He groans, Maker does he groan at Anders claiming him up and down his neck, across his throat, anywhere, everywhere. His groans turn to moans and needy whines, unable to be muffled lest he lean in and force his lover to break the lock of teeth and lips against his tender flesh.
"Love it," Adalwolfe growls, not bothering to watch his volume. He's never been quiet, not when it comes to their love making, not like Anders. Years in a Circle tower will do that, silence born of necessity, but Hawke? What few dalliances he had did not carry such restriction. Yes he had to hide his magic, but he wasn't forbidden from this, from expressing love and lust and much of what made him who he was. Funny, though, how even if the volume remains, he still feels a new man since the very day he met Anders. That was the moment he became someone new, someone who's main goal was to at first fall into bed with a cheeky Warden apostate and so quickly became to entangle them both inextricably.
"Adore it. I want the world to see." He slides his fingers in and out, carefully adding a second as he's so very aware of Anders' fingers curling tighter around him, just enough to add a little pressure. Or maybe it's just him growing to such a hardness that he can feel every little change in pressure. Maybe both.
"I'm yours. Always yours. Please," he doesn't even know what he's asking for, but the word comes out anyway. Adalwolfe may not be a praying man, but in times like this his utterances sound suspiciously like confession, pleading not for the Maker to give him strength but for Anders to give him deliverance in a voice that rumbles his chest with need and makes his eyes bright.
no subject
"Love it," Adalwolfe growls, not bothering to watch his volume. He's never been quiet, not when it comes to their love making, not like Anders. Years in a Circle tower will do that, silence born of necessity, but Hawke? What few dalliances he had did not carry such restriction. Yes he had to hide his magic, but he wasn't forbidden from this, from expressing love and lust and much of what made him who he was. Funny, though, how even if the volume remains, he still feels a new man since the very day he met Anders. That was the moment he became someone new, someone who's main goal was to at first fall into bed with a cheeky Warden apostate and so quickly became to entangle them both inextricably.
"Adore it. I want the world to see." He slides his fingers in and out, carefully adding a second as he's so very aware of Anders' fingers curling tighter around him, just enough to add a little pressure. Or maybe it's just him growing to such a hardness that he can feel every little change in pressure. Maybe both.
"I'm yours. Always yours. Please," he doesn't even know what he's asking for, but the word comes out anyway. Adalwolfe may not be a praying man, but in times like this his utterances sound suspiciously like confession, pleading not for the Maker to give him strength but for Anders to give him deliverance in a voice that rumbles his chest with need and makes his eyes bright.