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A Little Self-Love Never Hurt Nobody

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There was something strange about the library, something almost familiar, but Anders couldn’t quite put his finger on it and the harder he tried, the more it escaped him like marbles skittering across the floor.  It was dark and quiet; too dark to read comfortably, too quiet to be anything but the middle of the night. Anders ran his fingers along the spines of dusty non-descript tomes, the titles too indistinct to make out. He frowned; he didn’t know how he had gotten there, but he was struggling to feel concerned about it. A wisp of light appeared from behind the bookshelf, and as he turned to follow its lazy trail, he found himself face to face with a young man.

“Hello,” the stranger said cheerfully, “Are you new here? I don’t think we’ve met.”

Anders blinked at him. Looking at the man gave him a dizzying sense of déjà vu; he was young, in his early 20s at the very most. His blond hair was pulled back into a short ponytail, a few strands artfully falling into his warm brown eyes, and when he tilted his head with a winsome smile a gold earring glinted in the watery light of the wisp. The realisation was like wiping condensation from a window, "Anders?”

The smile took on a slight pinned-on quality, “Ah, so we have met.”

“No. Well, yes, I—“ Anders began. He glanced away for a moment, recognising the gloom of Kinloch’s library well after curfew, and tentatively reached out into the darkness with his mind. He found nothing; no demons, no illusions. He couldn’t even find Justice there – whatever this was, it was no work of some outside force. It was simply a fragment of memories, frozen in the Fade. His younger self watched him expectantly, “I just transferred here, but I heard some of the other apprentices mention you.”

He quirked a brow in a way he must have thought looked charming once, “It seems my reputation proceeds me.”

“Not always a bad thing,” Anders said. He was trying to place exactly how old his reflection was. He could see his hands were smooth and unscarred, so it was obviously before his year in solitary confinement at least. He was clean shaven, face clear and unlined, and the top clasp of his robes was undone, showing a not-inconsiderable part of his chest and neck. Anders looked away again; he didn’t know why that detail had caught his eye but he wished it hadn’t. The younger Anders wet his lips, the slightest hint of a pink tongue flicking out. His staring had obviously not gone unnoticed.

“Not everything they say about me is true--” he said, his voice dipping dangerously close to a purr as he leaned into his older self. His eyes dropped to his lips and back up again, “--unless you want it to be.”

What Anders wanted was to groan. He knew fine well that everything they said about him in those days was completely true – he also knew exactly what his reflection was trying to do. A part of him was trying hard to remember who he was supposed to be in this memory, if it was a real memory at all. He had enough trysts in that library after curfew it could have been one of many people, or it could have been a mash of several different memories. The rest of him was focused on the slender fingers thatboldly walked their way up his chest to brush against his adam’s apple. He swallowed as a warm, lithe body moulded against his front - oh, he had been good.

Lips hovered inches from his own, so close he could feel the soft hitched breath mixing with his own, count every fleck of gold in the eyes he’d seen in every mirror but never so intimately. He knew exactly what young Anders was doing – after all, this was just an echo if his memory. He was trying to have him close the gap between them, to make the first move so he could pretend the other man was in control. It was rushed, clumsy when they both knew they only had twenty minutes before the Templar on guard came back to this side of the floor, but it worked. Anders pressed forward, one hand on a slender waist, the other rising to fist roughly in soft blond hair, just the way he liked it. It made his head swim to think of it like that – the way he liked it, pulling on his own hair, his tongue down his own throat, coaxing this soft wet slutty noises from his own lips –but was it really so different from slipping his hand down his smallclothes in the middle of the night? The theory was the same but Maker, it certainly felt different. He didn’t care to stifle the groan that escaped him as deft fingers parted his robes and tugged at the laces of his breeches, wrapping themselves around his cock.

“Oh, lucky me,” his younger self murmured against his mouth as he began to harden, and Anders couldn’t help but laugh as he realised he was literally and figuratively stroking his own ego. He kissed himself again, harder this time, breaking away only to nuzzle against his throat and suck a sweet and dark mark just below the corner of his jaw where the whole tower would be able to see it in the morning, the sort of mark he would pretend to try to hide with high collars and coy smiles that made everyone look.

“Have any slick, or will I just use your mouth?” he asked, trying to remember the sort of trite filth that brought him off so easily in his youth. Judging by the way his younger self’s eyes wend wide, his memory hadn’t failed him.

“You’re all business, I see,” he said, an uncharacteristic blush creeping across his cheeks as he tried to keeps his composure. Anders laughed again, stepping forward to crowd him against the desk behind him before grabbing him and forcing him face down onto it.

“And you’re all talk,” Anders said, one hand on the back of his younger self’s neck while the other checked his belt for something he could use. He found a small jar of healing salve, already opened and half used, and sat it on the desk just in view. The youth whined pathetically as he lifted the back of his robes - no smallclothes, of course. Anders ran his hand over the smooth pert cheeks before bring it down hard with a sharp smack that made him squirm, “Always was at this age.”

He spanked him again until his palm was stinging, and when his arse was a cheerful rosy pink he reached for the salve and coated two of his fingers in it. He knocked his legs further apart with his knee, but it didn’t take any force; the young Anders kept his face pressed to the desk, his hips arched to present himself like a bitch it heat. The sight of it sent a throb of heat straight to Anders’ cock, and he had to bite his lip to stop himself from moaning as he slowly and deliberately pushed two slick fingers inside of his younger self who made short, bitten off noises of pleasure in response.

There was no tenderness in Anders’ touch, no need for gentleness; he knew his own boundaries and he knew how to push his own limits in all the best ways. He picked up the pace, alternating between crooking his fingers and scissoring them until the mage beneath him was practically begging, panting as he rocked back against the hand that fucked him.

“More,” he insisted, his voice muffled by the table, “Come on, I’m ready, give me more.”

Anders bit his tongue but began to gather magic in his fingertips, tiny sparks of pure creation and electricity that made him tingle. The other Anders couldn’t feel it yet and made a noise of impatience - so without any warning or preamble, he leaned his full weight on his younger self, pressed his fingers firmly to his prostate, and released the magic. The effect was immediate; he let out and keening wail, bucking and writhing so hard beneath him Anders struggled to keep him pinned down as he rode out the pleasure. He rolled his digits back and forth, wringing more whimpers from the man until it bordered on over-stimulation and the moans were cut with breathy whispers of enough, enough.

Anders stopped, pulled his fingers out, and wiped the on back of prone mage’s robes. He then untucked himself from his britches and coated his throbbing cock in more salve before rubbing the leaking head of it against his younger self’s slick abused hole. If they had any more time he might have went slowly, savoured teasing and torturing the other man, but it was only a matter of minutes before they would likely be discovered. The idea of being caught bent over a table rutting into himself by some holy Templar was sweet enough that he squeezed the base of his cock firmly as he fucked his way in.

“Andraste preserve me,” he groaned. He felt good – so warm, so slick, so open and inviting. There was hardly any resistance, only heat and soft velvet friction that was as close to perfection as he’d felt in a long time – and Maker’s balls, it had been a long time. Too long - since he’d left the Wardens really – without a tongue in his mouth, and fingers up his arse, and someone pretty on the end of his cock, and when he shoved himself in right up to the hilt it was like coming home again. Anders set a punishing pace, hard enough shunt the whole desk forward a half inch with every thrust and make his younger self cling onto the edge of it with his knuckles white, his mouth stretched in a silent ‘o’ of pleasure.  He grabbed him by his little ponytail and yanked, pulling a stuttering moan from the young man, “You love this, you live for this. Don’t you? Don’t you love it?”

“ Yes!” he barked, screwing his eyes shut with a grimace as his hair was tugged again, “Yes, yes, Maker, yes—“

Anders fingers tightened in the blond hair as he fucked a litany of cracked and breathless yes’s from him; he was already close, so close, he knew he didn’t have to hold back in his own dream, and when he reached beneath the other Anders to grab his cock, it became evident they both were. He was so wet he couldn’t tell if he had already came once or not, but it only took a few frantic strokes for him to spill all over the desk again. The way he seized up, his head thrown back so beautifully and his whole body tight and hot, was more than enough to drag Anders over the edge too. He sunk his teeth into the bony flesh of the other man’s shoulder to smother his yell as he came in thick spurts deep inside him.

The young mage went limp, sprawled on the table, but Anders stayed buried in him until he was almost completely soft, his head pressed to the back of his neck as they breathed through the shivers of aftershock. The little whimper he heard when he pulled out was almost enough to make him want to start all over again, and he had to laugh as he tucked himself back into his trousers. He wasn’t as spry as he used to be.

The young Anders eventually started to stand up, pulling his robes back into place but Anders pushed him back down again, lifting the heavy material. He spread the youth’s cheeks, inspecting the loose red hole with a thumb, making him twitch and gasp. He pushed the tip in slowly, playing with the warm white cum that seeped out; he also noticed that the edges of his vision were starting to fray and blur as he did so. As much as he wanted to stay, he was about to wake up – probably to a sticky mess all over his thighs. The bookshelves and walls began to fade away into white, and a deafening rushing noise filled his ears. The last thing he heard before he finally came around was his younger self’s voice, raspy and warm;

“Hey, about that electricity trick...”