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Donnic leaned back in his chair and looked at his phone. "Well," he said, "Thank you for the drinks, but it looks like it's about time for me to take off."
"Yeah, I'm out too," said Varric. "Places to go, people to see, books to write."
"This isn't because I started winning, is it?" Anders had been losing at Wicked Grace all night, which really wasn't a surprise to anyone who knew him, but his luck had just turned a few rounds prior and now he was feeling very satisfied with himself. "Everyone's suddenly too embarrassed about losing to me?"
"Tell ya what, Blondie," said Varric as he stood up. "We'll finish up where we left off next week. How's that sound?"
Anders and Fenris said their goodbyes to their guests, and Fenris got up to tidy the table as soon as Donnic and Varric had left the apartment. Anders, though, had a different idea. "We can keep playing, you know," he said.
"You're really scared of that luck running out before next week, aren't you?" asked Fenris. He was picking up the cards and shuffling them back together so he could put them back in their box.
"No, I just thought it would be fun," said Anders. But Fenris was unmoved as he continued cleaning up, so Anders tried a new tactic. "Strip Wicked Grace," he said.
Fenris stopped and looked at him. He raised an eyebrow.
Anders was eager now that he'd gotten his attention. "Unless you're afraid you'll lose," he said, to raise the stakes.
Fenris was still eyeing him but after a bit he smirked and sat himself back down with the cards.
Fenris shuffled and dealt, and then they alternated drawing cards. Anders was feeling good about his hand to begin with but then Fenris tossed down the Angel of Death card and showed his winning hand. Anders grumbled. Fenris pointed. "Socks," he said.
Anders pulled off his socks, balled them up, and chucked them at Fenris, who dodged them. He then shoved the deck over to Anders, who shuffled and dealt.
This time, Anders felt very secure about his hand, and he was all ready to gloat when he played the Angel of Death, but... no, Fenris somehow managed to one-up him with another winning hand. "Damnit," Anders muttered as he took a drink.
"I don't see you taking off your shirt," said Fenris.
Anders was still muttering as he pulled his shirt over his head, leaving his hair mussed up.
Fenris dealt the next round, and Anders was eyeing him carefully this time. He noticed that he was getting particularly bad cards this round, which meant that Fenris, naturally, had to be getting all the good ones. "You aren't cheating, are you?" he said after a few minutes, his eyes narrowed.
"I don't cheat," said Fenris, as he put down both the Angel of Death and his winning hand. "Also, pants."
"Okay, you know what," said Anders as he squirmed around in his chair so he could take off his pants without actually standing up, "You're doing something. This is rigged."
"You were losing all night until those last couple of rounds and now you're losing again and it's suddenly rigged?" Fenris asked. He was leaning back in his chair, admiring the view that was his roommate in nothing but his underwear.
"Yes. Rigged. Give me those." Anders reached out and took the cards and shuffled them and dealt them himself. He was well aware of the fact that he was one round away from losing and he didn't trust Fenris to shuffle anything this time.
Despite this, however, Anders was dismayed to see that he was getting particularly poor cards this time. He wound up with the Angel of Death card, and reluctantly played it, bracing himself for the gloating from Fenris.
Fenris, though, had somehow managed to end up with an even worse hand than Anders. "Poor hand," Fenris mumbled.
Anders was stunned. He'd actually won the round. He grinned. "Socks," he said. "A wonder you're wearing them today."
"Well, I wanted things to be even," Fenris deadpanned as he pulled off his socks.
They did another round. Anders got a decent hand this time and, as it turned out, another winning hand, which resulted in Fenris shedding his shirt.
For the next round Anders was sure that he'd lost. He didn't have anything good whatsoever and he saw no way that Fenris hadn't managed to score all the Knights and Angels. But the game ended and, just as had happened earlier, Fenris somehow mysteriously had an even worse hand.
And this time Anders didn't see how that could have possibly happened. "You're throwing the game," he said.
"I am not," said Fenris, as he pulled off his pants. "Why would I want to, anyway?"
"Probably to get my hopes up before you destroy me in the last round," said Anders. "Or maybe to get us both naked."
Fenris held his hands out, palms up, showing that he was empty-handed. Then he took the pile of cards from the middle and shuffled them.
Anders leaned forward in his chair. He was watching Fenris like a hawk.
Fenris dealt the cards and they started to play. A few moments later Anders nearly leaped out of his chair. "You're palming the cards!"
"Am not!" Fenris retorted.
"You are!" Anders said, standing up. Fenris stood up too, and in that moment several cards that he had been sitting on spilled from the chair onto the floor.
"A-ha!" Anders exclaimed. "I knew it!" He walked around the table to examine the evidence but Fenris grabbed him before he could get there and kissed him, roughly, and then pressed him down onto the table.
Anders took a few recovery breaths after that unexpected event. "You still haven't won," he said at last from his spot on the table.
Fenris smiled and held up a winning hand and the Angel of Death. "Underwear," he said.