Heads up that this entire fic came out of a kmeme prompt. As such this interlude and the one that comes after chapter 11 both include mature content. This isn't vital to the plot, so if you want to just skip straight ahead to chapter 6 you won't miss anything other than Anders having... a moment.
His bed was too narrow for two people. It was barely wide enough for one person, but the niggling voice of Justice in the back of his head usually drove him to the point of exhaustion anyway, at which point how narrow his bed was simply didn't matter.
Tonight it mattered with Fenris' back pressed right against his back. Back to back was the only way to sleep comfortably that didn't involve one of them spooning tightly against the other. He had already had his groin pressed against Fenris' backside too many times in his life, and he was in no hurry to repeat the experience, nor to reverse the positions.
A lie.
Anders grimaced to himself. It wasn't a lie exactly. It wasn't Fenris he lusted after. What he lusted after was more a concept than a person – an end to sleeping alone, an end to having no company but a being who had never been human and would never understand being human, an end to having only his own hand to sate himself when wanting raised its head.
He had thought that when he offered himself to Justice as a host that he would never fear being alone again, but instead…
…instead he was lonelier than ever, and the man he had once been was occasionally terrified of what he had become.
But if there was anything he could do, it was push away fear. He had seen too many things, done too many things in his life to let fear rule him. He would be dead a hundred times over otherwise.
He closed his eyes and pretended, just for a little while, that the man pressed against his back did not hate him. He summoned up memories of other times, other places, other warm bodies, and felt a smile finally touch his lips.
Oh, but he had been a heartbreaker, and it had been so much fun. The clutch of soft hands, rough hands, a woman's lips, a man's beard, taking, being taken. The simple pleasures of the flesh, the simple satiation of desire, the rapturous drowning in sleep after bliss to wake in the morning for another game of Don't mind my breath and what was your name again?
With a warm body against his back, he could almost feel, just for a little while, like the old Anders.
The old Anders also reacted to the presence of an attractive man in his bed. He was only semi-hard. He could probably let exhaustion claim him and it would subside, but he crept his free hand down to his groin despite his better instincts.
He lay still, listening to Fenris' steady, slow breathing, feeling his body move with the rise and fall of his chest. When he was convinced that Fenris was truly asleep, he carefully worked his robe up until he could slip his hand under his smallclothes to wrap around his cock, coaxing it easily from semi-hard to fully hard with a few light strokes.
He struggled to keep his motions minimal, almost timed with his breathing, and was encouraged when Fenris did not react.
Behind his closed eyelids, he browsed through images of past lovers, of suntanned limbs and full lips, full breasts, narrow hips, and the delicate swirl of tattoos over lithe muscle and…
Wait. Back that up.
He lost his stealthy rhythm when he realized that a mental image of Fenris had snuck its way into his harmless fantasies.
He wondered, was it better to wank and think of someone else in the same bed with Fenris, or wank and think of Fenris while in the same bed with him?
At this point he was hard enough that the thought of simply not wanking was no longer an option.
Maybe I should just ask Fenris to glow at me.
He shunted thought of that embarrassing little side effect of the chain aside and resumed his stealth masturbation. He barely moved his fingers to stroke himself, playing his thumb over the head of his cock, rubbing the sensitive space where his foreskin bunched when it was retracted, stroking the first fluid that leaked out over the head.
It wasn't as satisfying as a full on, no holds barred, fucking-his-fist wank, but there was something to be said for simply not being alone when he did it.
When the pleasure finally built to the point where it spilled out on his hand, he caught his breath and squeezed his eyes tightly closed, holding himself quivering lightly until he finally relaxed with a heavy sigh.
He was just working his hand out of his smalls to wipe it on the sheet when he felt Fenris shift away from him, pulling on the chain strung between them while he reached for something.
Then a rag landed on Anders' face.
Awkward.
Neither of them said a word while he wiped his hand before they both finally subsided into true sleep.