Work Text:
"Mage," growled Fenris. "You will not cook again."
Anders batted his lashes in an attempt to look perfectly innocent, but his effort was ruined by a little twitch at the corner of his mouth.
"Um, why?" he inquired, fiddling with the small grater he had been using just a moment before.
"Because," continued Fenris, stalking closer like an irritated cat, eyes narrowed to slits. "It gives you bad ideas."
Anders was sure that _if_ Fenris was a cat, his angrily swishing tail would be knocking over all the chairs in the kitchen.
"But it would taste good on you," he remarked with a gasp when the elf pushed him against the wall.
The grater fell from his hands, clattering against the stone floor, but the scent of spices remained, his fingers and robe liberally sprinkled with the fragrant dust.
But there was also lyrium there, lyrium and several other condiments he had used in preparation.
Lyrium was the strongest, because Fenris was so close, his breath warm on Anders's neck, bringing with it a hint of wine and leather that usually also accompanied the elf, only presently subdued by the strong aromas around them.
Anders sighed when Fenris's tongue slipped between his spice-covered fingers, and then whimpered when the warrior sucked them into his mouth.
"Am I still... am I allowed to cook again?" he asked breathlessly when the elf finally let go of his hand.
"Maybe," was the only answer Anders got before losing himself in the taste of lyrium, spices and Fenris, not necessarily in that order.