not_every_mage | Room 322, Tuesday Afternoon

Room 322, Tuesday Afternoon

If Anders was being honest, he'd have to admit that the tall box from Kathy that Ringo had given him some months before had fallen completely out of his mind.

It had started with good intentions: He'd dragged the parcel back to his room and stuck it in the closet so he could save it for his actual birthday and feel like Kathy was there, just for a moment. And then there had been the madness of trying to summon a demon, and the dull terror of the Circle, and by the time he was home again his birthday was some weeks past and the tall package entirely forgotten in a back corner of his closet. The fact thinking about Kathy hurt and he avoided it when he could had only added to his amnesia.

It might have stayed there forever, if Lachlan hadn't managed to hit one of his toy mice deep into the closet. Anders went digging through a mess of discarded paper to find it, and ended up bumping into the box. The tall, slender package wobbled worryingly for a moment before he was able to catch it.

And then there was nothing to do but open it. Lachlan's mouse was forgotten as he pried the paper off and found --

A damned fine staff. The kind he'd never expect to afford on his own. He could feel its power singing to him as he held it in his lap. Some part of him couldn't wait to get to a space where he could test it safely.

The rest of him mainly wanted to cry.

"Dammit, Kathy," he muttered. "Just ... damn it."

[OOC: Cracked door, open post.]

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And because it was light, Dante managed the presence of mind required to put the staff down on the floor before it just tumbled right off the bed. He settled over Anders, trying not to break contact for too long. His hand slid up and under Anders' shirt, just... touching.

Sex, distraction and comfort had always had a weird, unhealthy relationship with each other for him anyway; if there were pitfalls there, it didn't even occur to him to think about it.

Anders started and then giggled when the staff hit the ground, then brought his hand up to rest on Dante's back.

After a few moments, his kissing became more intent.

Dante managed a brief, soft chuckle at that giggle.

Anders was distracting him more fully shortly after, though, and he let his remaining thoughts drift off to the wind. He pulled on the shirt, tried to work it over Anders' head without breaking away too much, his hips pressing down of their own accord.

Anders' hips rose to meet Dante's, and he moved his arms so his shirt would come the rest of the way off before tugging on Dante's in return. He could never resist skin on skin.

If he was thinking at all, he was thinking that this was probably the best end to his breakdown over Kathy's gift that he could have asked for.

Dante smiled faintly to himself as he tossed his shirt aside. And then it wasn't so much smiling to himself anymore as smiling at Anders. "Hey," he said softly, and kissed Anders again, cupping Anders' face with both hands.

"Hey back," Anders said, and something about the way Dante was looking at him made his toes curl in happiness. "I think this is making me feel better."

"Good," Dante said quietly. He dipped down and kissed Anders' throat. Gently, for his standards. "I want you to feel better."

"And I want to feel you better," Anders said, which he knew was probably terrible even as it amused him. "So we're a good team."

He reached to unzip Dante's pants, just to make the point a little more obvious.

Dante chuckled faintly, because he had to appreciate the attempt if nothing else. "Fine, fine," he said, as he moved to return the favor with Anders' pants.

He nipped at Anders' jaw and whispered, "So what do you wanna--?"

Anders squirmed happily. "Would it be boring if I said just kissing and hands?" he asked.

Dante pressed a few kisses into his neck. His hand slid into Anders' pants, wrapping around his length.

"Nah," he said, his mouth working its way back up. "I think we can rock it."

"We always do," Anders returned as he grasped Dante's rod and worked his thumb around the head. He kissed Dante again, letting his tongue tangle with Dante's.

Dante made a soft noise in the back of his throat as Anders touched him, channeling the feel of it into the kiss. His hand pumped Anders slowly, until it slid further down still to play with his balls, but he wasn't thinking all that much about technique or-- any of that.

It was Anders' tongue that drew a shiver out of him, made him press closer, shutting his eyes and following Anders' lead entirely.

Even when Dante wasn't thinking about technique, his technique was nothing to complain about. Anders whimpered in need, toes curling against the sheets.

He kept working his hand over Dante's flesh, keeping his touches as slow as he thought Dante could stand.

Under other circumstances, Dante would've called him a tease. Right now, he suspected there was something else going on, and he didn't want to argue or joke about it. It was enough: enough to make his breathing speed up, enough to keep making him shift closer until his body was pressed up against Anders as much as it could without getting uncomfortable.

He kept one hand moving; not quite as slow as Anders, because he didn't have that in him and he never had, but still slow.

The other one slid up, brushed Anders' hair back, cupped his cheek. Settled there.

There was some teasing in Anders' motives, to be fair, and also wanting this to last as long as it could. Besides, Anders felt tired and fragile, and the energy for the kind of breathless fucking they sometimes went in for was beyond him.

So they'd be slow and gentle.

"You're being nice," he whispered, eyes meeting Dante's as his hand sped up the tiniest fraction. "I like it."

Dante sighed softly. "You looked like you could use a little nice," he said, just as quiet. "That's all."

He smoothed his fingers through Anders' hair, his hips moving gently into Anders' hand.

"You aren't wrong," Anders said, and behind the words his excitement was making it harder to breathe.

He slid his free hand down the back of Dante's pants to cup his ass, moaning softly as he did.

Dante leaned in and caught Anders' mouth again, unable and unwilling to resist. Took the lead this time, drawing it out, his hand on Anders moving just a little faster on each stroke, thumb lingering over the head sometimes.

The feel of Anders' fingers on his ass was nice, too, made him rock his hips against him some more.

"Dear Maker," Anders hissed, speeding his strokes and rocking his hips to match Dante's. His fingers gripped Dante's ass more tightly as he gave in to the wanting.

The wanting was good. It was always good, even if right now, for once, Dante wasn't the one who needed this distraction most.

He still didn't give himself to it as fast as Anders did, more concerned with making sure the other guy was having it good, that it was working-- it was when Anders' grip shifted and the expression on his face changed that he gave in, hand sliding out of Anders' hair, exploring warm skin and muscle that seemed to be getting more prominent every time they did this.

It became all touch and movement and build after that. He lost track of time.

Time was meaningless. Anders let it float away, gave himself to lips and hands and pleasure, and the steady feeling he was closing in on his climax.

"I'm close," he whispered against Dante's ear -- or something like that, anyhow. He wasn't making words so well.

Dante let out a quiet but shuddering breath. "Good," he whispered back, eyes still shut. "C'mon, then."

He tilted his head and bit gently at Anders' neck, struggling to hold on a little longer, himself. It wasn't working.

"Getting there," Anders said, a hint of amusement entering his voice. And then there were teeth on his neck, and he was gasping as he spilled himself all over Dante's hand. His movements grew erratic, but he did his best to bring Dante along with him.

A brat. Anders was amused because he was a brat, and Dante huffed a breathless flash of a laugh against Anders' throat because yeah, actually, it was pretty funny--

--and then he was whimpering as he gave up on holding on, and followed right behind.

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