[The sound sends a full-body shudder through him, even without being able to understand the words. He lifts his head and pants quietly at Fenris's temple, hands fisted in the thin sheets at his shoulder. There's no reason his heart should be hammering this way against his rib cage, but so it is. He feels scrambled, cut adrift, like his mind will never be able to catch up with what his hands are doing— what his mouth is doing— unless he slows down, stops, pauses, anything. But he feels cracked open and fragile, like stopping might shatter it, this. He'll think later. He'll be horrified at himself later.
For now, Fenris's skin is warm, and freedom is what you make of it.]
Tell me. [Murmured, his voice slightly hoarse. Another kiss, lingering at Fenris's jaw.] Tell me what you want.
[ An obscene throaty sound looses itself half at the question, breath puffing through Anders's hair. Such a complicated request, but to Fenris in the here and now it feels shamefully simple, starving palms groping for the mixed cloth meeting at his upper and lower body, tugging and squeezing and stealing a brief greedy cup of his ass. They've never touched each other like this before; almost, perhaps, desperate gropes of anything that feels soft and good amid the darkness, but never like this. Fenris groans aloud and gives Anders a lazy sweet-mouthed caress of his earlobe that turns into a bite. ]
Take these off.
[ The first clothes they've worn in so long that aren't soiled rough tatters, but he wants them gone. All of them, needing skin on skin on skin, which is so much softer now with how long they've gone without holding any weapons.
He's used enough to Anders and his consoling hands and the clever work they do between his thighs—so used to it happening so reliably that he feels how his body responds easily to his touch now, hungry for it by virtue of pure habit. He wants...
[The aborted, half-swallowed groan is probably a familiar sound by now. It's a directive he's only too eager to obey, and it's nearly a relief to do it.
He sets his knees on either side of Fenris's hips, and leans back just enough to draw the shirt off over his head. He drops it off the side of the bed like an afterthought, already leaning back in, pressing skin to skin, body heat to body heat. He knows that it all needs to come off, wants it just as badly, but he's easily distracted, and there's so much expanse his mouth hasn't mapped yet, in all their history.
The next kiss is hard-edged, messy, desperate for something Anders can't put a name to. He doesn't let it linger, scoots lower to drag his teeth along the pulse point in Fenris's throat, the cords of his neck, the ridge of his clavicle. His hands roam of their own accord, suddenly greedy with permission, palms following wide swaths of skin.
[ Especially without the confinement of smallclothes, the loose linen of his trousers does absolutely nothing to hide his prick rudely nudging against any part of Anders it feasibly can. Before he even knows it, Fenris is rocking up into the delicious weight of Anders's straddle, both hands planting on the highest point of his spread thighs, fingertips curling into the warmed waistband. It's dark, but elves see well at night and it's entirely possible that Anders can see the excited cat's glitter of his eyes on the pillow below.
All the while Fenris keeps expecting this to disintegrate into the desperate hysteria of the Circle dormitory. It's still desperate, in its way, but the simmer of indulgent sensuality lurking just beneath the surface of their actions bewilders and overwhelms, everything between them slower and softer and kinder than expected. Of course, Fenris knows exactly what it is to do something for no other reason than that for the first time, he can.
Is that all? It could very well be. Or maybe gratitude, Fenris wonders, with a pass of his tongue over Anders's sternum and its unfamiliar fine dusting of hair. He growls into his skin. Squeezes his arse. He knows this dance well enough by now, knows how hot and velvety Anders feels sliding through his grip, but their greatest intimacy up to this point was the time or two that, weak yet wanting, he offered Anders his thighs. ]
Kaffas.
[ Hard even for him to tell if it's a laugh or a faint sob, but it's all disbelief. ]
Here. [He leans up again to press their mouths together, languid, calming, lingering more than he means to.] Here, with me.
[It's scarcely more than a whisper, breathless, but still loud to his ears in the quiet of the room. He doesn't know why he says it, or what he means, or what he hopes to communicate. Just feels like he should say something. He doesn't know what the word means beyond what he can hear in Fenris's tone, the way it sounds like how Anders feels, confused and elated and terrified all at once.
He covers Fenris's hands with his own, a soft hum of satisfaction catching in his throat as palms spread wide over his arse, and his hips rock eagerly into each touch: back into Fenris's hands, down against Fenris's cock. He lifts, encourages them both to drag on the waistband until his trousers slip down over the curve of his arse, bunched at the knee where his legs are still spread.
There's a brief moment of indulgence where he can't help but press their hips together, the hot line of his cock dragging clumsily against the tent in Fenris's trousers. He turns the harsh moan that threatens to rip out of his throat into a quick, sharp bite at his collarbone. Heat curls low in his belly, and there's no room to linger anymore.
He shifts down lower to kick his trousers off the rest of the way, forgotten off the end of the bed. Then lower still, drawing a line of wet kisses down towards Fenris's navel, past it, fingers already reaching to grasp the thin waist of his trousers.
[ What Fenris thinks loudest is that he has earned this. They have earned it. His blood roars, hips twisting against the fleeting firm nudge of that cock, that cock, but then the pleasant weight of him is gone and instead...
Fenris has spent the better part of a year trying as hard as he can not to think about Anders's mouth. Huddled together in the dark, it was always the soft humid puff of breath that did him in, quiet exhortations ticklish against his ear to let go, yes, that's it, oh, isn't that so much better—? Or maybe Fenris only imagined those things, sweet words in a sweet voice. Had they not loathed one another in years past he might've realized how suited to healing Anders was, how capable of nurturing when he wanted to be. But now he's painfully aware of it, the way the warmth of his voice crawls across his senses as thick as honey, trembling and pink and wet and Fenris arches against his lips, unable and unwilling to refrain. He throbs, he purrs in his throat. He's so hard it almost hurts.
The hair he suddenly finds between his fingers is cool and silky with residual moisture; he strokes through it with something he chooses to pretend isn't fast approaching tenderness. ]
[Something like a hum catches in his throat at the slow drag of fingers against his scalp. It calms something stuttering and panicked in his chest, and for a moment he sets his nose against the skin of Fenris's pelvis, warm and clean, and breathes. He's never been one to accept comfort from anyone; he didn't want it, or seek it, or deserve it, depending on where and who he was. But gentleness freely given is something else, and he stays like that even as he works the trousers down, off, discarded onto the floor behind him, where they're sure to join his in a scandalous pile that someone will have to worry about later, in the morning.
For now, though.
He doesn't mean to hover, but finds he can't help it, once Fenris's cock is free. He lets his eyes flutter shut, hands curling tighter at his hips, and it could almost be an accident, the way Fenris's cock drags against his cheek. His head tilts, and then it's his lips mouthing gently up the shaft, the broad side of his tongue pressing against the slit to taste, his hot and eager mouth closing over the head.]
[ Fenris truly doesn't expect the way his chest tightens when Anders hides against his hip, nor the dissonant crash of pleasure that lances through his belly when he's enveloped in heat and soft lips and wet clever tongue. A choked-down moan shakes out; his fingers spasm minutely, wanting to grip tight, pull and push and pull, but he makes the terrifyingly conscious choice to stay gentle. His knees draw up a little around Anders's ears, as if in self-defense, but it doesn't do a thing to protect either of them from his absent petting or the way his head finally falls back with a hum of wholehearted approval. He gives himself to it, to this, and is past the point of arguing that he's not. ]
I thought—
[ He doesn't remember how he planned to end that sentence.
Anders apparently picks that moment to do something very right and he bucks, one chilly foot planting itself on the small of Anders's bare back quite without his permission. ]
You are absurd.
[ Maker preserve them both, that mutter is almost affectionate. ]
[His hands spread against the sheets on either side of Fenris's stomach, just to give him leverage to meet the lift of Fenris's hips with a dip of his head, cock sliding smooth and practiced to the back of his throat. He's pleased to discover that it's a skill you never unlearn, apparently, even after years of reasons and resistance and suffering.
He lets it happen, and for once that unravels something in him rather than tangling it tighter.
A chuckle vibrates through his chest and throat, and he lifts his eyes just enough to meet Fenris's gaze as he draws slowly off with a damp, obscene sound. His lips are red, wet, and curved with amusement, even if the smile is more in his eyes than anywhere else. He cups the base with one hand, lets the tip bump his cheek.]
[ The sound Fenris makes, it's almost like he's the one with the dick stretching his throat. He shudders, dares to lift his head, and his shining predator's pupils blow a little bigger at the sight—a visceral pleasure tightening in his belly at Anders poised there, liking it, wanting it.
Only a fool would answer yes to that question. ]
I want you to come here.
[ While not technically a fool, Fenris nonetheless immediately regrets the distance put between his cock and the mage's too-clever mouth as soon as he's started tugging him up, up, stopping only for a greedy squeeze of his arse and a hot, slick kiss before he's manhandling Anders onto his back. His palms hiss over the hollow stomach, the emaciated ribs, carrying with them the bird-boned wrists until he's got them pinned not unkindly overhead and Anders is a gloriously hot undulating line beneath his body and between his legs. It's somewhere between licking into Anders's mouth and the slick-tipped slide of his prick over the strange fine hairs of his belly that a tiny ember of self-consciousness reignites in him; he makes an awkward little whuff sound, momentarily at sea. ]
[The illusion of restraint sends a lance of pleasure straight through him, from a tingling in his scalp to a curl of his toes. Coming from anyone else, he may have thrown them off, after everything that's happened, but from Fenris it ignites something low in his belly, sets his heart hammering erratically in his chest. Anders trusts him, a concept that's bizarre and natural at the same time. Trusts him to take care of him, trusts him to listen, to let go when everything is said and done. Anders lets his hips rock up, gives them both the benefit of friction.
Each new moan is becoming more and more difficult to smother; this time he has to bite his lip hard enough to hurt to keep the sound in. He breathes raggedly instead, back arching up off the bed, because that's as much freedom of movement as he wants himself to have, at the moment. Even when his wrists twist in Fenris's grip, it's not enough to break it, or to even come close to trying.]
Keep going, keep— [He makes a soft, frustrated noise as he cranes his neck to kiss, hard and desperate and edged with teeth.] It's fine. I want it.
[The last is a whispered admission, quick and breathless. He wants it, this, him. Because finally, after all this time, he has the opportunity to want at all.]
[ What does a man in his position—any man—even say to that? Not for the first time, Fenris finds himself hoping they don't come back around to hating each other again. Hawke had also been a mage; Hawke, whom he could've loved had her gaze not been turned elsewhere, and all the while Fenris had known this while also telling himself that Hawke was different. And it gives him the smallest sliver of hope: couldn't it be that Anders, after all this time, is different as well?
Or is it as he fears the most, and different is nothing more than shorthand, a superstitious phrase to justify loving a mage—
He cannot now. Not that thought.
Anders writhes wonderfully, a still-living feast. It's enough to make him show his hand at last, the abrupt withdrawal and clambering off the bed to rummage through his discarded pants no doubt disorienting and disappointing... until, that is, he's retrieved the prize he stole just after his bath and crawls back up the length of Anders's body with the long-necked bottle in hand—and the return pass includes a rather sudden and pointed nuzzle over Anders's balls, which is the only warning he gets before Fenris gives in to caprice and decides to swallow down his cock. He cannot pin his wrists from here, so he settles for his hips. Takes him down to the root and up and back again, treasuring the thickness in his throat, muscles challenged to hug the curve. A bit of oil leaks out from around the cork in the bottle's mouth and he lets it rest in the sheets against Anders's side for a second, slickened fingers going for a nipple somewhere above. Mouth full, throat full, chest full, Fenris groans joyously into Anders's warm lap. ]
[He's dazed, suddenly cold when Fenris pulls back, but he manages to push himself up to his elbows to track Fenris's movements. Anders's hair is messy and tangled in the back, pupils blown wide, expression slack with confusion; by the time his hazy mind manages to catch up enough for anxiety to start to prickle in his chest, Fenris is back on him again, and it all rushes out with an eager, gasping sigh.
His back hits the bed again, but he doesn't stand a chance this time— his surprised, ragged moan tears out of his throat before he has the chance to muffle it. It's not even loud, still quiet by most standards, but to him any sound is too much. He throws his arm over his face to help keep the rest of it in, bites at the crook of his elbow when vibration bubbles up in his throat.
The fingers of his free hand twist into sheets, and he can feel the little bottle shift with the movement, feels the way oil smears against his side, feels the way Fenris's slick fingers work his nipple into hardness, feels the way Fenris's throat wraps hot and tight and pulsing around his cock. He feels every drop and wants more, sternum arching up towards Fenris's fingers and hips twitching beneath his grip. He wants to thrust, wants to take, and he can't, and his chest feels like it's going to burst.
[ And to think that Anders would ever like that. To think that Fenris would like that he likes that. A smile twists his lips against his will, defeated by his occupied mouth, when he register's Anders's frustration. A few good sucks and some seconds more and he's pulling off with a sharp gulp of air, round green eyes just slightly reddened and damp with the effort but nothing if not pleased with himself. He bites at the hollow of one hip just to feel Anders twitch. ]
Tell me something. Anything.
[ There's a nagging itch in the back of his mind that reminds him that he's asked Anders that before, desperate to think about anything but what he'd been through previously. Never did he expect to do it again, particularly while nudging a slippery few fingers into the skin just north of Anders's arse.
I like hearing you speak, comes the dim realization, and Fenris chokes unexpectedly hard on a genuine laugh. ]
[He does. Twitch, that is, in addition to shivering and jerking and gasping, silent, into the pillow. He feels overloaded with sensation, like every second he spent denying himself has caught up to him in this one confusing, thrilling, disastrous moment.
His fingers are in his hair when Fenris makes the request, and he's in the process of piecing words carefully together in a way that isn't embarrassing gibberish when the laughter shakes him out of it. His mouth slants crooked, one eye cracking open, and an answering laugh of his own shakes its way out of his chest.
He swallows, whispers:]
Glad to see you're entertained. [He can't stop his voice from taking on the breathy, wavering timber it does, breath coming and going in slow shudders, but he doesn't let that stop him from sounding smug.] And here I haven't even gotten the chance to tell my joke yet.
[ Anders wins a bit of exasperated Tevene profanity that nonetheless manages to be excessively soft around the edges. That frustrating thread of humor—what Varric would no doubt call sass—he'd almost forgotten Anders was capable of it, mostly because whenever it came out in the cell it usually meant things were...
They'd gotten bad.
The sharp jut of his hip is wonderfully hot under Fenris's face. He's eager to pretend he's taking a rest from his erstwhile probing, breathing in Anders's skin, stroking him slowly, lovingly, as a mere means of punishing him for his cheek. ]
Is that how you would prefer to pass the time?
[ Skyhold, they called it. Varric had called it their best (only) hope for safety across all of Thedas, and Fenris believes it. Still, there's a part of him that wants to never leave this bed again.
He nuzzles at the root of Anders's cock and the foreign tickle of hair there. Maker, he smells good, perhaps still a bit damp from the bath and before he knows it he's back to prying his thighs apart. He cannot speak because if he speaks he's going to admit to how much he wants to devour Anders in this moment. He cannot allow him the satisfaction, surely. ]
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branchandroot
no subject
Date: 2015-03-07 07:20 pm (UTC)For now, Fenris's skin is warm, and freedom is what you make of it.]
Tell me. [Murmured, his voice slightly hoarse. Another kiss, lingering at Fenris's jaw.] Tell me what you want.
[It is want, now. Not need.]
no subject
Date: 2015-03-09 03:19 am (UTC)Take these off.
[ The first clothes they've worn in so long that aren't soiled rough tatters, but he wants them gone. All of them, needing skin on skin on skin, which is so much softer now with how long they've gone without holding any weapons.
He's used enough to Anders and his consoling hands and the clever work they do between his thighs—so used to it happening so reliably that he feels how his body responds easily to his touch now, hungry for it by virtue of pure habit. He wants...
He wants. ]
no subject
Date: 2015-03-09 06:09 am (UTC)He sets his knees on either side of Fenris's hips, and leans back just enough to draw the shirt off over his head. He drops it off the side of the bed like an afterthought, already leaning back in, pressing skin to skin, body heat to body heat. He knows that it all needs to come off, wants it just as badly, but he's easily distracted, and there's so much expanse his mouth hasn't mapped yet, in all their history.
The next kiss is hard-edged, messy, desperate for something Anders can't put a name to. He doesn't let it linger, scoots lower to drag his teeth along the pulse point in Fenris's throat, the cords of his neck, the ridge of his clavicle. His hands roam of their own accord, suddenly greedy with permission, palms following wide swaths of skin.
Every inch he takes, he wants a mile more.]
no subject
Date: 2015-03-09 09:31 pm (UTC)All the while Fenris keeps expecting this to disintegrate into the desperate hysteria of the Circle dormitory. It's still desperate, in its way, but the simmer of indulgent sensuality lurking just beneath the surface of their actions bewilders and overwhelms, everything between them slower and softer and kinder than expected. Of course, Fenris knows exactly what it is to do something for no other reason than that for the first time, he can.
Is that all? It could very well be. Or maybe gratitude, Fenris wonders, with a pass of his tongue over Anders's sternum and its unfamiliar fine dusting of hair. He growls into his skin. Squeezes his arse. He knows this dance well enough by now, knows how hot and velvety Anders feels sliding through his grip, but their greatest intimacy up to this point was the time or two that, weak yet wanting, he offered Anders his thighs. ]
Kaffas.
[ Hard even for him to tell if it's a laugh or a faint sob, but it's all disbelief. ]
no subject
Date: 2015-03-13 05:26 pm (UTC)[It's scarcely more than a whisper, breathless, but still loud to his ears in the quiet of the room. He doesn't know why he says it, or what he means, or what he hopes to communicate. Just feels like he should say something. He doesn't know what the word means beyond what he can hear in Fenris's tone, the way it sounds like how Anders feels, confused and elated and terrified all at once.
He covers Fenris's hands with his own, a soft hum of satisfaction catching in his throat as palms spread wide over his arse, and his hips rock eagerly into each touch: back into Fenris's hands, down against Fenris's cock. He lifts, encourages them both to drag on the waistband until his trousers slip down over the curve of his arse, bunched at the knee where his legs are still spread.
There's a brief moment of indulgence where he can't help but press their hips together, the hot line of his cock dragging clumsily against the tent in Fenris's trousers. He turns the harsh moan that threatens to rip out of his throat into a quick, sharp bite at his collarbone. Heat curls low in his belly, and there's no room to linger anymore.
He shifts down lower to kick his trousers off the rest of the way, forgotten off the end of the bed. Then lower still, drawing a line of wet kisses down towards Fenris's navel, past it, fingers already reaching to grasp the thin waist of his trousers.
"Impatient" is not a good enough word.]
no subject
Date: 2015-03-24 04:55 am (UTC)Fenris has spent the better part of a year trying as hard as he can not to think about Anders's mouth. Huddled together in the dark, it was always the soft humid puff of breath that did him in, quiet exhortations ticklish against his ear to let go, yes, that's it, oh, isn't that so much better—? Or maybe Fenris only imagined those things, sweet words in a sweet voice. Had they not loathed one another in years past he might've realized how suited to healing Anders was, how capable of nurturing when he wanted to be. But now he's painfully aware of it, the way the warmth of his voice crawls across his senses as thick as honey, trembling and pink and wet and Fenris arches against his lips, unable and unwilling to refrain. He throbs, he purrs in his throat. He's so hard it almost hurts.
The hair he suddenly finds between his fingers is cool and silky with residual moisture; he strokes through it with something he chooses to pretend isn't fast approaching tenderness. ]
no subject
Date: 2015-03-25 05:12 am (UTC)For now, though.
He doesn't mean to hover, but finds he can't help it, once Fenris's cock is free. He lets his eyes flutter shut, hands curling tighter at his hips, and it could almost be an accident, the way Fenris's cock drags against his cheek. His head tilts, and then it's his lips mouthing gently up the shaft, the broad side of his tongue pressing against the slit to taste, his hot and eager mouth closing over the head.]
slides on in at last
Date: 2015-04-16 07:20 pm (UTC)I thought—
[ He doesn't remember how he planned to end that sentence.
Anders apparently picks that moment to do something very right and he bucks, one chilly foot planting itself on the small of Anders's bare back quite without his permission. ]
You are absurd.
[ Maker preserve them both, that mutter is almost affectionate. ]
welcomes you back with blowjobs
Date: 2015-04-24 02:54 am (UTC)He lets it happen, and for once that unravels something in him rather than tangling it tighter.
A chuckle vibrates through his chest and throat, and he lifts his eyes just enough to meet Fenris's gaze as he draws slowly off with a damp, obscene sound. His lips are red, wet, and curved with amusement, even if the smile is more in his eyes than anywhere else. He cups the base with one hand, lets the tip bump his cheek.]
Do you want me to stop?
no subject
Date: 2015-06-01 03:04 am (UTC)Only a fool would answer yes to that question. ]
I want you to come here.
[ While not technically a fool, Fenris nonetheless immediately regrets the distance put between his cock and the mage's too-clever mouth as soon as he's started tugging him up, up, stopping only for a greedy squeeze of his arse and a hot, slick kiss before he's manhandling Anders onto his back. His palms hiss over the hollow stomach, the emaciated ribs, carrying with them the bird-boned wrists until he's got them pinned not unkindly overhead and Anders is a gloriously hot undulating line beneath his body and between his legs. It's somewhere between licking into Anders's mouth and the slick-tipped slide of his prick over the strange fine hairs of his belly that a tiny ember of self-consciousness reignites in him; he makes an awkward little whuff sound, momentarily at sea. ]
I am not in control of myself. I...
[ Apologize? But no, not by half. ]
no subject
Date: 2015-06-24 04:08 am (UTC)Each new moan is becoming more and more difficult to smother; this time he has to bite his lip hard enough to hurt to keep the sound in. He breathes raggedly instead, back arching up off the bed, because that's as much freedom of movement as he wants himself to have, at the moment. Even when his wrists twist in Fenris's grip, it's not enough to break it, or to even come close to trying.]
Keep going, keep— [He makes a soft, frustrated noise as he cranes his neck to kiss, hard and desperate and edged with teeth.] It's fine. I want it.
[The last is a whispered admission, quick and breathless. He wants it, this, him. Because finally, after all this time, he has the opportunity to want at all.]
oops i tripped and this happened
Date: 2015-12-21 03:31 am (UTC)Or is it as he fears the most, and different is nothing more than shorthand, a superstitious phrase to justify loving a mage—
He cannot now. Not that thought.
Anders writhes wonderfully, a still-living feast. It's enough to make him show his hand at last, the abrupt withdrawal and clambering off the bed to rummage through his discarded pants no doubt disorienting and disappointing... until, that is, he's retrieved the prize he stole just after his bath and crawls back up the length of Anders's body with the long-necked bottle in hand—and the return pass includes a rather sudden and pointed nuzzle over Anders's balls, which is the only warning he gets before Fenris gives in to caprice and decides to swallow down his cock. He cannot pin his wrists from here, so he settles for his hips. Takes him down to the root and up and back again, treasuring the thickness in his throat, muscles challenged to hug the curve. A bit of oil leaks out from around the cork in the bottle's mouth and he lets it rest in the sheets against Anders's side for a second, slickened fingers going for a nipple somewhere above. Mouth full, throat full, chest full, Fenris groans joyously into Anders's warm lap. ]
picks u up into my arms
Date: 2015-12-23 03:56 am (UTC)His back hits the bed again, but he doesn't stand a chance this time— his surprised, ragged moan tears out of his throat before he has the chance to muffle it. It's not even loud, still quiet by most standards, but to him any sound is too much. He throws his arm over his face to help keep the rest of it in, bites at the crook of his elbow when vibration bubbles up in his throat.
The fingers of his free hand twist into sheets, and he can feel the little bottle shift with the movement, feels the way oil smears against his side, feels the way Fenris's slick fingers work his nipple into hardness, feels the way Fenris's throat wraps hot and tight and pulsing around his cock. He feels every drop and wants more, sternum arching up towards Fenris's fingers and hips twitching beneath his grip. He wants to thrust, wants to take, and he can't, and his chest feels like it's going to burst.
Fenris always was stronger than him.]
rolls around in ur arms
Date: 2015-12-28 02:13 am (UTC)Tell me something. Anything.
[ There's a nagging itch in the back of his mind that reminds him that he's asked Anders that before, desperate to think about anything but what he'd been through previously. Never did he expect to do it again, particularly while nudging a slippery few fingers into the skin just north of Anders's arse.
I like hearing you speak, comes the dim realization, and Fenris chokes unexpectedly hard on a genuine laugh. ]
no subject
Date: 2016-01-07 01:52 am (UTC)His fingers are in his hair when Fenris makes the request, and he's in the process of piecing words carefully together in a way that isn't embarrassing gibberish when the laughter shakes him out of it. His mouth slants crooked, one eye cracking open, and an answering laugh of his own shakes its way out of his chest.
He swallows, whispers:]
Glad to see you're entertained. [He can't stop his voice from taking on the breathy, wavering timber it does, breath coming and going in slow shudders, but he doesn't let that stop him from sounding smug.] And here I haven't even gotten the chance to tell my joke yet.
no subject
Date: 2016-11-07 02:55 am (UTC)They'd gotten bad.
The sharp jut of his hip is wonderfully hot under Fenris's face. He's eager to pretend he's taking a rest from his erstwhile probing, breathing in Anders's skin, stroking him slowly, lovingly, as a mere means of punishing him for his cheek. ]
Is that how you would prefer to pass the time?
[ Skyhold, they called it. Varric had called it their best (only) hope for safety across all of Thedas, and Fenris believes it. Still, there's a part of him that wants to never leave this bed again.
He nuzzles at the root of Anders's cock and the foreign tickle of hair there. Maker, he smells good, perhaps still a bit damp from the bath and before he knows it he's back to prying his thighs apart. He cannot speak because if he speaks he's going to admit to how much he wants to devour Anders in this moment. He cannot allow him the satisfaction, surely. ]