[Oh, that innocent tone should warn you, Sorrel. Underneath all that is a question that ... is rather answered by all the intense kissing in which Sorrel engaged in and Adasse came blissfully along for the ride.
He hummed, dark eyes bright, as he curved his arms around Sorrel's waist. Making sure he wasn't going anywhere because pushing one's boyfriend against the wall while kissing him has your boyfriend wanting more, thank you.]
...Well, I can trust you on that. [It is a statement, not a question. Adasse believes Sorrel's sentiment wholeheartedly. He also believes that he is going to start sliding his hands over Sorrel's wet skin because this kissing is about to take off, and he wants to burn his own words into Sorrel's skin and mouth.]
Were Sorrel the kind of person to make ominous statements, that might have been the perfect opportunity to mutter something vague, such as you'd better. It would have made him sound tough and powerful and completely stupid because it's almost impossible to sound like either of those things when you're a wirely Dalish twig, naked in the bath.
Fortunately, Sorrel was instead the kind of person to respond to Adasse's arms around him by pressing closer, arcing back to make himself more available, more vulnerable, in the soap-clouded water. He groaned, very appreciative of the renewed attention of Adasse's hands, smiling and then laughing against his lover's mouth.
"You know," He said, grinning even as he bares his throat and begs silently for more, "You don't seem very relaxed all of a sudden."
"Well ... first of all, who says that this won't end up being relaxing for both of us, in the long run?" Adasse murmured, taking what Sorrel was freely giving, letting his mouth map Sorrel's collarbone with great satisfaction. His hands settled on Sorrel's hips, and he rolled his own up so Sorrel could see where their form of relaxation could perhaps come from, if he was in the mood.
"Secondly, I don't see you being completely calm either." That little hip thrust brought that home, thank you so much, warm and soapy water.
"What are you talking about, I-I'm as serene as..."
As a lake. As a smooth glass mirror. As a sleeping cat. Whatever Sorrel was going to claim as his exemplar for calmness is lost in the hitch of breath and a little gasp when Adasse moves against him. Whatever it is, it's certainly no calmer than he is, assuredly.
Well, mostly. There's a fairly specific portion of Sorrel's anatomy which is anything but relaxed.
"Actually I lied, I'm terribly stressed," Says the man who just finished being given a relaxing scalp-massage in a hot, flower-scented bath, "Please, Adasse. Only you can help me... relax."
"Oh, are you stressed, sweetheart?" Adasse all but purred, as he let his hands slid around to the front of the other man's body so he could touch his chest. He moved in to take a nip on Sorrel's ear. Down to his mouth again, so he could pull the other man tighter against him and shift their hips together, so they could both get a feel on that delicious friction.
"Then I will most definitely work on the ... relaxing part." He murmured, bringing Sorrel's mouth to his again, so they could start moving together from lips to hips.
"'Dasse..." He whines, not sure if it's a noise of complaint or simple pleasure. Nipples are one thing, but Sorrel's ears have always been sensitive. Were he in his right mind, there'd be a joke in that-- that he was born with them sticking out so far, just to make them a target.
He starts to say something else, another plea for friction, to be touched, but Adasse pulls him down again and swallows up any impatience in a way that leaves the desired result: Sorrel rocking against him, and the two of them sliding against one another, as wet as seals. Sorrel breaks for air only when he has too, and only for long enough to gasp
"H-how did you want me?" And this time, it's not a joke, and certainly not innocent. In particular, not in the way that Sorrel leaves no room for immediate answer, bending his head against Adasse's again, as if any time spent apart were too much, too long.
Sorrel is the only one who calls him 'Dasse, and it honestly drives him up the wall. In a good way, naturally. Just makes him want to hold Sorrel closer and swallow those moans with kisses and grip that firm body above him. Which he does, mostly because he wants Sorrel so bad at this point he can't stand it and he can feel every part of him like he's spark lightening in his veins, every single time Sorrel rocks against him.
"Turn around..." Is all he can manage before Sorrel takes his mouth again, and it's all tongues and teeth and more grinding and Maker's Breath he wants this man so badly.
"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.
Well, slippery and wet really was perfect in this situation. Especially since all Adasse wanted to do was touch Sorrel. So he put his mouth to the back of Sorrel's neck, breathing him in as his hand snaked around the other man's waist. Sliding his hand between Sorrel's legs, so he could grind up against Sorrel from behind him.
"Ancestors ... Sorrell..." He breathed out sharply and happily.
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[Oh, that innocent tone should warn you, Sorrel. Underneath all that is a question that ... is rather answered by all the intense kissing in which Sorrel engaged in and Adasse came blissfully along for the ride.
He hummed, dark eyes bright, as he curved his arms around Sorrel's waist. Making sure he wasn't going anywhere because pushing one's boyfriend against the wall while kissing him has your boyfriend wanting more, thank you.]
...Well, I can trust you on that. [It is a statement, not a question. Adasse believes Sorrel's sentiment wholeheartedly. He also believes that he is going to start sliding his hands over Sorrel's wet skin because this kissing is about to take off, and he wants to burn his own words into Sorrel's skin and mouth.]
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Fortunately, Sorrel was instead the kind of person to respond to Adasse's arms around him by pressing closer, arcing back to make himself more available, more vulnerable, in the soap-clouded water. He groaned, very appreciative of the renewed attention of Adasse's hands, smiling and then laughing against his lover's mouth.
"You know," He said, grinning even as he bares his throat and begs silently for more, "You don't seem very relaxed all of a sudden."
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"Secondly, I don't see you being completely calm either." That little hip thrust brought that home, thank you so much, warm and soapy water.
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As a lake. As a smooth glass mirror. As a sleeping cat. Whatever Sorrel was going to claim as his exemplar for calmness is lost in the hitch of breath and a little gasp when Adasse moves against him. Whatever it is, it's certainly no calmer than he is, assuredly.
Well, mostly. There's a fairly specific portion of Sorrel's anatomy which is anything but relaxed.
"Actually I lied, I'm terribly stressed," Says the man who just finished being given a relaxing scalp-massage in a hot, flower-scented bath, "Please, Adasse. Only you can help me... relax."
The word will be ruined, by the end of this.
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"Then I will most definitely work on the ... relaxing part." He murmured, bringing Sorrel's mouth to his again, so they could start moving together from lips to hips.
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He starts to say something else, another plea for friction, to be touched, but Adasse pulls him down again and swallows up any impatience in a way that leaves the desired result: Sorrel rocking against him, and the two of them sliding against one another, as wet as seals. Sorrel breaks for air only when he has too, and only for long enough to gasp
"H-how did you want me?" And this time, it's not a joke, and certainly not innocent. In particular, not in the way that Sorrel leaves no room for immediate answer, bending his head against Adasse's again, as if any time spent apart were too much, too long.
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"Turn around..." Is all he can manage before Sorrel takes his mouth again, and it's all tongues and teeth and more grinding and Maker's Breath he wants this man so badly.
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"Please, please 'Dasse. Touch me. Please."
The Dalish do not submit. Except, maybe just every now and again.
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"Ancestors ... Sorrell..." He breathed out sharply and happily.