"N'kay," Sorrel mumbles, when he remembers more than blind reaction. He turns without really pulling away, everything made slippery with water and soap, warm and humid even without the heat of the tub. He can't quite seem to get his breath, and all Sorrel can seem to think about is want. He wants Adasse, wants to touch him, to be touched, to be crushed back against his chest and made to feel.

"Please, please 'Dasse. Touch me. Please."

The Dalish do not submit. Except, maybe just every now and again.