Hawke opened his mouth to acquiesce, to beg, but before a single word could leave his tongue, Fenris moved, eliciting nothing more coherent from the mage than a strangled groan that was half a shout. His entire body bucked, toes digging into the blankets beneath him, back arching to move in perfect counterpoint to his elven lover.
Head dug back into the pillows, Hawke just held on and let Fenris do as he wished, trying not to explode too soon. Far too soon. Because, yes, it was So Much... He'd refused any other lovers since the night Fenris left, because no one else...felt right.
A long dry spell for them both.
And it only took mere moments for the two to settle into a deep, hard rhythm, Hawke's chest heaving with each and every panted breath. He wanted to roam his hands all over Fenris' beautiful body, but couldn't, so he settled for just gripping the elf's hips harder, guiding, supporting, but never impeding.
Fenris finds it a beautiful thing when he can render Hawke of all people speechless. Not that the elf mislikes the sound of Rowen's voice. Far from it. But he has seen the man holding wounds that would slay a lesser person shut while still running that mouth of his. Has seen Hawke drink enough to put others under tables and still never once been completely tongue tied.
So to render his loquacious lover beyond words merely by the flex of his thighs, the rise of his hips?
Beautiful.
Of course, such thoughts will only crystalize in clarity later when he is reflecting on this night. In the moment, all Fenris feels is a triumphant possessive thrill to be right here where he is. Desired above all others. Such an alien sensation and one Fenris craves like a drug. The elf leans forward until his weight is splayed across his forearms braced across Rowen's broad chest. Putting them closer together so Fenris can catch the Ferelden anywhere he can reach with his mouth. His hips keep their relentless pace, driving Hawke into him deep enough he is forced to gasp just to get enough air. And still he craves more.
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Date: 2025-01-12 07:44 pm (UTC)Head dug back into the pillows, Hawke just held on and let Fenris do as he wished, trying not to explode too soon. Far too soon. Because, yes, it was So Much... He'd refused any other lovers since the night Fenris left, because no one else...felt right.
A long dry spell for them both.
And it only took mere moments for the two to settle into a deep, hard rhythm, Hawke's chest heaving with each and every panted breath. He wanted to roam his hands all over Fenris' beautiful body, but couldn't, so he settled for just gripping the elf's hips harder, guiding, supporting, but never impeding.
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Date: 2025-01-13 07:00 pm (UTC)So to render his loquacious lover beyond words merely by the flex of his thighs, the rise of his hips?
Beautiful.
Of course, such thoughts will only crystalize in clarity later when he is reflecting on this night. In the moment, all Fenris feels is a triumphant possessive thrill to be right here where he is. Desired above all others. Such an alien sensation and one Fenris craves like a drug. The elf leans forward until his weight is splayed across his forearms braced across Rowen's broad chest. Putting them closer together so Fenris can catch the Ferelden anywhere he can reach with his mouth. His hips keep their relentless pace, driving Hawke into him deep enough he is forced to gasp just to get enough air. And still he craves more.