This is not an activity that can possibly last very long. 

The murmur of the room and the laboring of Z's breath and the drumming of his own blood and the jingle-jangle of metal on metal all meld and beat in Camillo's ears, roaring and building, ebbing and building again. He moves his own hand, rapid and irregular, sinks his teeth into Z's bicep and wishes he weren't about to wake up biting a pillow.

Z very much appreciates the teeth. He moans, rolls his hips into Camillo’s touch, grips a little tighter.

Dorothy’s girl screams into her shoulder and soaks her hand.

Camillo --

-- doesn't wake up.

He's suddenly chilly with sweat, and his hand is down Z's pants and his teeth are in his arm, and the room is very loud and his vision is a little fuzzy at the edges and thrills are running down the back of his neck, and he's still here.

This has never happened to him before.

He's suddenly very glad to be so close to Z.

Z stops mid-movement, and looks at him,

and then drags him into his lap in a way that could just be part of the festivities.

“Welcome to the raiding party.”

Z is his favorite person in the whole entire world. Camillo throws his arms around Z's neck and clings.

...being in Z's lap is also fun for other reasons. He can have an existential crisis in a minute.

Good outcome for him.

“Don’t hurt yourself too bad.”

He puts his hand on Camillo’s bandaged calf, grips a little.

Nearby, Dorothy’s girl has ended up on the floor, and Dorothy’s leg is hooked over the arm of the chair. The rings on her hand glint between locks of curly hair.

"Don't tell me what to do."

If he squeezes his hand in between them he can stroke Z. If he shifts his weight he can press the inside of his knee into Z's thigh just where the bandage is. And if he leans forward he can set his teeth into the side of Z's neck and still have one eye on Dorothy.

…okay. He’ll be letting this happen now. And fucking Camillo’s hand. Sounds like a good set of things to do.

She looks incredibly relaxed, at this moment, in the middle of the clamor and noise.

Occasionally, she has to yank her girl’s head back by the hair to make her breathe.

The ache in his leg is resurging as the endorphins ebb, the hall is loud and his skin is sticky, and he has a lot of questions about the nature of the universe and also his sexuality.

But, also: Z. It turns out that Z in his hand feels really good. They should try this in real life sometime. As a friends thing.

Camillo spits in his hand and strokes faster, licks over the bite marks and bites again.

It doesn’t take all that long for Z to come over his hand, shuddering, a reopened cut on his clenching abdomen dripping a single line of blood.

(Dorothy, personally, looks just fine where she is.)

Camillo puts his head down on Z's shoulder.

"...you're bleeding."

Z is not moving right now thank you.

“Yeahh probably.”

He flops one arm over Camillo in order to keep him.

"Bleeding is bad for you."

“Maybe for monks.”

"What's that supposed to mean!"

“You still think like a guy who spends all his time in a library.”

He ruffles his hair a little too hard.

"Maybe if you spent more time in libraries you'd know that blood belongs inside the Z!"

He tugs Z's ponytail back. So there.

He laughs and snaps his teeth at him.

“Fine, I’ll go clean it out.”

He deposits Camillo next to him on the couch, and stands up to make his way through the thick of what is now definitely an orgy.