not kiss those scars, and Isabela does not trace the white paths with her tongue. There are other scars that will receive such care and such caresses given by lips and more, but not the lyrium markings, because this is about the person underneath them and who he is now, the person he became, and has nothing to do with the burden of past ownership. This is about the free man between them and what he wants now, not what he might have wanted before and where it got him. And so she meets his lips and lets tongue taste tongue instead, and Anders traces the skin between the white scars with his as his right hand searches for Isabela’s hair, as one of hers wanders downward to another’s hair of a different kind, as Fenris own hands finds and caress them both.
It is not about three lonely people finding solace in each other, not beyond the fact that lonely is one of the many things they all are at times. The act itself might have had something about wanting to escape loneliness about it at some point, but never how it has been performed. There is nothing about the desperate air of loneliness or the running from it over this; this is about admiration and of joy, of the celebration of freedom with passion’d breaths and soft, soft touches, of movements that no one wants to have come to an end, but when they do there is pleasure in that, too.
Not that the pleasure of bodies moving together towards a form of completion is the sole point of this, whatever it is, either; not when there are things neither of them have words for, not in a spoken language they all understand, but still wants to have said. And so they let their lips explain what they otherwise cannot in this wordless way; let their lips and the tips of tongues admire Fenris, softly at first, then hotly, and always with reverence.
Reverence for the man who has not done the most running of them all but gotten the furthest, that by chance came to want a more so much more difficult to grasp than so many others; the man who started out as a tool to be owned but came to be so much more and the one of them who has truly gotten what was wished for the most.