Anders knows why he's usually quiet and he knows Hawke knows, but he will always be thankful Hawke isn't quiet. He never went to the circle, was never cut at and beaten down to fit the mold required, he was never told his feelings weren't allowed and feared the threat of retaliation for letting his lover know how much he needed him. He was raw and unbridled and so full of beautiful passion. Anders felt greedy and selfish drinking it in when he barely had half to offer back, but he drank like a man who hadn't known water in weeks. Every sound from his beloved was encouragement to mark more, harder, longer. He left marks he knew would be visible and some he knew would be there to greet Adalwolfe every time his collar dipped too low or he stripped for the night.

They'd be there for Anders to kiss over and over again, never healing them for the eaqually selfish reason that he wanted to the universe to know who Adalwolfe belonged to as well.

"That's right, my heart. Mine." He whispered it into Hawke's ear, his hand giving a much tighter squeeze than he'd been giving before. Slowly, diligently, that hand slid down Wolfe's length, a slickness following in it's wake. Again, he spoke low into his lover's ear. "What would you like, my Hawke? Would you like me to remind you how much you belong to me?"

Slow? Yes. Kind? He'd made no promise of such a thing. All he swore was that they'd make up for lost time.