[ He hadn't gotten the chance to say it that morning before Anders had been out the door for an early appointment or something. Hawke had gotten in late so it had been bleary eyed kisses and a hoarse 'I love you' before he drifted right back to sleep. Now it's past ten in the morning and he regrets not giving a more proper parting. ]
Not that you don't look nice every day, but I do enjoy that you put the earring back in.
[ Even in his sleep-fogged state he'd noticed that. ]
[The message was a nice thing to come back to his desk to after a brief check in around the hospital, something that left a smile on his face and had him fiddling with the new earring as he read it.]
Thank you, love.
I'd been wearing one now and again since arriving here, but I'd fallen out of the habit around the time of the portals, before you arrived.
If you're offering to come home on your meal break I wouldn't say no. Otherwise I'm afraid I'll have to take care of it myself. A shame when I much prefer your expert hands. Or tongue. 👅
Oh no, my lunch break wouldn't be long enough, not unless you came to me. Is that how you would want it? Behind Haven with me on my knees until you came for me.
Would you imagine that for me, love? The kisses I might leave on your lips and neck, down your chest and stomach as I sink down before you.
My hands on your hips as I take my place before your alter for worship. Freeing you to the air so that I might spell prayers out on your skin with my tongue?
I can imagine Leaning back against the wall to steady myself Having to bite my lip to keep from alerting the rest of the staff Running my fingers through your hair with urgency Begging whispers and plaintive gasps
[ Text sent, he slips his hand under the covers, stroking himself with that image in mind. He can picture it so clearly. Anders on his knees, looking up at him with warm brown eyes that hold a hint of mischief, having left a trail of dark marks all down his neck and chest. He'd open his mouth, tongue slightly extended and curved just enough that when the healer takes Hawke's cock in it curls as if it's shaped exactly to receive.
Hawke shudders and stares at his phone, heart jumping when the three little dots appear to show Anders is typing. ]
[He has a bit of a thrill in his chest at the idea and he can imagine Hawke now, maybe still in bed, maybe palming himself through his pants, if not touching himself outright and suddenly Anders needs to know. Or needs it to be true. Needs to know that broad and calloused hand is wrapped around Hawke's length because of Anders' words. At the thought of what Anders could do to him.]
Are you touching yourself, love? Are you imagining your hand around your base is mine? Imagining the feeling of how my lips slowly work down your cock?
I would take the whole thing. The tip would reach the back of my throat and keep going. I would go slow, torturing you with my tongue and sucking at the tip.
[He sent the message and whatever work he was doing was forgotten as he waited and let his imagination paint both pictures in his mind: the one he was describing and the one he was hoping was playing out in their bed.]
[ He can't make capitals typing one handed, so hopefully that's proof enough that he's telling the truth. He uses magic to make his hand slick, curling thumb and forefinger around himself and trying to simulate the feel of Anders' mouth, picturing it in his mind's eye vividly. ]
my handis a poor substitute
[ Sliding his hand slowly, forcing himself to move the way that he imagines Anders would move, Hawke turns his head aside and groans into the pillow. He brings it back up, pulling himself with just the same amount of pressure he knows Anders applies with his tongue, presses the head of his cock against his fingers and imagines that he's hitting the back of Anders' throat, sliding deeper. He can't help but buck his hips into his hand at the combination of his own hands and the mental image of what he would rather was happening. ]
[There's a thrill through him and he has to resist the urge to take a hand to himself too. Maker, he wanted to, but he could hold off if he treated this like they were actually together, focusing on Hawke's pleasure and needs. Especially now that he knew he was painting the picture, his love deserved a finished scene.]
Good.
The you can imagine how you buck your hips and how it drives you back into my throat and down it. How you'd reach down and grab my hair and fuck my mouth and I'd love every second of it, the taste of you, the feeling of the head catching my breath.
I'd suck at you and bend so beautifully for you until it became too much and you came into my mouth and down my throat so I could swallow
every
last
drop
and lick you clean with every ounce of reverence you deserved.
Think of that when you come for me, Hawke. Think of how wrecked I would look for you, my lips puffy and mouth a mess. What a fine meal you would make for me, my love.
[ Hawke breathes into the empty air of the bedroom, feeling his temperature rise and stroking himself at Anders' words, harder and faster, building quickly with the image in his mind's eye of Anders kneeling before him. Of his hands on the blond's head, holding him still while he carefully but thoroughly fucks into his mouth, down his throat, until he can't hold on anymore and he thrusts once more, keeping Anders' head still with shaking fingers as he spills overflowing.
He can't hold it together, not with that image, not with the glowing text on his phone's screen taunting him with what he can't have just now but desperately needs. He comes explosively, with a heady moan as his hips lift from the mattress and he makes a mess of his hands, stomach, and the bed. He lays there panting for a long moment, feeling sticky and used in the best way but wishing ardently that it hadn't just been his hand.
Damnit, now he has to wash the sheets...
He takes enough time to at least go wash himself up before even touching his phone. He'll do laundry in a second, after he has words. ]
You're a cruel man, Anders, and I am going to do all of that and more to you when you arrive home or the Maker strike me down where I stand.
I can't believe you can just make me come with words, you fiend.
[There's a long pause and Anders allows himself a moment to imagine how Hawke must look, arching under the cruel combination of imagination and hand, that wonderful look on his face when he came...he allows his thoughts to follow his love a moment before setting the device aside to try and clear his mind of it.
He'd barely managed when the notification had his attention back on the screen. The words themselves put a smug grin on his face and a bloom of warmth in his heart.]
Words and the power of your beautiful mind, my dearest heart. I may be cruel, but the fact I cannot touch you right now is far crueler.
It will be too many long hours before I see you and show you my words were a promise, but I will count them all the same.
As will I, my deepest love. My longing grows ever more profound as the hours pass.
[ Hawke smiles at the sudden switch in tone from downright graphic to romantic sap. He loves that Anders can be both of these things almost at once, but he really needs to get the sheets off the bed now before it starts to bother him.
He goes about getting the wash done, both the bed and himself, and counts the hours until his sexy and mischievous boyfriend returns home to him and receives his prize for a game well played. ]
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text | un: champioff
[ He hadn't gotten the chance to say it that morning before Anders had been out the door for an early appointment or something. Hawke had gotten in late so it had been bleary eyed kisses and a hoarse 'I love you' before he drifted right back to sleep. Now it's past ten in the morning and he regrets not giving a more proper parting. ]
Not that you don't look nice every day, but I do enjoy that you put the earring back in.
[ Even in his sleep-fogged state he'd noticed that. ]
no subject
Thank you, love.
I'd been wearing one now and again since arriving here, but I'd fallen out of the habit around the time of the portals, before you arrived.
I was struck with inspiration to get a new one.
no subject
Alaric's, yes?
Somehow that makes it more sexy
no subject
You like it, then?
no subject
It makes me want to bite your ear.
And slide the ribbon from your hair, maybe tie your wrists with it.
[ He can still blame Duplicity for being this thirsty, right? ]
no subject
I'm still at work, serah. Are you having such a hard time on your own there? Do you need a hand?
no subject
Otherwise I'm afraid I'll have to take care of it myself.
A shame when I much prefer your expert hands.
Or tongue. 👅
[ What if he actually just... ]
no subject
Is that how you would want it? Behind Haven with me on my knees until you came for me.
Would you imagine that for me, love? The kisses I might leave on your lips and neck, down your chest and stomach as I sink down before you.
My hands on your hips as I take my place before your alter for worship. Freeing you to the air so that I might spell prayers out on your skin with my tongue?
no subject
Hawke rolls onto his back, already half hard. ]
I can imagine
Leaning back against the wall to steady myself
Having to bite my lip to keep from alerting the rest of the staff
Running my fingers through your hair with urgency
Begging whispers and plaintive gasps
[ Text sent, he slips his hand under the covers, stroking himself with that image in mind. He can picture it so clearly. Anders on his knees, looking up at him with warm brown eyes that hold a hint of mischief, having left a trail of dark marks all down his neck and chest. He'd open his mouth, tongue slightly extended and curved just enough that when the healer takes Hawke's cock in it curls as if it's shaped exactly to receive.
Hawke shudders and stares at his phone, heart jumping when the three little dots appear to show Anders is typing. ]
no subject
Are you touching yourself, love? Are you imagining your hand around your base is mine? Imagining the feeling of how my lips slowly work down your cock?
I would take the whole thing. The tip would reach the back of my throat and keep going. I would go slow, torturing you with my tongue and sucking at the tip.
[He sent the message and whatever work he was doing was forgotten as he waited and let his imagination paint both pictures in his mind: the one he was describing and the one he was hoping was playing out in their bed.]
no subject
[ He can't make capitals typing one handed, so hopefully that's proof enough that he's telling the truth. He uses magic to make his hand slick, curling thumb and forefinger around himself and trying to simulate the feel of Anders' mouth, picturing it in his mind's eye vividly. ]
my handis a poor substitute
[ Sliding his hand slowly, forcing himself to move the way that he imagines Anders would move, Hawke turns his head aside and groans into the pillow. He brings it back up, pulling himself with just the same amount of pressure he knows Anders applies with his tongue, presses the head of his cock against his fingers and imagines that he's hitting the back of Anders' throat, sliding deeper. He can't help but buck his hips into his hand at the combination of his own hands and the mental image of what he would rather was happening. ]
maker yoyr so good
no subject
Good.
The you can imagine how you buck your hips and how it drives you back into my throat and down it. How you'd reach down and grab my hair and fuck my mouth and I'd love every second of it, the taste of you, the feeling of the head catching my breath.
I'd suck at you and bend so beautifully for you until it became too much and you came into my mouth and down my throat so I could swallow
every
last
drop
and lick you clean with every ounce of reverence you deserved.
Think of that when you come for me, Hawke. Think of how wrecked I would look for you, my lips puffy and mouth a mess. What a fine meal you would make for me, my love.
no subject
[ Hawke breathes into the empty air of the bedroom, feeling his temperature rise and stroking himself at Anders' words, harder and faster, building quickly with the image in his mind's eye of Anders kneeling before him. Of his hands on the blond's head, holding him still while he carefully but thoroughly fucks into his mouth, down his throat, until he can't hold on anymore and he thrusts once more, keeping Anders' head still with shaking fingers as he spills overflowing.
He can't hold it together, not with that image, not with the glowing text on his phone's screen taunting him with what he can't have just now but desperately needs. He comes explosively, with a heady moan as his hips lift from the mattress and he makes a mess of his hands, stomach, and the bed. He lays there panting for a long moment, feeling sticky and used in the best way but wishing ardently that it hadn't just been his hand.
Damnit, now he has to wash the sheets...
He takes enough time to at least go wash himself up before even touching his phone. He'll do laundry in a second, after he has words. ]
You're a cruel man, Anders, and I am going to do all of that and more to you when you arrive home or the Maker strike me down where I stand.
I can't believe you can just make me come with words, you fiend.
I'm saving these texts for later.
no subject
He'd barely managed when the notification had his attention back on the screen. The words themselves put a smug grin on his face and a bloom of warmth in his heart.]
Words and the power of your beautiful mind, my dearest heart. I may be cruel, but the fact I cannot touch you right now is far crueler.
It will be too many long hours before I see you and show you my words were a promise, but I will count them all the same.
no subject
[ Hawke smiles at the sudden switch in tone from downright graphic to romantic sap. He loves that Anders can be both of these things almost at once, but he really needs to get the sheets off the bed now before it starts to bother him.
He goes about getting the wash done, both the bed and himself, and counts the hours until his sexy and mischievous boyfriend returns home to him and receives his prize for a game well played. ]