Nothing could be worse than the thought of living without you... – ha, as though Fenris would ever hurt him, well, beyond a point that Hawke could recover from, because they all knew Hawke needed sense slapped, beaten, clawed into him from time to time, and Fenris was the perfect candidate to distribute the violence. He almost wanted to press his ever strained luck and remind the elf of his words, but then there was shifting, coaxing and grabbing, their bodies loosely interlocking as their mouths bumped. He sighed around the plea – order? – and groaned in turn, briefly indulging in the taste and feel of the other as he rotated his hips to dig in and brush, rolling their cocks together on that lazy thrust. Maker, maybe they should have waited. Feeling Fenris' form bend and open for him to take... – Hawke wanted to suspend this moment in time and make it last, to tease the other until he gave into trembles and pants and sloppy arcs as everything outside of them lost meaning. He didn't want to hurry. Since resuming their romance, Fenris hadn't shown any inkling of leaving, but the tiniest thread of doubt was safeguarded in the back of his mind; silly or not, Hawke wanted to savor everything, if for no other reason than to have the memory to get him through the next however many years should Fenris ever become overwhelmed again. Surprisingly though, Hawke found humor in that line of thinking and muffled the beginnings of a laugh into the eager play of Fenris' mouth; ah well, he started this – foolishly so – and he needed to end it before Fenris, not killed him, but hurt him badly enough that he never again jumped him outside of the privacy of their homes.
His hands found purchase on the edge of the desk and then he leaned, pushing chests and mouths closer together, almost to the point of discomfort, but he only laughed into the kiss, which was quickly becoming nothing more than a messy shove. He let up as soon as Fenris caught the drift and followed with a much softer brush as the elf leaned back to stretch across the desk once more; flicking his tongue, he laved the other's upper lip and then nipped the top edge, smiling brightly as he pulled away and straightened to his full height. Wetting one, two fingers then, he slid his other palm against the widened splay of dark thighs, gripping one and pressing in to hitch it wider, soon finding that tight ring of muscle with a swirl of his damp fingers. He circled once, briefly eluding to his desire to wait, to tease, but the door was still very much unlocked and he supposed he should be reasonable, at least once today. So he hooked the tip and nudged in, sinking slow and deep before wriggling, gently, coaxing pulsing muscle to relax. Drawing out and in, he settled on an idle thrust of his finger and when the seconds stretched thin, he added the next, rubbing each against the tremble and flex, lightly pressing out to widen that narrow clench. To void any discomfort, he would have bided his time and worked Fenris with the same infinite patience he'd always shown him, but the elf was impatient, so he could do little else other than comfort himself on the fact that they'd done this numerous times as of late; it wouldn't be easy, but it would be easier for the other, and he supposed that was good enough for now. Grounding his teeth, he puffed out a breath and slid his fingers out, only to spit into his palm and roll the liquid over the head of his cock. Still very much slick from Fenris' mouth, he added what he could anyway and then curled his fingers, lightly rubbing as he shifted ever closer to bump and smear the mix of saliva and pre-cum against that tight, puckered opening. His lips quirked despite the immediate pitch and tangle of feeling quenching low in his body and skittering down his spine to his twitching cock; he had a joke, of course he had a joke, and with the slightest press of his hips that had him breaching muscle and stretching skin to roll and engulf the steady slid of his cock, he couldn't help murmuring along, “Remember where we are.” His lashes fluttered and it was suddenly a struggle to keep his eyes open against the titillating squeeze, but with an audible swallow, he pushed on. “I fear it will be difficult—“ One inch, two, three and a pause, his breath already hitching to catch in his lungs, making the next mumble strained in a way that was too much for how early it was. “—But you must be quiet.” Because, obviously, Fenris was the one most likely to give them away. Out of the two of them, it wasn't difficult to guess who the loudest was; unable to stop talking, Hawke had some sort of deep, ingrained dislike for silence, so when words failed, he compensated with noises, all with different syllables and pitches. Still, it was fun to warn the other as he slid deeper and deeper into the grip of that pliant, glorious body. “No calling for the Maker or yelling or screaming for m... ore,” He leaned down with the slight stutter of breath and curled his form, pressing his nose to Fenris' collarbone, up his neck and into his hair as their hips finally found each other. He breathed out and moaned, quietly, almost weakly, to the mind-numbing clench of heat and muscle and want rhythmically flexing around him. “We can't... have the guards thinking I'm murdering you in here.” He had the best, romantic bedroom talk. Office talk? He scoffed lightly with the thought and grinned wide, nuzzling back down to a cheek for a well-placed kiss; with that, he waited only a moment or two more, before rolling his hips back and then slowly pressing in for an easy rhythm.
i like the idea of magic leggings too c: AND I GODMODED. but you always say i can. so.
His hands found purchase on the edge of the desk and then he leaned, pushing chests and mouths closer together, almost to the point of discomfort, but he only laughed into the kiss, which was quickly becoming nothing more than a messy shove. He let up as soon as Fenris caught the drift and followed with a much softer brush as the elf leaned back to stretch across the desk once more; flicking his tongue, he laved the other's upper lip and then nipped the top edge, smiling brightly as he pulled away and straightened to his full height. Wetting one, two fingers then, he slid his other palm against the widened splay of dark thighs, gripping one and pressing in to hitch it wider, soon finding that tight ring of muscle with a swirl of his damp fingers. He circled once, briefly eluding to his desire to wait, to tease, but the door was still very much unlocked and he supposed he should be reasonable, at least once today. So he hooked the tip and nudged in, sinking slow and deep before wriggling, gently, coaxing pulsing muscle to relax. Drawing out and in, he settled on an idle thrust of his finger and when the seconds stretched thin, he added the next, rubbing each against the tremble and flex, lightly pressing out to widen that narrow clench. To void any discomfort, he would have bided his time and worked Fenris with the same infinite patience he'd always shown him, but the elf was impatient, so he could do little else other than comfort himself on the fact that they'd done this numerous times as of late; it wouldn't be easy, but it would be easier for the other, and he supposed that was good enough for now. Grounding his teeth, he puffed out a breath and slid his fingers out, only to spit into his palm and roll the liquid over the head of his cock. Still very much slick from Fenris' mouth, he added what he could anyway and then curled his fingers, lightly rubbing as he shifted ever closer to bump and smear the mix of saliva and pre-cum against that tight, puckered opening. His lips quirked despite the immediate pitch and tangle of feeling quenching low in his body and skittering down his spine to his twitching cock; he had a joke, of course he had a joke, and with the slightest press of his hips that had him breaching muscle and stretching skin to roll and engulf the steady slid of his cock, he couldn't help murmuring along, “Remember where we are.” His lashes fluttered and it was suddenly a struggle to keep his eyes open against the titillating squeeze, but with an audible swallow, he pushed on. “I fear it will be difficult—“ One inch, two, three and a pause, his breath already hitching to catch in his lungs, making the next mumble strained in a way that was too much for how early it was. “—But you must be quiet.” Because, obviously, Fenris was the one most likely to give them away. Out of the two of them, it wasn't difficult to guess who the loudest was; unable to stop talking, Hawke had some sort of deep, ingrained dislike for silence, so when words failed, he compensated with noises, all with different syllables and pitches. Still, it was fun to warn the other as he slid deeper and deeper into the grip of that pliant, glorious body. “No calling for the Maker or yelling or screaming for m... ore,” He leaned down with the slight stutter of breath and curled his form, pressing his nose to Fenris' collarbone, up his neck and into his hair as their hips finally found each other. He breathed out and moaned, quietly, almost weakly, to the mind-numbing clench of heat and muscle and want rhythmically flexing around him. “We can't... have the guards thinking I'm murdering you in here.” He had the best, romantic bedroom talk. Office talk? He scoffed lightly with the thought and grinned wide, nuzzling back down to a cheek for a well-placed kiss; with that, he waited only a moment or two more, before rolling his hips back and then slowly pressing in for an easy rhythm.