(no subject)
[Continued from here!]
Consciousness came sluggishly, reluctantly. Details filed in one after another; the hard tile floor, the furnace-heat of a close, firm body, and the tastes and aches of fantastic sex were among the first to occur to his waking mind. Before long, Anders was aware that something had gone very, very wrong. Before he was even fully awake he knew he had to leave, had to move (while he still could), but couldn't just fling himself up.
They were intertwined, intimately so. It took great care and precious seconds for Anders to carefully draw his arms from around Cullen's shoulders, his legs from the warm tangle of warm knees and thighs together, and creep, ever so slowly, from the circle of Cullen's arms. Each moment he suffered consciousness in the slumbering Templar's embrace lit the bright sensory memories of their desperate joining. Anders could feel the words he had spoken, taste Cullen's skin and feel the tantric rush of the man's bliss all in painfully recent memory. Cullen's warmth lingered even as he scrambled from the bathroom floor, reeling back and out of the small room.
Anders wanted to crawl out of his skin more than ever before.
'What have I done?' the thought whirred above the strict demanding urgency to move; there was no getting away from it. He had no time to considers the hows and whys, though. It didn't matter what manner of magic (or otherwise) had caused the encounter; the moment was what mattered.
Anders did not dress properly; grabbing whatever was closet at hand. Hotel clothing from random drawers would suffice. 'Move' the command came from deep, deep within him, the urgency becoming dark and vicious. He watched his hand extend and pull open the door. He was almost free... and so was it.
That thought paused him at the open door. It was not so much a decision to stay, as a very significant moment of indecision. 'Move', roared everything inside him, 'MOVE NOW.' But the blood had tasted so sweet, the rage so dark, the pleasures and pains blurring and confusing. Anders clenched his fists, anger and indecision clashing enough to tremble the lean waning muscle on his long limber frame.
"I won't stop trying until you do."
"Then... I will try."
Was this giving up? Could he really trust himself alone with Justice, now that he had allowed himself to doubt?
Or was it all just madness?
Consciousness came sluggishly, reluctantly. Details filed in one after another; the hard tile floor, the furnace-heat of a close, firm body, and the tastes and aches of fantastic sex were among the first to occur to his waking mind. Before long, Anders was aware that something had gone very, very wrong. Before he was even fully awake he knew he had to leave, had to move (while he still could), but couldn't just fling himself up.
They were intertwined, intimately so. It took great care and precious seconds for Anders to carefully draw his arms from around Cullen's shoulders, his legs from the warm tangle of warm knees and thighs together, and creep, ever so slowly, from the circle of Cullen's arms. Each moment he suffered consciousness in the slumbering Templar's embrace lit the bright sensory memories of their desperate joining. Anders could feel the words he had spoken, taste Cullen's skin and feel the tantric rush of the man's bliss all in painfully recent memory. Cullen's warmth lingered even as he scrambled from the bathroom floor, reeling back and out of the small room.
Anders wanted to crawl out of his skin more than ever before.
'What have I done?' the thought whirred above the strict demanding urgency to move; there was no getting away from it. He had no time to considers the hows and whys, though. It didn't matter what manner of magic (or otherwise) had caused the encounter; the moment was what mattered.
Anders did not dress properly; grabbing whatever was closet at hand. Hotel clothing from random drawers would suffice. 'Move' the command came from deep, deep within him, the urgency becoming dark and vicious. He watched his hand extend and pull open the door. He was almost free... and so was it.
That thought paused him at the open door. It was not so much a decision to stay, as a very significant moment of indecision. 'Move', roared everything inside him, 'MOVE NOW.' But the blood had tasted so sweet, the rage so dark, the pleasures and pains blurring and confusing. Anders clenched his fists, anger and indecision clashing enough to tremble the lean waning muscle on his long limber frame.
"I won't stop trying until you do."
"Then... I will try."
Was this giving up? Could he really trust himself alone with Justice, now that he had allowed himself to doubt?
Or was it all just madness?