Adalwolfe lets out a huff of breath then sucks another in against Anders' shoulder as those long and staff-calloused fingers slip around him, just holding for now, but holding in and of itself implies ownership and that thought alone sends a shudder crawling up Hawke's back and warmth pooling lazily in his belly, a want that grows faster as his love latches lips to where his jaw meets his neck and sucking just shy of breaking the skin there. He knows he'll have an angry bruise and the thought makes a small laugh rumble in his chest, light and pleased.

He loves wearing the marks and bites Anders gives him. His mage could leave him black and blue and aching from the waist up and Wolfe would forego a shirt whatever chance he got until the last mark faded, just to show the world and everyone exactly who he belongs to. He loves it, gets off on it, and his fingers move just a little more exuberantly in Anders' body more in reward than retaliation.

"More," he breathes, nearly a whine as he hardens slowly in Anders' grip. He doesn't mean Anders' hand though, he means more marks, more physical evidence of who owns him, body and soul. With another heady sigh, Wolfe moves his head, exposing his throat to Anders' mouth, his teeth, whatever the blond wants to use to claim him, and slips his finger in to the knuckle as he bites his own lip in anticipation.