Continued scene from entanglement_rp
nsfw
Our last two tags in this scene:
Anders:
"True. You never did do anything by half-measures." Blood flow to other areas has distracted him pleasantly from the ache. As is the case more often than Anders likes to admit, Hawke is right: if she plans on putting his face to better use as something other than a target for righteous anger, the condition of said face should be improved. Especially since he went to all that trouble to shave and exfoliate, before advancing to the Library. "Tell you what, I'll do something about it now, and if you decide you preferred the effect before, you can give me another."
He's not really defending himself from that accusation of masochism very well, is he? (Pain doesn't turn him on. Soul-racking guilt, on the other hand, has gotten to be something of a habit. He's feeling refreshingly guiltless at the moment, and his offer for a repeat engagement as punching-bag is more a reflexive courtesy, half gallantry, half teasing, than a serious suggestion; but if she decks him again, by the Maker he'll suffer it gladly.)
Without moving away, Anders lifts a hand to his face and concentrates for the split second it takes to undam the flow of mana. It comes so readily, and this bruise is such a trivial matter in comparison to the stuff he usually deals with, little thought is necessary for the task. In a few heartbeats, the pale glow of magic dies away, all damage erased in its wake.
"Pretty enough for you now?" The banter might be more successful at being banter if he were to wait for a proper assessment of said beauty, and if he could keep the proper levity in his tone, but Anders can't manage either of those at the moment, and doesn't care. He's about to do something that the walkthrough specifically warned him NOT to do that he would have thought impossible an hour ago. Something he may not ever get to do again, an hour from now.
The sounds he makes as his lips cover hers are not bored passionate noises. He may not be a master of the Orlesian sonnet form, but Anders is past master of the Orlesian kiss, and he has always enjoyed putting his skills to work.
Hawke:
Hawke remembers this. Her body remembers this as well, flaring into arousal with a speed that...no, perhaps it doesn't really surprise her. Anders has always been able to make her head spin with his mix of skill and intensity. He's never done things by half-measures either.
It's not a new beginning. Hawke suspects it's not an ending either, suspects that whatever they do or intend things will never really be closed between them. But it is an idyll, and she'll take it. Her hands move to his shoulders, pulling him towards her as she returns the kiss in kind.
Our last two tags in this scene:
Anders:
"True. You never did do anything by half-measures." Blood flow to other areas has distracted him pleasantly from the ache. As is the case more often than Anders likes to admit, Hawke is right: if she plans on putting his face to better use as something other than a target for righteous anger, the condition of said face should be improved. Especially since he went to all that trouble to shave and exfoliate, before advancing to the Library. "Tell you what, I'll do something about it now, and if you decide you preferred the effect before, you can give me another."
He's not really defending himself from that accusation of masochism very well, is he? (Pain doesn't turn him on. Soul-racking guilt, on the other hand, has gotten to be something of a habit. He's feeling refreshingly guiltless at the moment, and his offer for a repeat engagement as punching-bag is more a reflexive courtesy, half gallantry, half teasing, than a serious suggestion; but if she decks him again, by the Maker he'll suffer it gladly.)
Without moving away, Anders lifts a hand to his face and concentrates for the split second it takes to undam the flow of mana. It comes so readily, and this bruise is such a trivial matter in comparison to the stuff he usually deals with, little thought is necessary for the task. In a few heartbeats, the pale glow of magic dies away, all damage erased in its wake.
"Pretty enough for you now?" The banter might be more successful at being banter if he were to wait for a proper assessment of said beauty, and if he could keep the proper levity in his tone, but Anders can't manage either of those at the moment, and doesn't care. He's about to do something that the walkthrough specifically warned him NOT to do that he would have thought impossible an hour ago. Something he may not ever get to do again, an hour from now.
The sounds he makes as his lips cover hers are not bored passionate noises. He may not be a master of the Orlesian sonnet form, but Anders is past master of the Orlesian kiss, and he has always enjoyed putting his skills to work.
Hawke:
Hawke remembers this. Her body remembers this as well, flaring into arousal with a speed that...no, perhaps it doesn't really surprise her. Anders has always been able to make her head spin with his mix of skill and intensity. He's never done things by half-measures either.
It's not a new beginning. Hawke suspects it's not an ending either, suspects that whatever they do or intend things will never really be closed between them. But it is an idyll, and she'll take it. Her hands move to his shoulders, pulling him towards her as she returns the kiss in kind.