"I may have an inkling," he smiles into the kiss he leaves on Anders' lips, and then on his forehead. His eyes. Hawke is also usually one for words, but right now, he's a man of action. A man who's fiance is holding him hostage with hand and pretty words both. "If I am the sun, then I may keep things bright, but you are the air in my lungs, the sweet scent of growing things. A low rumble of thunder promising a spring rain for all the flowers to bloom in. I never cease to be amazed by you, by your resilience, by your fortitude, your passion."

Adalwolfe's gaze softens and he slides his hand to cradle Anders' head so he can gaze into his eyes. Warm whisky brown, always searching, never satisfied but often pleased. "If I lived my life over again alongside you a hundred times, I'd fall in love with you in each and every run. I'm going to make love to you, Anders. With all the tender care and unfathomable passion of the first time."

It's not often he makes such declarations, usually feeling a bit hokey in doing so, but there's something about how they're coiled around each other, how Anders has already professed his feelings, that makes it less embarrassing and more simple fact. He loves Anders, and he'll show him in every possible way.

Adalwolfe shifts, sliding a bit in Anders' hand, and kisses him slowly, deeply, and encompassingly.