"Fuck." Nate's palm is so warm, so careful, and Anders feels bliss envelope his mind as he stiffens and releases, groaning, into Nate's mouth. "Fuck," he says again when he's caught his breath, as every joint in his body suddenly feels warm and loose. Frantic, tucked-in-a-hidden-corner sex has nothing on this - nothing on the physical aspect, nothing on the intimacy.

"And I thought I was good," he mumbles, fingers blindly smoothing through Nate's hair. "Come up here to my arms, love."