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.
Anders' warning is the cooler breath to his chest, but he barely notices it when Hawke's cry echoes in his ears. Maker, he wanted more like that, he wanted to hear what he did to this man he loved so much.
But then that hum vibrated in Anders' skin and made every touch and every inch of friction feel like it was magnified. It sent goosebumps through him and he shuddered.
"Maker, I love when you do that." His nails finished their quest down Hawke's back and came up to grasp at his shoulders so Anders could pepper kisses along Hawke's neck and shoulders as his hips continued to move and adoration tumbled from his lips.
"You're so talented. And clever. You're amazing, Adalwolfe. The most amazing man I've ever known." Just as dirty words could fall from his lips to encourage and entice, so too could prettier things full of the love and awe he felt for his boyfriend. Things he felt needed to be said now more than ever after what Hawke had shared with him. Anders would remind him more than just physically that he was needed.
"Hey, it's your trick." There's a smile in his voice and a heady exhale after. "I just adopted it because I want you to know what you do to me. This-"
He runs his hands up and down again, creeping around behind slowly to trace electric fingers along the bumps of Anders' spine. "This but imagine all the time, whenever you're near. And it's only you, it's only ever been you that makes me feel like this. Like my body hums."
Wolfe closes his eyes, just feeling them both move, feeling the little twitches in Anders' body as he moves sparks across his curves, feels the electricity crackle at the back of his teeth just as sharply as he feels Anders rock himself steadily. "I've never known anyone like you, either. I never knew I could love someone so much, so readily. So... encompassingly."
And it is encompassing. His world revolves around Anders, around his moods, his whims, his desires. He may be the Champion of Kirkwall, a notorious apostate, the man who helped spark a rebellion, who saved a city, who defeated the Arishok, but none of that matters more than the fact that he can make Anders smile.
"Hawke." The words are too sweet and too earnest and they burn at his core, but offer warmth rather than pain. His mind would dismiss them later, allowing only his heart to cling to them in desperation, but right now there was nothing but Adalwolfe. His words were the only ones that held truth.
Anders pushed his weight forward, a hand coming up to brace Adalwolfe's neck while the other slowly lowered them to the bed. His hips still rolled in small thrusts to continue the friction, but it wasn't his focus.
His focus was the thick muscle under his hands as he held down on Hawke's biceps and lavished attention to his broad chest and abdomen. "You do the same to me, my love. There's no one else I feel safer with, no one else I love more. I need you as a man needs air, your absence is suffocating."
His hips jolt down, sending Hawke deeper inside and pulling a gasp from Anders as he arched his spine in pleasure. When his eyes fluttered open again, there's endless depths of warmth and care. "You're the most important man in all of Thedas." He leaned down and whispered a trail of kisses across Hawke's collarbone. "You carry my heart with you."
Anders says his name like a warning and Wolfe is sure he's gone too far. Good. He should go too far with that, he doesn't tell Anders enough how he feels about him, how he aches for him, how when he's not near Adalwolfe feels that he's missing a piece. Anders shoulder know how important he is. He almost says as much, but his love is pushing him back slowly and the threat of being dislodged is so great that he follows the direction without protest or further words.
He's glad he held back. Wolfe listens to Anders' words with a look so far gone it's conceivable he's gone drunk on the praise, still lazily tracing his fingers over every freckle but now without a real angle or much spark in it. He's again just touching to touch, though when Anders rolls his hips down against him he gasps too and bites his lower lip again, eyes dark and muscles quivering under Anders' hands.
"The only reason I'm the most important is because you allow me your heart. I just have the most important job of keeping it--" He swallows, a small sigh raking out of his throat at Anders' mouth moving across his clavicle. "--Safe."
"Remember that, my love." His lips leave a trail down from Hawke's collarbone to his breast, a small smile quirking at Anders' lips when he feels the muscles there twitch under his attentions. His hands slide up Hawke's arms to his shoulders and down, tracing every cut of muscle and plain of skin. Every scar, every imperfection, receives equal attention. Anders has said and done many blasphemous things in his life, but perhaps the careful and diligent worship of Adalwolfe Hawke is the worst offense. And Anders was proud of it.
Life hadn't been kind enough for what this man deserved. Anders hadn't been kind enough, at times. Adalwolfe deserved the world and more and he'd given up hope because a monster had gotten in his head and torn his belief to shreds. Anders would help him rebuild it.
"Remember that. Remember that I love you more than anything. Where you go, I go. When you hurt, I hurt." 'When you die, I die.' It's said in his heart and in his head, but he leaves his lips back to kissing and sucking where they've left their whispered mantra trailed across his Champion's skin. "Never forget that I need you, my heart."
"Never," he whispers back, a fervent answer like the response to a vow. He breathes deep, chest rising under Anders' mouth, hips rising into him too with a slow thrust. All he can feel is the short hairs of Anders' chin scraping across his skin, the tight heat of the inside of him wrapped around him, and the press of those calloused fingers leaving invisible trails across muscle, trails they've left so many times. Marked roads for Anders' fingertips to follow, for only he can find every trail he's forged along Adalwolfe's skin.
All he can smell is the vague acrid scent of the herbs Anders has been trying to make mana potions with, the fresher scent of elfroot, the ever-present tang of blood and of the Fade, all spiked with lightning. He thinks of Anders after storms, sometimes. Crestwood was alive with the scent of him with its long squall. Adalwolfe had found himself so homesick the moment he set foot there. Homesick for their little cottage, for their furs-laden bed. For the smile that had started to come more and more easily the more they got settled, wrinkling at his eyes and stretching his freckles. Alistair had brought a drink to warm them that first night and Hawke had partaken not just for that but because the liquor's color was just the same as his love's eyes.
He moves up again, thrusting slowly just for the feel of the weight of the mage above him, the reassurance that he's really here, that it isn't some well-crafted dream. But if this is a desire demon all in his head, he may well give in for the perfect form it takes.
"I love you," it comes out of him without his bidding, words tumbling from his lips without his having thought them first. It just is. He loves Anders. More than anyone he ever has in his life. He wants him, he needs him. He loves him.
They'd never held back on making certain each knew how the other felt. I love yous, terms of endearment, gentle touches and whispers, paved the way for their heart's intent from day one. Maker, Hawke even moreso with his near three-year attempt at courtship despite Anders continuing to shut him down.
And still, hearing it from Wolfe sent butterflies into his stomach and tripped up his heart. 'No mage I know has ever dared to fall in love.' Andraste damn him for not daring sooner.
"I love you too." He could embellish it, dress it up with a ramble of pretty words and heartfelt declarations as he'd just done, but it didn't feel necessary just now. It simply was. And sometimes, actions worked just as well.
Anders shifted his weight and renewed his grip on Hawke's shoulders to slowly lift himself up and push back down, a steady and deliberately careful pace to tease and drown his lover in the pleasure Anders wished for him.
Anders speaks and Adalwolfe shudders, he moves and the winter mage moans softly, hands running from Anders' sides to his thighs to his stomach, pressing fingers against gently in tactile freedom there to feel his partner rise and fall in more ways. He's not going to last much longer, and while normally that would send Adalwolfe into a frenzied sprint for the edge, this time in this mood he simply observes that fact as he does so many other things, knowing that this is far from the first time and certainly won't be the last. He has Anders, will have Anders for as long as these lives the Maker has seen fit to give them will last.
He says nothing. His head still beats a staccato of I love yous in his chest, the words bubbling in his throat despite already having been said. He wants to repeated over and over, as simple as the declaration was to start. This makes it no more complicated, just more in volume. Anders knows. He has to know, and so Adalwolfe doesn't say it again but instead breathes it, radiates it with every slight twist of his fingers, every shift of his hips to meet his love's weight in his lap. He wraps his arms around Anders just to hold him, sliding his arms in such a way so as to capture the healer's own in the embrace. It's encompassing but warm and Hawke can control the pace like this, grinding headily upwards into Anders with a firm push and hoping the other man is as close as he is. He'd sorely like to finish with both of them tangled like this.
Adalwolfe rests his forehead against Anders', breathing softly and shivering just a bit at not just the sensations but the depth of feeling from them both.
Anders' breath catches as Hawke's arms wrap around him and take over their slow and wonderful pace. A low moan floats on his next exhale and the fingers of one hand wrap tight around Wolfe's side while his other hand wraps around himself, grip firm.
He was just as close and wanted the same thing as Hawke, the thought of them finishing together entangled like this, warming him from his core. "Hawke. Love..." His words tangle with his lover's breaths, their lips so close to touch but just far enough to deny them that pleasure.
Seconds, and the feeling of Hawke deep in him, pressing into sensitive nerves mixed with the feeling of his own hand on him, has Anders' breath catching and his muscles straining tight. His release spills over his hand and between their stomachs pressed together, and the muscles around Hawke's length clenched tight.
"Oh, Anders..." Adalwolfe whispers into his love's neck, feeling the blond tremble around him, panting and clenching as he reaches his peak and the feeling of knowing he made Anders spill over them both and the sensation of tight heat is more than enough to send him tumbling over himself, filling Anders with his spend and clutching tightly, dizzily, so he remains grounded despite the heady sensation. It feels a bit like vertigo, letting himself go so completely into his love that he can feel Anders expand as he twitches and pulses, drained dry. He shivers himself once he's spent, every sensation in stark relief to his nerves all standing at attention. Anders' hand on his side, the sweat that crawls slowly from his hair down his back from their exertion. The soft rabbit thumps of Anders' heart against his chest, his own beating in tandem as they gently slow.
"Anders..." He whispers again, full of love, full of promise that this is where they'll stay, tangled in one another and satisfied, always. Adalwolfe kisses Anders' face. His cheeks, his nose, his mouth. "You're so perfect, Anders. So good for me."
One hand slips through his hair, cupping the healer's cheek as Wolfe looks at him with such fondness that if it were a scene in a play it would be embarrassing in the stark and open portrayal of affection. But Wolfe doesn't care. He's never cared about that, only that Anders knows just how much he means to him. How much of everything in Hawke's world is tied up in him.
Anders' breath stutters and a small sound of pleasure escapes him as he feels Hawke's final push into him and his release, his breathing wonderfully ragged to try and keep up with the pace of his heart. But now they're both a mess and so perfectly satisfied in each other and nothing else existed but them and the sanctuary of Hawke's presence.
His name is whispered between them and the sheer emotion in that rich voice of his lover sends a tremble down Anders' spine. He can't move fast enough to meet those kisses, so he merely enjoys the feeling of them with his eyes closed in rapture, but then Hawke speaks again and the words bring a familiar twisting to his insides that he easily pushes away. He could hardly disagree more with that sentiment, but he had plenty of practice at pushing it away again. The only sign it was even there was in the way his expression shifted as his eyes met Hawke's.
There were near desperate amounts of adoration in Anders' eyes, mixed with love and happiness and that slight edge that said 'I don't know how you can think these things, but I'm blessed to hear them.' It was all he could do these days when Hawke made such deep proclamations of his devotion and all Anders could do was think of all the pain and trouble he'd brought to Wolfe's life. And yet they were both still here, years later and far too late to change a thing about it now, so all he could do was acknowledge Adalwolfe Hawke was far more than Anders could ever even dream of deserving and offer every ounce of reverence and devotion the healer had in him.
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apurrstate) wrote2016-05-03 09:35 pm
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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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But then that hum vibrated in Anders' skin and made every touch and every inch of friction feel like it was magnified. It sent goosebumps through him and he shuddered.
"Maker, I love when you do that." His nails finished their quest down Hawke's back and came up to grasp at his shoulders so Anders could pepper kisses along Hawke's neck and shoulders as his hips continued to move and adoration tumbled from his lips.
"You're so talented. And clever. You're amazing, Adalwolfe. The most amazing man I've ever known." Just as dirty words could fall from his lips to encourage and entice, so too could prettier things full of the love and awe he felt for his boyfriend. Things he felt needed to be said now more than ever after what Hawke had shared with him. Anders would remind him more than just physically that he was needed.
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He runs his hands up and down again, creeping around behind slowly to trace electric fingers along the bumps of Anders' spine. "This but imagine all the time, whenever you're near. And it's only you, it's only ever been you that makes me feel like this. Like my body hums."
Wolfe closes his eyes, just feeling them both move, feeling the little twitches in Anders' body as he moves sparks across his curves, feels the electricity crackle at the back of his teeth just as sharply as he feels Anders rock himself steadily. "I've never known anyone like you, either. I never knew I could love someone so much, so readily. So... encompassingly."
And it is encompassing. His world revolves around Anders, around his moods, his whims, his desires. He may be the Champion of Kirkwall, a notorious apostate, the man who helped spark a rebellion, who saved a city, who defeated the Arishok, but none of that matters more than the fact that he can make Anders smile.
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Anders pushed his weight forward, a hand coming up to brace Adalwolfe's neck while the other slowly lowered them to the bed. His hips still rolled in small thrusts to continue the friction, but it wasn't his focus.
His focus was the thick muscle under his hands as he held down on Hawke's biceps and lavished attention to his broad chest and abdomen. "You do the same to me, my love. There's no one else I feel safer with, no one else I love more. I need you as a man needs air, your absence is suffocating."
His hips jolt down, sending Hawke deeper inside and pulling a gasp from Anders as he arched his spine in pleasure. When his eyes fluttered open again, there's endless depths of warmth and care. "You're the most important man in all of Thedas." He leaned down and whispered a trail of kisses across Hawke's collarbone. "You carry my heart with you."
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He's glad he held back. Wolfe listens to Anders' words with a look so far gone it's conceivable he's gone drunk on the praise, still lazily tracing his fingers over every freckle but now without a real angle or much spark in it. He's again just touching to touch, though when Anders rolls his hips down against him he gasps too and bites his lower lip again, eyes dark and muscles quivering under Anders' hands.
"The only reason I'm the most important is because you allow me your heart. I just have the most important job of keeping it--" He swallows, a small sigh raking out of his throat at Anders' mouth moving across his clavicle. "--Safe."
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Life hadn't been kind enough for what this man deserved. Anders hadn't been kind enough, at times. Adalwolfe deserved the world and more and he'd given up hope because a monster had gotten in his head and torn his belief to shreds. Anders would help him rebuild it.
"Remember that. Remember that I love you more than anything. Where you go, I go. When you hurt, I hurt." 'When you die, I die.' It's said in his heart and in his head, but he leaves his lips back to kissing and sucking where they've left their whispered mantra trailed across his Champion's skin. "Never forget that I need you, my heart."
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All he can smell is the vague acrid scent of the herbs Anders has been trying to make mana potions with, the fresher scent of elfroot, the ever-present tang of blood and of the Fade, all spiked with lightning. He thinks of Anders after storms, sometimes. Crestwood was alive with the scent of him with its long squall. Adalwolfe had found himself so homesick the moment he set foot there. Homesick for their little cottage, for their furs-laden bed. For the smile that had started to come more and more easily the more they got settled, wrinkling at his eyes and stretching his freckles. Alistair had brought a drink to warm them that first night and Hawke had partaken not just for that but because the liquor's color was just the same as his love's eyes.
He moves up again, thrusting slowly just for the feel of the weight of the mage above him, the reassurance that he's really here, that it isn't some well-crafted dream. But if this is a desire demon all in his head, he may well give in for the perfect form it takes.
"I love you," it comes out of him without his bidding, words tumbling from his lips without his having thought them first. It just is. He loves Anders. More than anyone he ever has in his life. He wants him, he needs him. He loves him.
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And still, hearing it from Wolfe sent butterflies into his stomach and tripped up his heart. 'No mage I know has ever dared to fall in love.' Andraste damn him for not daring sooner.
"I love you too." He could embellish it, dress it up with a ramble of pretty words and heartfelt declarations as he'd just done, but it didn't feel necessary just now. It simply was. And sometimes, actions worked just as well.
Anders shifted his weight and renewed his grip on Hawke's shoulders to slowly lift himself up and push back down, a steady and deliberately careful pace to tease and drown his lover in the pleasure Anders wished for him.
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He says nothing. His head still beats a staccato of I love yous in his chest, the words bubbling in his throat despite already having been said. He wants to repeated over and over, as simple as the declaration was to start. This makes it no more complicated, just more in volume. Anders knows. He has to know, and so Adalwolfe doesn't say it again but instead breathes it, radiates it with every slight twist of his fingers, every shift of his hips to meet his love's weight in his lap. He wraps his arms around Anders just to hold him, sliding his arms in such a way so as to capture the healer's own in the embrace. It's encompassing but warm and Hawke can control the pace like this, grinding headily upwards into Anders with a firm push and hoping the other man is as close as he is. He'd sorely like to finish with both of them tangled like this.
Adalwolfe rests his forehead against Anders', breathing softly and shivering just a bit at not just the sensations but the depth of feeling from them both.
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He was just as close and wanted the same thing as Hawke, the thought of them finishing together entangled like this, warming him from his core. "Hawke. Love..." His words tangle with his lover's breaths, their lips so close to touch but just far enough to deny them that pleasure.
Seconds, and the feeling of Hawke deep in him, pressing into sensitive nerves mixed with the feeling of his own hand on him, has Anders' breath catching and his muscles straining tight. His release spills over his hand and between their stomachs pressed together, and the muscles around Hawke's length clenched tight.
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"Anders..." He whispers again, full of love, full of promise that this is where they'll stay, tangled in one another and satisfied, always. Adalwolfe kisses Anders' face. His cheeks, his nose, his mouth. "You're so perfect, Anders. So good for me."
One hand slips through his hair, cupping the healer's cheek as Wolfe looks at him with such fondness that if it were a scene in a play it would be embarrassing in the stark and open portrayal of affection. But Wolfe doesn't care. He's never cared about that, only that Anders knows just how much he means to him. How much of everything in Hawke's world is tied up in him.
"I love you," again whispered, just for them.
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His name is whispered between them and the sheer emotion in that rich voice of his lover sends a tremble down Anders' spine. He can't move fast enough to meet those kisses, so he merely enjoys the feeling of them with his eyes closed in rapture, but then Hawke speaks again and the words bring a familiar twisting to his insides that he easily pushes away. He could hardly disagree more with that sentiment, but he had plenty of practice at pushing it away again. The only sign it was even there was in the way his expression shifted as his eyes met Hawke's.
There were near desperate amounts of adoration in Anders' eyes, mixed with love and happiness and that slight edge that said 'I don't know how you can think these things, but I'm blessed to hear them.' It was all he could do these days when Hawke made such deep proclamations of his devotion and all Anders could do was think of all the pain and trouble he'd brought to Wolfe's life. And yet they were both still here, years later and far too late to change a thing about it now, so all he could do was acknowledge Adalwolfe Hawke was far more than Anders could ever even dream of deserving and offer every ounce of reverence and devotion the healer had in him.