[ He could laugh, if they just stopped long enough for him to reassemble the shards of insight afforded to him beyond the simple efforts of survival, at how absurd this is, how absurd he is. The two of them and what they've become compared to the shaded, opaque memory of what they were. But they don't stop. Warmth unfurls inside Fenris like he's never felt before, for a moment so strong and heady that he's not sure what to do with himself besides open to the pressure of the kiss, and another kiss, and then another, and he's half on his back with handfuls of Anders's hip dragging him along.
There's a difference—the relief of pain and this, which sails beyond the threadbare state of 'not suffering' into something nonetheless sharp and aching and so dangerously, sweetly unbearable. He'd been wrong all along. Now he's gone mad.
It takes a long few moments of soft wet mouths and roaming hands before Fenris properly registers how close he is to losing all sense. Maker, how he wants. He trembles with it, utters a soft Tevene epithet while his nose is still pressed to Anders's adam's apple. ]
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There's a difference—the relief of pain and this, which sails beyond the threadbare state of 'not suffering' into something nonetheless sharp and aching and so dangerously, sweetly unbearable. He'd been wrong all along. Now he's gone mad.
It takes a long few moments of soft wet mouths and roaming hands before Fenris properly registers how close he is to losing all sense. Maker, how he wants. He trembles with it, utters a soft Tevene epithet while his nose is still pressed to Anders's adam's apple. ]