Many thanks to Olndina for cleaning up my messes.
Anders was a master at the art of seduction.
Anytime he entered a room, Anders automatically scanned it, scoping out every person present, searching for his mark. Perhaps it would be the pretty girl with the light blonde hair and ample bosom; or maybe the handsome lad with the trim beard whose large hands that hinted at other large appendages. He'd choose, sometimes carefully, sometimes randomly, and then the game would begin.
First came the eye contact, the most important part of the seduction, really. Anders would cast a long glance, a stare really, not looking away until he was finally caught. Then it was a quick glance away . . . a glance back . . . and away again, always pretending that he was looking away because there was something important calling for his attention (a meal or a pint of ale if he was in a tavern, or maybe a good book or even another person if he was in the Circle). As divided as his attention might have appeared, Anders was actually waiting.
And then, in a matter of moments, there it was: the smile. Anders would return it with his own lazy smile. Then, if one was available, he'd raise his (purposely) nearly empty glass in the person's direction, as a sort of toast. This would almost always prompt the male interest to order Anders a fresh drink, and saunter over to orchestrate his own seductive overtures. If Anders had his eye on a female, she would likely show her own empty glass, indicating to Anders that it was his move.
The game of seduction was truly easy. In fact, the only real obstacles he'd encountered were outside the Circle. It was no coincidence that the few times his lovers had caught on to his being a mage, a group of Templars would soon show up looking for him. Sometimes he was able to escape, but other times his dalliances had been his downfall. So despite his words to Nathaniel about always wearing his robes except when naked, he usually traveled in commoner clothes when he was on the run, and kept his use of electricity in the bedroom to a minimum.
Anders had had so many casual encounters, both inside the Circle and out, that he couldn't possibly count how many there'd been. Even during his early fumblings with Karl, he had never once found himself desiring anything serious. He'd never looked back after his escape attempts, never felt guilty about leaving the other man, or any of the others, behind. But of all the men and women with whom he'd shared a bed (and a closet, a shadowed corner behind a statue, a hayloft, and even a Chantry confessional once), no one had caught his attention quite like a certain rogue had.
And he had no idea how to deal with that. Nathaniel clearly had some sort of problem with the fact that he was attracted to men—something Anders couldn't understand at all—and it prevented Anders from making any more overt advances towards him, lest he scare the man off. Surprising though it might have been for some people, Anders was not an insensitive prick. If Nathaniel didn't want to acknowledge that part of himself, Anders wasn't going to push him, especially since Nathaniel had become a good friend, and Anders had precious few of those in his life.
True, Anders had been subtly increasing his flirtation attempts since they'd returned from Kal'Hirol, and though Nathaniel seemed less irritated by it, he still wasn't exactly responding to it. If Anders didn't know how intelligent the rogue was, he'd almost think that some of his flirtations went completely over his head. At least Anders had succeeded in making him blush; he definitely counted that as a victory.
Despite that little victory, Anders was far from getting anywhere substantial with the rogue, at least not in the foreseeable future. So why shouldn't Anders have some fun meanwhile? It wasn't as if he could just hang around forever, in the vain hope that Nathaniel would finally come to terms with his obvious sexuality and attraction towards Anders and throw him against the nearest wall and, well . . .
There was no shortage of good-looking men and women in the former Howe estate, and Anders was very good at reading people. Very rarely was he turned down, so Anders should have been perfectly content to work his way through the Keep, even if he couldn't simply sneak out of the room afterwards, confident that he'd never see his bedmate again (ah, the potential awkwardness that comes from a fixed residence).
There had been that pretty little cook's assistant with whom he'd spent the night, but as she had been far too giggly for his taste, he didn't really count that one, especially when what he really needed was a much preferred hard fucking from a well-endowed man. But, other than Giggles, there had been no one else. True there was that whole rush to Amaranthine in search of his phylactery, and then escape from certain Tranquility by way of the Right of Conscription, so there hadn't really been time for the long seduction, at least that was the excuse he was going with, anyway. He certainly wasn't abstaining from sex just on the off chance that Nathaniel would finally give in and creep into his room one night to fuck him senseless. And while he certainly wasn't some horny teenager with sex constantly on his mind, he had no problem with frequent, almost- (and twice-, and sometimes even thrice-) daily trysts, as was true with most mages. One night with a chambermaid did not exactly make up for months' worth of drought. In other words, Anders was horny.
And regardless of the whos or the whys (or even the Howes), when one of the guards who had been eyeing Anders finally made his move, he welcomed it with open arms—literally. Years of quick fucks in the Circle had made him pretty much immune to conventional ideas of privacy. As long as the Templars weren't around, every nook, cranny, and open space was fair game. So, a quick bump and grind in the hallway outside the library was no big deal.
Which is where Anders was right now, robes bunched up around his waist with a calloused hand slipping beneath the waistband of his smallclothes. Maker . . . women may be just as talented at this as men were, but when it came to a good hand job, nothing could compare to one performed with a calloused hand. Those rough spots sliding up and down his cock caused the most delicious friction, with just the tiniest amount of pain. Guards and farmers were the best, but Anders suspected that a rogue's hands would be just as skilled, if not better, with hands strong from wielding the hefty bow, the rough calluses on the pads of the fingers from where they rubbed against the bowstring as it was pulled back almost to its breaking point.
Any sense of guilt he had from conjuring up images of Nathaniel while another man's hand was wrapped around his cock were fleeting in the oh, fucking good of impending orgasm drawing his balls tight and close.
His eyes closed as he let out a quiet moan, the back of his head thumping against the wall behind him. The guard was currently sucking on Anders' neck at the same time he was stroking his cock, and Anders turned his head to the side to give the man better access. His eyes fluttered open and instantly focused on a previously unseen figure standing at the end of the hall. Nathaniel.
Oh, shit. Ohshitohshitohshit. The small gasp of surprise that Anders let out must have alerted the guard, who proceeded to pick his head up and utter his own noise of surprise at seeing Nathaniel. All three men froze in time, none of them able to react or even move from the tableau they found themselves in.
Nathaniel was the first to react. His eyes, at first wide with surprise, narrowed as he stalked into the library, slamming the door behind him. Anders grinned sheepishly at the guard and told him to wait there for a moment, before going into the library to deal with Nathaniel.
Nathaniel was sitting in a chair at the long table, a small tome opened before him. Judging by the title on the cover—the book was about stonemasonry—Nathaniel had grabbed the nearest book he could find. As stuffy as some might find Nathaniel to be, even he wasn't that boring.
Anders coughed quietly, causing Nathaniel to look up, a small frown creasing his forehead. "Something you need, Mage?"
Mage. Well, that wasn't a good sign. Nathaniel hadn't called him that in a long time, not since they'd become friends. "Uh . . ." Anders cleared his throat. "I just wanted to, uh, apologize . . . for what you saw." He offered a somewhat feeble lopsided grin. "No one was actually supposed to see that."
Nathaniel looked back down at his book, for all the world appearing to be engrossed in it. "Perhaps the two of you should have sought a more private place; that's what bedrooms are usually for."
Anders frowned. "Look, I'm sor—"
Nathaniel stood up abruptly, snapping the book closed. "There's no need to apologize to me, Anders. It isn't as if you did anything to me personally." He walked around the table towards the door. "If you want to whore yourself out to some soldier in the hallway, be my guest."
Anger flared inside of Anders, and before he even realized what he was doing, his hand came up and dealt Nathaniel a ringing slap on the face.
"You self-righteous bastard!" he hissed. "You have no right to judge me."
Nathaniel's glare darkened, a hand coming up to rub at his cheek. "I have a right to walk through the halls of my family's home without being subjected to sights like that!"
Anders was matching Nathaniel glare-for-glare now. "Just because you're sexually repressed doesn't mean there's anything wrong with it! It isn't as if he was fucking me on the table in the dining hall at dinner!"
He watched as Nathaniel's hand clenched into a fist. He wondered if the man was going to hit him, and for a brief moment he actually felt as if he might deserve it. Unconsciously he took a step backwards before regaining the indignant anger that had filled him just moments before.
Nathaniel looked away, his hand relaxing once more. A look of anguish crossed his face for the briefest of moments, and then it was as if a wax mask had dropped over his face. There was no emotion there now, save for his eyes, which always seemed to belie his truest feelings. "Just stay away from me," Nathaniel said quietly, before opening the door and stalking back out into the hallway.
Anders waited for a few moments, taking several deep breaths. Finally he returned to the hallway, and was slightly surprised to see the guard still there, waiting for him. Anders used that age-old excuse of "I have a headache" to escape any further interaction with the man, a lie that was actually true. He slumped back towards his room feeling utterly miserable.
He'd been caught before—it happened all the time in the Circle. Templars were ever vigilant, and it was normal to be caught in flagrante delicto. It was almost a rite of passage, especially being caught by a younger Templar who was green enough to actually be embarrassed. There may even have been a time or two when Anders had deliberately allowed himself to be caught by the Templar Cullen, just for the opportunity to watch the young man stammer and blush.
Somehow, though, it was much worse to be caught by Nathaniel. Anders hadn't given a damn about the Templars; even the nice ones were enemies to him. He couldn't have cared less if they'd all been killed in the revolt. Nathaniel was, well . . . Anders had seen the brief flash of hurt in Nathaniel's eyes, and it had nothing to do with how hard Anders had slapped him. Anders may very well have ruined any progress he'd made since Kal'Hirol.
He had half a mind to turn around and go after the guard—to drown his sorrows in meaningless sex—but he couldn't bring himself to do it. He continued on to his room instead, locking the door behind him and flopping onto the bed fully dressed. He buried his head under one of the soft down pillows, and tried to think of a way to make things right with Nathaniel. He fell into a thin, fitful sleep several hours later, not having come up with one single idea.