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Summary
Obsessed with the affinities between sex and death, the Renaissance called orgasm "the little death."
--Anders woke as predawn light filtered dimly into the back room of his clinic. A frustrated groan escaped him as he sank back into lumpy pillows and bedding. He ran a hand through dirty blond locks that were slightly damp from the sweat of a restless sleep. Imagined memories of rough fingers, dark eyes, and soft, wet lips still lingered in his mind. He groaned again, arms falling back to either side of his head. Two nights in a row now he’d woken from dreams about Hawke. Despite, or perhaps because of having known him for three years, Anders remained infatuated with the man. And oh, Maker his smalls were uncomfortably tight.