Anders turns in his arms and is greeted with a sunny smile, the kind that crinkles the corners of his eyes and shows the hint of a dimple in his cheek. Far be it from him to ignore such an earnest request, so he leans in the bare centimeters between them and presses a lazy loving kiss to Anders' lips.
When he pulls away, it's with one eyebrow quirked and his smile curling up on one side into a licentious grin. "I can think of a few other places my lips might belong."
To illustrate, he shifts just a bit lower, barely brushing the stubble on Anders' chin with his mouth, moving slowly, peppering kisses from chin, to jaw, to neck, eventually his teeth just grazing against Anders' Adam's apple. His fingers travel too, first pressing small circles into the healer's shoulders then traveling inexorably downwards along the blond's spine, coming to rest at the small of his back, gently brushed circles at the base of his spine a counterpoint to the more predatory nips he continues to harass his lover with.
That smile is radiant and warms Anders more than the sun could ever hope to accomplish. The kiss is sweet and he would have been more than happy to continue more lazy kisses, but it seemed Hawke had other, more rigorous ideas. Well, far be it from him to deny the light of his life anything he wanted. Besides, those light nips were already stirring him up.
It had been far too long. Months when they hadn't been apart that long in all seven of their years together.
Anders' fingers curled behind Hawke's neck and traced slowly down his spine to rest on his lover's hip. His other hand, however, took advantage of Hawke's bare chest and began light, teasing, patterns across the soft skin. "I can think of a few places your lips belong as well. You have some time to make up for, Serah Hawke." Some time and some heartache, but the latter would ease the more he could touch and taste the man beside him and remind his heart and mind Hawke had come back to him safe and sound.
"And I plan to," Wolfe rumbles contentedly, looking up at Anders through the rumple of his hair, still tousled in odd directions from sleep. He leans in and presses another kiss to Anders' throat, and then the flat of his tongue, warm and wet against the piquant surface of Anders' skin. The perfect flavor.
He licks up, feeling his tongue curl across the curve of skin that met into Anders' jaw. Wolfe slips his hand up to brush aside the hair over his lover's ear, nipping at jaw and then earlobe in a lazy push of his lips and teeth, in no hurry to do more than pet and tease and simply enjoy the fact that he has Anders laying here in his arms for the first time in far, far too long. Thick fingers trace along Anders' shoulder blades as he murmurs against his lover's ear. "I hope you didn't have any other plans for today, my darling."
Anders responds readily and leans into every touch, breath catching with every press of Hawke's mouth to his skin. Every touch is small and Anders' reactions are nearly silent, but his heart sung with bliss.
"My only plans involved staying with you, love." Why would he want to be anywhere else but right here in Hawke's arms? He wanted to touch every inch, remind himself of his lover's taste, spend the whole day keeping each other warm and safe and close. All their teasing aside, he'd simply take being able to hold Hawke in his arms all day long.
He moved to straddle Hawke's waist and begin peppering his cheeks and chin and neck with slow, gentle, kisses. His hands trailed light as a feather's touch across perfect skin. Chest, ribs, abs and then back up to circle his thumbs around Adalwolfe's nipples. Every movement lazy and slow, but just hard enough to be felt.
From lazy tracing to Anders straddling his lap and Wolfe groans happily, his hands moving to Anders' thighs and stroking the skin there, tracing thin leg hair with his fingertips as he watches Anders cover him with kisses, laughs helplessly and joyfully as the healer's fingers crawl up his ribs and then swallows it with a gasp as those same beautifully calloused fingers run over his nipples. He rolls his hips under Anders', starting to get hard under his smalls and wanting his lover to feel just what he does to him.
"Sounds like the perfect day to me," he smirks, winking up at the wonderful blond sitting astride him, imagining him a lot less dressed. "Though I think you're violating the dress code with your pajamas."
He can feel Hawke hardening underneath him and it sends a thrill through him that begins to stir up his own arousal. He loved affecting this beautiful man as much as he did. Knowing he was the reason Hawke was getting turned on made his heart flutter and jolt in the best way possible.
"Am I? I've never been good with rules, you know that." Anders smirked and made a little bit of a show of peeling his shirt off and tossing it to the ground. Maker only knew what Adalwolfe liked so much about his scrawny and scared body, but the fact remained that he did and Anders loved nothing more than making Hawke happy and driving him up a wall with desire.
"Much," Wolfe purrs and runs his knuckles against Anders' ribs, tracing over how they've come to stick out just a bit on the blond's lean frame. He runs fingers over scars, knowing the stories of most and waiting for the others. They have a lifetime, and he believes that given time even those stories will be told to him, quiet whispers on vulnerable nights. He palms at Anders' stomach, feels the way the bandy muscle moves under light flesh, how he makes Anders shiver with even just that. He slides up, using his fingertips to tract constellations of freckles, ones he knows well, some that he's named, and one on his love's left shoulder that he'd once traced poorly with a quill and dubbed the horrid splotched result the 'kitten constellation.' He holds Anders' face in his heart as one of his favorites, that expression somewhere between utter confusion and helpless incredulity.
When he can't reach any more how he's laying, Hawke sits up, barely shifting Anders in his lap so he can trace along the backs of his arms too, his shoulder blades, down his back. He traces each bump down the middle, the rise and fall of Anders' spine, slightly hunched from too much bending over his manifesto, over patients, over him. He feels the other side of that massive scar, softly runs his fingers across it and each other line, the rest just faded white stripes, uneven and leaving no evidence in the contours of his skin, just the color. Long healed.
As Wolfe lets his fingers roam he breathes softly against Anders neck, leaving the occasional soft kiss, but mostly waiting to hear his breath hitch, taking in the minutiae of reactions, the little quivers, the tilt of his chin, the cast of his eyes. He loves how Anders moves so carefully or sometimes not at all, waiting and barely breathing as if he'll betray something of himself he'll never get back if he shows any sign of what he's thinking. He loves more how he can break him out of this, how Anders, when he remembers to breathe, knows he can do so safely in Hawke's arms.
He loves that he's something special to the person he's found to be so special in the first place.
Hawke's hands trail and gentle touch as though every inch of Anders is something precious to him. It's a feeling Anders doesn't think he'll ever get used to. He doesn't think he even wants to. That marvel at knowing he's precious to someone, to someone who is so incredibly important and amazing to him was a magic all it's own. Something the Chantry could never hope to trace or measure or confine.
These fingers, lips, gentle warm breath against his skins raising bumps, these were the things Anders sought to protect and cherish everyday. He bows his head, feeling his muscles twitch and his body quake under the feather-light brushes. It was too much and his heart and mind rebelled against the gentle near-worshipful care Hawke took with him, but he didn't move except to skate his own fingers up Hawke's strong back to his shoulders and lean in to press soft kisses to his lover's jaw.
He moves so their foreheads are pressed together, his fingers working at knots built up in Hawke's back, their eyes locked so Adalwolfe could see into him. "I love you."
"And I you," he murmurs, no softer than a sigh, but they're so close he can taste the words on Anders' tongue and hopes his love can do the same. There's more there than words. There's meaning, intention, vows they've taken and vows they haven't yet. Lives intertwined into one and made monumentally better for it. Hawke doesn't know how he could have survived without this man in his arms. A gentle healer who could be so ferocious, a soft support who drove matters home, who'd opened Adalwolfe's eyes to the larger world beyond himself. Who sometimes, at odd moments, reminded him of the best parts of his father. The parts that sought to help, that wanted change, the protected what was his.
But the similarities end there. Anders is his to protect too. Equals, and Wolfe will never cease to be grateful for that. Equals in all things. No more secrets, no lies of omission, just open and sharing. They'd already let each other in, they couldn't close the door now, and Hawke doesn't want to. Never will. Anders has seen his worst, seen what happens to the people around him. As if he's cursed, his family falling away like dead leaves, trampled underfoot by an uncaring world. Even Carver, who's not dead but may as well have been for years for his joining the Templars, who he'd tried to mend ties with awkwardly before Adamant, he barely spoke to. There's a rift brought on by the rest of it, the whole sordid history. But Anders is still here.
Still his.
And if Adalwolfe does nothing else with his life from now on, he'll protect and care for this man. He'll never come to harm, not if Hawke has anything to say about it.
He brings his lips up again to press against Anders', hoping he doesn't notice the lump in his throat. He's happy, overwhelmingly happy to not be alone, to have Anders be here with him and remember him so that he can even make that vow to himself for safety, for love. He runs his hands again over Anders' back, more palms that fingers this time, touching as much of Anders as he can at once. His palms dip lower too, cupping the curve of the blond's rear perched in his lap, holding there but to brush his thumbs at the transition between lower back and rump.
He shifts his hips, slowly rising to the occasion already despite the emotions heavy on him. Or maybe because of them, because he needs Anders to know physically too that he's here and not leaving ever again. That he couldn't leave who is most precious to him for long. He presses his fingers inward, just a little, testing to see if Anders will stop him and praying he doesn't. He wants to watch Anders' face through it all.
He doesn't stop him, he never wanted him to stop. There was so much in that kiss, in Hawke's eyes, in his gentle touch and Anders could feel all of it and was blissfully drowning in it.
He would never stop being thankful he'd woken up with his memories and Hawke there by his side. He needed Hawke more than he could ever explain, to the man himself or anyone who asked. How could you explain needing air to breathe? Adalwolfe Hawke was everything he ever wanted and a hundred times more than he ever deserved. In one breath, he could tell Hawke to leave him for his own good, promise the poisons Anders would bring into his life and in the next tell him exactly how much better Anders' life had been in the last ten years than it had ever been in the twenty-five before. He was selfish and, unfortunately for this amazing and wonderful man, he'd be selfish until the day he died and keep Hawke to himself. He wasn't just Anders' savior or his Champion, as much as Anders liked to joke about it, he was Anders' lover and soul. Hawke protected and supported him...but he protected and supported Hawke. Heroes needed to be comforted and held and cherished as much as those they sacrificed themselves for and, even if Hawke could do so much better than him, Anders would be that barrier between Adalwolfe and the world for as along as the light of his life wanted him there.
If that was forever, then he was more blessed than any Chantry in Thedas.
More blessed than any mage in all of history to have a man who swore to stand at his side for the rest of their lives, come what may. That was a fairy tale in any tower, for any apostate, and yet it was their reality. Sometimes, it was too much to think about.
"Adalwolfe..." It's a breathy whisper against Hawke's lips and Anders kisses him again, this time with a touch more passion in it. Not fire, he didn't want them to burn each other with exquisitely fierce passion, he just wanted something solid and certain. A promise and a passion born from knowing they both made it whole-heartedly.
Anders could feel Wolfe stiffening under him and his body responded in kind, more than ready to begin making up for those nights where his hand on him and his own fingers inside were a pale comparison to the real thing. Gently, he took Hawke's wrists behind him and pulled them up to the waistband of his smalls. He hooked his own thumbs in them to start tugging them down with the anticipation his love would understand and help him in his quest to rid them of what little clothing stood between them.
It only takes a little maneuvering to get what Anders is aiming for. Wolfe understands the implicitly in the movement and follows in kind, slipping Anders' underclothes off of his hips and sliding them down to the abyss of space beyond their bed. Nothing else exists as far as Hawke's concerned, only this.
Anders sits in his lap, legs folded on either side of Hawke's hips, completely naked and bathed in the soft glow of light from the banks near the ceiling. It may be artificial light, but somehow its warm for the soft gold halo it creates behind Anders' head, the coppery sheen it adds to his skin in reflecting off the fine hairs of his arms. His hair is a mess and he's unshaven, unkempt, and utterly gorgeous.
Adalwolfe reaches up to slip a stray lock of hair behind his love's ear, taking in the sight of him, all planes and angles and perfect imperfections. Scars line his torso, but it's the same for them both. More to rake his eyes over, to recommit to memory. Wolfe rests one hand on Anders' hip, feeling the small jut of bone under the thin flesh there. Always too thin but familiar in that. His other hand he slips down from Anders' cheek, a soft caress that ends with his palm against the curve of his lover's neck, his thumb brushing small circles in the line of his jaw.
"Maker's breath, I've missed the sight of you." Wolfe breathes the words with all the reverence of a Chantry service, knowing he's seen Anders in the Fleet before this, before his memory returned, but it's different. It's different to have this view, one only granted to him by the grace of the man in his lap.
Anders' hand skates along each plane and dip in the muscles of Wolfe's abdomen gently, but when that hand moves down to his neck, his hands come up to take it in both of his. One hand makes small soft movements, a slow and subtle massage of the muscles in Hawke's arm while the other holds the back of his lover's hand near to his face. His actions hold as much reverance as Wolfe's words do, his lips placing adoring kisses to each finger tip in turn along with the palm and the soft inside of Hawke's wrist.
There's a wriggle in the back of his mind, a negativity that always swells up under this level of appreciation and care from Hawke, it was uncomfortable and parroted Anders' anxieties and fears and questions on how Hawke saw anything pleasing in his skinny physique, but Anders had years now of practice at keeping it where it was. He didn't want that interference. He just wanted Hawke and everything he offered Anders. He pressed the hand he'd lavished attention to his left breast, putting his heart in Hawke's hand where it belonged.
"And I you, love. I've missed how your voice catches my breath and the sight of you stutters my heart. I've missed how a mere brush of your fingers thrills my body and soul. I've been incomplete without you and my life was duller for not remembering how much you mean to me."
Wolfe's eyes shine in the dim light at Anders' words. He drinks them in, lets them settle not just in his mind but in his heart too, etched with so many other words of Anders' until his soul is covered in affectionate words and adoring declarations. Its become his armor, his shield against anything the world has to throw at him. Nothing can harm him so long as Anders loves him.
He brushes small circles with his thumb against Anders' chest, feeling the flutter of his heart under his palm and smiling gently. So strong but so fragile, warm as a hearth and heated as a pyre, Anders is a man of dichotomies and Adalwolfe loves each impossible piece. He leans up again, pressing his lips to Anders' mouth reverently.
"I'm going to make love to you," he whispers between them,thumb still brushing light circles at Anders' heart and other hand sliding to press into the small of the healer's back, strong and supporting. "I'm going to make love to you so you know exactly how much I ached for you while I was away. How much I can't live without you by my side. How important you are."
'How much I can't live without you at my side.' Maker, how he longed for that to not be true, his life would surely be short in the end, he didn't want to drag Hawke down with him. Hawke deserved so much more, so much better. Anders was not important. Except to Hawke. He was important to Hawke and, right now, it was just them.
He leaned in through what little distance there was and pressed a tender kiss to Adalwolfe's lips with an equally tender smile. "Yes...I would like that more than anything."
Even with that stuttering whisper in his mind, his words were completely honest. Making love to Hawke was something he cherished deeply. He'd had his fair share of lovers in his time, certainly more than his partner had in his, but Hawke was the only one Anders had ever made love to. That meant something to him, it was one of the better ways he felt he could convey just how important Adalwolfe was to him as well.
Not the Noble Hawke, not the Champion of Kirkwall, not some renegade apostate, just Adalwolfe. "I love you." He whispered the words, his lips moving against Hawke's as he did, like a kiss that held a promise.
"And I love you," Adalwolfe breathes against his lover's lips and proves it with a kiss, with a slow move of the hand at Anders' back inexorably downward, massaging and seeking with an abundance of care. It's not rushed or overwhelming but instead a soft request expressed with the tips of his fingers slipping between Anders' cheeks, askance for permission to prepare his love, to express his devout worship of the blond in his lap through a physical act.
"I love you so much," he sounds almost choked by it, overwhelmed. The depths of that feeling are so low that even Adalwolfe doesn't know where the bottom lies. He hasn't found it yet and doubts he ever will until the end of his days. He's at peace with that, content to perpetually be buoyed by the tides of their affection. He kisses Anders again, a slow press followed by a nuzzle of his nose against his healer's cheek, their chins scratching stubble against stubble as he slips one finger very carefully inside. "I'm going to do more than just tell you."
A shudder ran up Anders' spine as his love's hand slipped further and further down until he finally felt the pressure of one of those thick fingers pressing in. Goosebumps trailed across his skin and he looped his arms behind Hawke's neck, his fingers tugging and gently stroking at white hair. "We'll show each other." His heart could barely take the amount of affection and adoration in Hawke's words and actions, but he knew those same things were what made his heart soar. The least he could do for his love is give him the same feeling in return.
He dipped his head low and pressed sweet kisses and gentle, playful, nips at Adalwolfe's neck. "We've got all night."
"All day," Adalwolfe corrects gently with the soft huff of a laugh. "At least, I think it's morning. Who can tell in space."
He slides his finger in carefully, heightened to the feel of Anders in his lap, how he reacts to the intrusion, how his body makes minute shifts. He feels overall the hands in his hair, the fingers carding loosely between strands, fingernails grazing his scalp. He loves that feeling and exhales softly against Anders' shoulder, leaning in to rest his forehead there, kissing whatever flesh happens to be under his mouth and relaxing nearly boneless at Anders' long fingers caressing him.
Nearly.
His finger he moves carefully in and out, a slow and lazy pace, meant to build over time. Anders is right, they have all day and night. As long as they want. There's no need to hurry.
"All day." He smirks and makes a gentle scoffing laugh. "It hardly matters." Not when he didn't intend for them to leave until their hands had traced over every inch of each other and their lips had followed each delicate path with dedicated diligence. Not until he'd claimed every inch of this wonderful man for his own.
A low moan quietly threads between them on an exhale for the feeling of any part of Hawke in him. While one hand continues it's gentle carding through his lover's hair, the other slid down so, so slowly. Long calloused fingers slipped over Hawke's shoulder and down his chest, through that fine blanket of white hairs Anders loved playing with, stopping to carefully tease a nipple before skating the rest of the way down to follow that trail of hairs low. Anders' fingers curled expertly around Hawke, his hold fairly slack and gentle, more to tease and encourage than any attempt to stroke his lover off. No, he intended to let his body do that, to feel Adalwolfe release deep inside him instead. A small shudder snaked down his spine at the thought. All in good time.
He nipped up Hawke's neck to his jaw and set to the carefully slow task of lavishing a deep and visible love-mark on the point just below Hawke's jawline. His. The world had tried to take him enough, Anders wouldn't stand for it anymore. Let them find a different Champion to sacrifice to their needs, Adalwolfe Hawke belonged to him.
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.
Anders' breath comes in sharp and then he's sucking at a new spot, the junction of neck and shoulder. He sucked hard and worried the skin with his teeth. His fingers curled tighter, still not stroking, just holding tight exactly the way Hawke had been perceiving it. This too belonged to Anders, just like the rest of the man under his lips and hands.
His other hand moved to the back of Hawke's neck, fingers massaging gently at the muscles there as a contrast to the sharp sting of bites and sucked skin. Carefully, diligently, Anders left mark after mark along one side of Hawke's neck, down to his collarbone, and then up the other.
"Do you like everyone knowing you belong to me, love?" He was still slow, still loving and careful, but his voice was deep, husky with how much love. How much he needed Hawke. Needed to hear Hawke's answer.
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.
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.
"Always," Hawke replies breathlessly, swallowing but feeling his mouth still dry with anticipation as Anders strokes him in a long, slow movement. Maker the things his lover does to him.
"Yes. Yes." He doesn't have any other words but that, stealing a glance at Anders' face from under the snowy fringe of his own hair and biting his lower lip at the possessive hunger he sees in Anders' amber gaze. Hunger for him, only him. How had he almost given this up? How could he have succumbed to despair in the Fade when he had that look to come back to, this touch, everything that Anders is to him. He's all the answers, he's the calm that steals over raging thoughts, he's the flame against the cold. Anders had once called him the brightest light in Kirkwall, but it's Anders that keeps a lantern burning in the dark, a waysign to guide him home. The Darktown healer. Adalwolfe's healer. The only one who can heal him inside and out.
"Yes," he breathes into Anders' neck, just at the base of it where it meets his collar.
This was what they both needed, he was sure. Anders needed to reassure himself Hawke was here and with him and safe in his arms and Hawke needed the reminder that he was needed and loved and that their lives no longer belonged to themselves, but to each other. It wasn't Adalwolfe's to give up in despair, it was Anders' to hold close and protect for all time.
Anders' mouth dipped lower, a mark carefully created and loving left over Hawke's left breast. Then Anders was shifting, reaching behind himself to pull at Hawke's wrist and encourage him to pull his fingers out. Then the healer was shifting forward, his cock trapped between their stomachs as he reached back to position his lover's at his entrance.
With a soft hissing moan that had him throwing his head back with his mouth open in pleasure, Anders steadily lowered himself to take Hawke into his body all the way to the hilt. His hips rocked with very little pause after the insertion. He intended to drive Adalwolfe to pleasures he hadn't had in months. He'd make his Champion scream if he could.
Opposite to the steady rocking of his hips pumping Wolfe's length, Anders' nails found the place just over Hawke's shoulder blades and dug in hard before slowly and carefully slipping down his lover's back. There'd be bright screaming red lines later in the day and Anders would kiss every single one with pride.
Adalwolfe's fingers slide out easily, Anders more than ready for him, and yet still he's so tight when Wolfe presses in that the Champion lets out a groan that rumbles his chest and a shudder goes up his spine. Anders doesn't even stop to adjust, instead immediately beginning to ride Wolfe's cock with a slow and steady rhythm, a slow build, and Wolfe can already tell it's going to be sweet torture until his lover finally grants his release.
Torture punctuated by things like this, by nails digging into his flesh and eliciting a cry just on the heels of that moan, wondering vaguely with what little of his mind isn't lighting up with sadistic pleasure if Anders had drawn blood. He almost wants him to have, but can't even articulate that it would be fine by him, not now. Anders already has his brain trained on action instead of thought.
With an exhale that's several degrees cooler than the room puffed against Anders' chest, Adalwolfe channels his mana into his fingers, tracing them to Anders' sides, sliding slowly between ribs and waist and back again. Slowly, just a background hum at first, Wolfe draws on lightning and just allows it to make itself known, for now. Like static, or that feeling of electricity before a storm. It's subtle and gentle but the edge of it heightens everything else, making both of their skin hum.
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apurrstate) wrote2016-05-03 09:35 pm
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When he pulls away, it's with one eyebrow quirked and his smile curling up on one side into a licentious grin. "I can think of a few other places my lips might belong."
To illustrate, he shifts just a bit lower, barely brushing the stubble on Anders' chin with his mouth, moving slowly, peppering kisses from chin, to jaw, to neck, eventually his teeth just grazing against Anders' Adam's apple. His fingers travel too, first pressing small circles into the healer's shoulders then traveling inexorably downwards along the blond's spine, coming to rest at the small of his back, gently brushed circles at the base of his spine a counterpoint to the more predatory nips he continues to harass his lover with.
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It had been far too long. Months when they hadn't been apart that long in all seven of their years together.
Anders' fingers curled behind Hawke's neck and traced slowly down his spine to rest on his lover's hip. His other hand, however, took advantage of Hawke's bare chest and began light, teasing, patterns across the soft skin. "I can think of a few places your lips belong as well. You have some time to make up for, Serah Hawke." Some time and some heartache, but the latter would ease the more he could touch and taste the man beside him and remind his heart and mind Hawke had come back to him safe and sound.
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He licks up, feeling his tongue curl across the curve of skin that met into Anders' jaw. Wolfe slips his hand up to brush aside the hair over his lover's ear, nipping at jaw and then earlobe in a lazy push of his lips and teeth, in no hurry to do more than pet and tease and simply enjoy the fact that he has Anders laying here in his arms for the first time in far, far too long. Thick fingers trace along Anders' shoulder blades as he murmurs against his lover's ear. "I hope you didn't have any other plans for today, my darling."
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"My only plans involved staying with you, love." Why would he want to be anywhere else but right here in Hawke's arms? He wanted to touch every inch, remind himself of his lover's taste, spend the whole day keeping each other warm and safe and close. All their teasing aside, he'd simply take being able to hold Hawke in his arms all day long.
He moved to straddle Hawke's waist and begin peppering his cheeks and chin and neck with slow, gentle, kisses. His hands trailed light as a feather's touch across perfect skin. Chest, ribs, abs and then back up to circle his thumbs around Adalwolfe's nipples. Every movement lazy and slow, but just hard enough to be felt.
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"Sounds like the perfect day to me," he smirks, winking up at the wonderful blond sitting astride him, imagining him a lot less dressed. "Though I think you're violating the dress code with your pajamas."
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"Am I? I've never been good with rules, you know that." Anders smirked and made a little bit of a show of peeling his shirt off and tossing it to the ground. Maker only knew what Adalwolfe liked so much about his scrawny and scared body, but the fact remained that he did and Anders loved nothing more than making Hawke happy and driving him up a wall with desire.
"Better?"
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When he can't reach any more how he's laying, Hawke sits up, barely shifting Anders in his lap so he can trace along the backs of his arms too, his shoulder blades, down his back. He traces each bump down the middle, the rise and fall of Anders' spine, slightly hunched from too much bending over his manifesto, over patients, over him. He feels the other side of that massive scar, softly runs his fingers across it and each other line, the rest just faded white stripes, uneven and leaving no evidence in the contours of his skin, just the color. Long healed.
As Wolfe lets his fingers roam he breathes softly against Anders neck, leaving the occasional soft kiss, but mostly waiting to hear his breath hitch, taking in the minutiae of reactions, the little quivers, the tilt of his chin, the cast of his eyes. He loves how Anders moves so carefully or sometimes not at all, waiting and barely breathing as if he'll betray something of himself he'll never get back if he shows any sign of what he's thinking. He loves more how he can break him out of this, how Anders, when he remembers to breathe, knows he can do so safely in Hawke's arms.
He loves that he's something special to the person he's found to be so special in the first place.
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These fingers, lips, gentle warm breath against his skins raising bumps, these were the things Anders sought to protect and cherish everyday. He bows his head, feeling his muscles twitch and his body quake under the feather-light brushes. It was too much and his heart and mind rebelled against the gentle near-worshipful care Hawke took with him, but he didn't move except to skate his own fingers up Hawke's strong back to his shoulders and lean in to press soft kisses to his lover's jaw.
He moves so their foreheads are pressed together, his fingers working at knots built up in Hawke's back, their eyes locked so Adalwolfe could see into him. "I love you."
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But the similarities end there. Anders is his to protect too. Equals, and Wolfe will never cease to be grateful for that. Equals in all things. No more secrets, no lies of omission, just open and sharing. They'd already let each other in, they couldn't close the door now, and Hawke doesn't want to. Never will. Anders has seen his worst, seen what happens to the people around him. As if he's cursed, his family falling away like dead leaves, trampled underfoot by an uncaring world. Even Carver, who's not dead but may as well have been for years for his joining the Templars, who he'd tried to mend ties with awkwardly before Adamant, he barely spoke to. There's a rift brought on by the rest of it, the whole sordid history. But Anders is still here.
Still his.
And if Adalwolfe does nothing else with his life from now on, he'll protect and care for this man. He'll never come to harm, not if Hawke has anything to say about it.
He brings his lips up again to press against Anders', hoping he doesn't notice the lump in his throat. He's happy, overwhelmingly happy to not be alone, to have Anders be here with him and remember him so that he can even make that vow to himself for safety, for love. He runs his hands again over Anders' back, more palms that fingers this time, touching as much of Anders as he can at once. His palms dip lower too, cupping the curve of the blond's rear perched in his lap, holding there but to brush his thumbs at the transition between lower back and rump.
He shifts his hips, slowly rising to the occasion already despite the emotions heavy on him. Or maybe because of them, because he needs Anders to know physically too that he's here and not leaving ever again. That he couldn't leave who is most precious to him for long. He presses his fingers inward, just a little, testing to see if Anders will stop him and praying he doesn't. He wants to watch Anders' face through it all.
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He would never stop being thankful he'd woken up with his memories and Hawke there by his side. He needed Hawke more than he could ever explain, to the man himself or anyone who asked. How could you explain needing air to breathe? Adalwolfe Hawke was everything he ever wanted and a hundred times more than he ever deserved. In one breath, he could tell Hawke to leave him for his own good, promise the poisons Anders would bring into his life and in the next tell him exactly how much better Anders' life had been in the last ten years than it had ever been in the twenty-five before. He was selfish and, unfortunately for this amazing and wonderful man, he'd be selfish until the day he died and keep Hawke to himself. He wasn't just Anders' savior or his Champion, as much as Anders liked to joke about it, he was Anders' lover and soul. Hawke protected and supported him...but he protected and supported Hawke. Heroes needed to be comforted and held and cherished as much as those they sacrificed themselves for and, even if Hawke could do so much better than him, Anders would be that barrier between Adalwolfe and the world for as along as the light of his life wanted him there.
If that was forever, then he was more blessed than any Chantry in Thedas.
More blessed than any mage in all of history to have a man who swore to stand at his side for the rest of their lives, come what may. That was a fairy tale in any tower, for any apostate, and yet it was their reality. Sometimes, it was too much to think about.
"Adalwolfe..." It's a breathy whisper against Hawke's lips and Anders kisses him again, this time with a touch more passion in it. Not fire, he didn't want them to burn each other with exquisitely fierce passion, he just wanted something solid and certain. A promise and a passion born from knowing they both made it whole-heartedly.
Anders could feel Wolfe stiffening under him and his body responded in kind, more than ready to begin making up for those nights where his hand on him and his own fingers inside were a pale comparison to the real thing. Gently, he took Hawke's wrists behind him and pulled them up to the waistband of his smalls. He hooked his own thumbs in them to start tugging them down with the anticipation his love would understand and help him in his quest to rid them of what little clothing stood between them.
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Anders sits in his lap, legs folded on either side of Hawke's hips, completely naked and bathed in the soft glow of light from the banks near the ceiling. It may be artificial light, but somehow its warm for the soft gold halo it creates behind Anders' head, the coppery sheen it adds to his skin in reflecting off the fine hairs of his arms. His hair is a mess and he's unshaven, unkempt, and utterly gorgeous.
Adalwolfe reaches up to slip a stray lock of hair behind his love's ear, taking in the sight of him, all planes and angles and perfect imperfections. Scars line his torso, but it's the same for them both. More to rake his eyes over, to recommit to memory. Wolfe rests one hand on Anders' hip, feeling the small jut of bone under the thin flesh there. Always too thin but familiar in that. His other hand he slips down from Anders' cheek, a soft caress that ends with his palm against the curve of his lover's neck, his thumb brushing small circles in the line of his jaw.
"Maker's breath, I've missed the sight of you." Wolfe breathes the words with all the reverence of a Chantry service, knowing he's seen Anders in the Fleet before this, before his memory returned, but it's different. It's different to have this view, one only granted to him by the grace of the man in his lap.
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There's a wriggle in the back of his mind, a negativity that always swells up under this level of appreciation and care from Hawke, it was uncomfortable and parroted Anders' anxieties and fears and questions on how Hawke saw anything pleasing in his skinny physique, but Anders had years now of practice at keeping it where it was. He didn't want that interference. He just wanted Hawke and everything he offered Anders. He pressed the hand he'd lavished attention to his left breast, putting his heart in Hawke's hand where it belonged.
"And I you, love. I've missed how your voice catches my breath and the sight of you stutters my heart. I've missed how a mere brush of your fingers thrills my body and soul. I've been incomplete without you and my life was duller for not remembering how much you mean to me."
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He brushes small circles with his thumb against Anders' chest, feeling the flutter of his heart under his palm and smiling gently. So strong but so fragile, warm as a hearth and heated as a pyre, Anders is a man of dichotomies and Adalwolfe loves each impossible piece. He leans up again, pressing his lips to Anders' mouth reverently.
"I'm going to make love to you," he whispers between them,thumb still brushing light circles at Anders' heart and other hand sliding to press into the small of the healer's back, strong and supporting. "I'm going to make love to you so you know exactly how much I ached for you while I was away. How much I can't live without you by my side. How important you are."
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He leaned in through what little distance there was and pressed a tender kiss to Adalwolfe's lips with an equally tender smile. "Yes...I would like that more than anything."
Even with that stuttering whisper in his mind, his words were completely honest. Making love to Hawke was something he cherished deeply. He'd had his fair share of lovers in his time, certainly more than his partner had in his, but Hawke was the only one Anders had ever made love to. That meant something to him, it was one of the better ways he felt he could convey just how important Adalwolfe was to him as well.
Not the Noble Hawke, not the Champion of Kirkwall, not some renegade apostate, just Adalwolfe. "I love you." He whispered the words, his lips moving against Hawke's as he did, like a kiss that held a promise.
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"I love you so much," he sounds almost choked by it, overwhelmed. The depths of that feeling are so low that even Adalwolfe doesn't know where the bottom lies. He hasn't found it yet and doubts he ever will until the end of his days. He's at peace with that, content to perpetually be buoyed by the tides of their affection. He kisses Anders again, a slow press followed by a nuzzle of his nose against his healer's cheek, their chins scratching stubble against stubble as he slips one finger very carefully inside. "I'm going to do more than just tell you."
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He dipped his head low and pressed sweet kisses and gentle, playful, nips at Adalwolfe's neck. "We've got all night."
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He slides his finger in carefully, heightened to the feel of Anders in his lap, how he reacts to the intrusion, how his body makes minute shifts. He feels overall the hands in his hair, the fingers carding loosely between strands, fingernails grazing his scalp. He loves that feeling and exhales softly against Anders' shoulder, leaning in to rest his forehead there, kissing whatever flesh happens to be under his mouth and relaxing nearly boneless at Anders' long fingers caressing him.
Nearly.
His finger he moves carefully in and out, a slow and lazy pace, meant to build over time. Anders is right, they have all day and night. As long as they want. There's no need to hurry.
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A low moan quietly threads between them on an exhale for the feeling of any part of Hawke in him. While one hand continues it's gentle carding through his lover's hair, the other slid down so, so slowly. Long calloused fingers slipped over Hawke's shoulder and down his chest, through that fine blanket of white hairs Anders loved playing with, stopping to carefully tease a nipple before skating the rest of the way down to follow that trail of hairs low. Anders' fingers curled expertly around Hawke, his hold fairly slack and gentle, more to tease and encourage than any attempt to stroke his lover off. No, he intended to let his body do that, to feel Adalwolfe release deep inside him instead. A small shudder snaked down his spine at the thought. All in good time.
He nipped up Hawke's neck to his jaw and set to the carefully slow task of lavishing a deep and visible love-mark on the point just below Hawke's jawline. His. The world had tried to take him enough, Anders wouldn't stand for it anymore. Let them find a different Champion to sacrifice to their needs, Adalwolfe Hawke belonged to him.
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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.
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His other hand moved to the back of Hawke's neck, fingers massaging gently at the muscles there as a contrast to the sharp sting of bites and sucked skin. Carefully, diligently, Anders left mark after mark along one side of Hawke's neck, down to his collarbone, and then up the other.
"Do you like everyone knowing you belong to me, love?" He was still slow, still loving and careful, but his voice was deep, husky with how much love. How much he needed Hawke. Needed to hear Hawke's answer.
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"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.
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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.
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"Yes. Yes." He doesn't have any other words but that, stealing a glance at Anders' face from under the snowy fringe of his own hair and biting his lower lip at the possessive hunger he sees in Anders' amber gaze. Hunger for him, only him. How had he almost given this up? How could he have succumbed to despair in the Fade when he had that look to come back to, this touch, everything that Anders is to him. He's all the answers, he's the calm that steals over raging thoughts, he's the flame against the cold. Anders had once called him the brightest light in Kirkwall, but it's Anders that keeps a lantern burning in the dark, a waysign to guide him home. The Darktown healer. Adalwolfe's healer. The only one who can heal him inside and out.
"Yes," he breathes into Anders' neck, just at the base of it where it meets his collar.
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This was what they both needed, he was sure. Anders needed to reassure himself Hawke was here and with him and safe in his arms and Hawke needed the reminder that he was needed and loved and that their lives no longer belonged to themselves, but to each other. It wasn't Adalwolfe's to give up in despair, it was Anders' to hold close and protect for all time.
Anders' mouth dipped lower, a mark carefully created and loving left over Hawke's left breast. Then Anders was shifting, reaching behind himself to pull at Hawke's wrist and encourage him to pull his fingers out. Then the healer was shifting forward, his cock trapped between their stomachs as he reached back to position his lover's at his entrance.
With a soft hissing moan that had him throwing his head back with his mouth open in pleasure, Anders steadily lowered himself to take Hawke into his body all the way to the hilt. His hips rocked with very little pause after the insertion. He intended to drive Adalwolfe to pleasures he hadn't had in months. He'd make his Champion scream if he could.
Opposite to the steady rocking of his hips pumping Wolfe's length, Anders' nails found the place just over Hawke's shoulder blades and dug in hard before slowly and carefully slipping down his lover's back. There'd be bright screaming red lines later in the day and Anders would kiss every single one with pride.
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Torture punctuated by things like this, by nails digging into his flesh and eliciting a cry just on the heels of that moan, wondering vaguely with what little of his mind isn't lighting up with sadistic pleasure if Anders had drawn blood. He almost wants him to have, but can't even articulate that it would be fine by him, not now. Anders already has his brain trained on action instead of thought.
With an exhale that's several degrees cooler than the room puffed against Anders' chest, Adalwolfe channels his mana into his fingers, tracing them to Anders' sides, sliding slowly between ribs and waist and back again. Slowly, just a background hum at first, Wolfe draws on lightning and just allows it to make itself known, for now. Like static, or that feeling of electricity before a storm. It's subtle and gentle but the edge of it heightens everything else, making both of their skin hum.
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