It really wasn’t my fault. It had never been my intention to begin what happened. He was my brother, and I loved him, even when he drove me mad ... but sometimes there is only so much someone can take, and I cracked. I lost my mind, briefly ... but when I came back to myself, I couldn’t find it in myself to regret what had happened.
It started with a job gone wrong. We were hired to track down a stolen artifact. I don’t even remember what it was, now, but I’d taken Carver, Varric, and Isabela with me to some dank, Maker-forsaken warehouse in the docks when we were, surprise surprise, ambushed by blood mages. What else is new? It’s Kirkwall. There are blood mages everywhere in Kirkwall, it seems.
I tried to neutralize their magic, to protect everyone, but I took a frost spell in the face unexpectedly, and I let the barrier slip. Just a tiny loss of concentration, but that’s all it took. Carver was burned, a fireball igniting the fabric of the tunic he wore under his armor, and the skin on his arm blistered and blackened before I managed to douse the fire. Varric put a bolt through the forehead of the offending mage as I hurried to my little brother to see what I could do.
And compared to me, he was little. But then, I was a bit freakishly large, so everyone was little compared to me. Carver’s not inconsiderable six feet and warrior’s build was nothing when I had six inches, and probably forty pounds of muscle on him.
“Fuck!” he shouted. “Garrett, you asshole!”
“Here, let me just-”
“Screw you! I’ll get Anders to heal it. You can barely heal a papercut – I don’t need you making your mistake worse.”
And he stomped off to go see our friendly neighborhood healer, muttering about brothers and mages in rather rude terms under his breath.
I watched him go, guilt warring with irritation inside me.
“Don’t worry about the kid. He’ll be fine,” Varric assured me. “Besides, he should have known better and ducked. That fireball didn’t come as a surprise to anyone but him. Junior’s got to start looking around more in battle, Hawke.”
“You can’t blame the kid when he’s got much more interesting things to look at than ugly mages.” Izzy giggled, gesturing at her rather ample – and bare – cleavage. And she wasn’t wrong; my awkward brother did love to stare at the pirate’s ... assets.
I rolled my eyes, starting to search through crates and boxes. After half an hour of fruitless pillaging, I swore. “And after all that, the fucking thing isn’t even here.” I sighed. “So much for the ten sovereigns that asshole promised me.”
“Don’t worry about it, Hawke. First round is on me. Let’s go back to the Hanged Man.”
I followed my dwarven companion sadly back to the shithole of a tavern we spent most of our evenings at, eventually drinking enough that I passed out on the floor of Varric’s room.
The next day, when I stumbled home somewhere between still drunk and hungover, my mother started in on me. “Garrett, I don’t have so many children that you can afford to not protect them,” was where she started. She spent the day doting on her ‘darling Carver’, treating me like a total jerk. Uncle Gamlen just laughed as my mood deteriorated more and more as the day went on. Between solicitously checking Carver’s burns – healed without even a scar, not that it stopped him from whining about it – and bringing him home-baked treats, I felt completely ill ... and then began the veiled remarks about Bethany, as if her dying was also my fault.
And in truth, I’ll never stop feeling guilty about that. No matter how many times Aveline tried to convince me there was nothing I could do, I saw my poor, beautiful sister being grabbed and crushed by that ogre every damn time I closed my eyes, and had for the past year. There was no one who loved Bethany more than me; no one who missed her more. If I’d just been stronger, faster, smarter ... But there was nothing I could do about it now, not that that prevented Mother from piling on the guilt pretty much every time she saw me.
Finally having enough, I retreated to the room – little more than a storage closet – that I shared with Carver, flopping down on the bed and escaping from my guilt, and my family, to the Fade.
The next morning, Carver was still asleep when I woke early, and I crept into the kitchen to make myself something to eat since I’d gone to bed without supper. Gamlen wasn’t home – hadn’t made it back from the Blooming Rose the night before, I assumed – and Mother was just leaving to head to the Chantry for services. With a few rude remarks about my lack of piety, honorability, and general worthiness, off she went, leaving me alone in blessed silence.
Until Carver woke, of course. When he learned that Mother wasn’t home, his whining switched from pleas for attention to passive-aggressive attacks aimed at me instead. Once I’d brought him his breakfast, helped him with his tunic, and listened to him grouse for an hour about how much pain he was in, I’d finally had enough.
“Carver, I swear to the Maker, if you don’t shut up...”
“What are you going to do, big brother? Let me get hit by another fireball?” He was struggling with his belt, trying to work it through the loops on his trousers without using the one arm, holding the one that had been burned awkwardly in front of him like it was still in agony.
I’d had worse burns before. I knew once Anders had finished healing them, the pain was almost gone. He was just being a big baby.
And that gave me an idea. “You know what? If you’re going to act like a child, I’m going to treat you like one. Go ahead, baby. Whine one more time, and see what I’ll do about it.”
“Screw you, Garrett. It’s not my fault it hurts. If you hadn’t...”
I didn’t get to hear the rest of what he said. Between his whiny tone, and all of my family needing me to do every fucking thing for them while complaining the entire time that I wasn’t doing it the way they wanted me to, I’d had it.
Like I said, I cracked.
Before he knew what was happening, I had snatched the belt out of Carver’s hand, pulling it free of the couple of belt loops he’d worked it through, causing his trousers – threadbare, and much too large for him, as they were hand-me-downs of mine – to fall, baring his ass to the room. I grabbed his uninjured arm, levering it behind him and pushing until he sprawled face-first down on the mattress in front of him, naked ass in the air and bollocks swaying in the breeze. “You know what, Carver? If you want to talk about pain, I’ll show you pain. You were too young when Father died to know what this feels like, but I’m going to show you how he used to deal with me when I whined about nothing.”
I’d loved my father as much as the next kid, but especially knowing the risks I faced as a mage, and not being the most patient man in the world – not to mention the stress we were under, with two toddlers, two apostates, and Mother constantly fleeing from the templars – his wrath was swift and terrible at times. Father had died when the twins were still small, and Carver had never seen that side of him.
Another thing that was my fault, apparently. Like I should have known that he was going to go off alone ... Shaking the thoughts out of my head, before Carver could react, I swung my arm back, gripping the doubled-over leather belt tightly, and applied it to Carver’s posterior with a vengeance.
He shrieked, writhing on the bed trying to get away, but I didn’t give him the chance – I tightened my grip on his uninjured arm, pressing him down on the mattress firmly, and did it again. And again.
My size was finally good for something, I decided, as I realized it wasn’t terribly difficult to hold him down. Carver was strong – he was a warrior, after all – but I was no slouch either, training with Aveline and Fenris whenever possible to keep my body in peak condition, and the extra weight I had compared to my little brother meant he didn’t have much chance of squirming out of my grasp.
I spanked him with the belt over and over, turning the skin on his ass a violent red; he shouted for a while, before finally breaking down into sobs, begging me to stop. A misplaced blow landed between his legs by mistake, and I saw the skin between his anus and his balls swell up and turn bright red. It suddenly dawned on me the blatant sexuality of the situation I found myself in: holding a man down, his ass bare to my gaze, his balls and cock hanging down below, his legs separated by the corner of the bed he was prostrate over. I’d always been rather dominant in bed – not that I’d ever used violence with sex, but just a bit decisive, bordering on domineering – but this was new territory for me. And it was exciting. Every squirm jiggled the round globes of his ass, made his cock and balls wiggle, and I felt my own cock harden inside my trousers in response.
I changed my aim, then, deliberately striking the sensitive tissue around Carver’s back door, grazing his perineum and scrotum with the belt periodically, and while his hoarse screaming increased in volume each time and that should have bothered me, I just got harder.
.... There is more of this story ...