HOME | DD

Description

Touch - DRAGON AGE 2 - FemHawke/Fenris
Removing his gauntlets is almost a ritual. Still warm from his body, she touches them with care, minding the sharp edges. Sliding them down his forearms and all the way off, she places them neatly aside with the sound of clinking metal, staring at his newly bared flesh, as if what she's revealed is an intimate part of him. And perhaps it is.
Placing her hands gently against his, she holds them up, palm to palm. Their differences help define them. He's bigger than her, harder, and darker, the strength a living thing within him.
His fingers curl against hers as he marvels at how fragile and yet how necessary she is.
She grasps one naked hand in hers, bringing it close. She's only seen glimpses of them before, brief flashes at times he's torn his gloves off, frantic to feel them against the hottest parts of her body. The desperation and frenzy has its place for them, but this time is for her, fervid and slow. His lyrium markings swirl in delicate shapes, loops running up his arms, across his shoulders, the very top of his chest, down his legs and across his feet. The lines on his palms are concentrated, bunched together.
She stares in wonder, turning his hand to trace the bones of his fingers and the large knuckles, rubbing the back of his hand with soft fingertips, light touches on his well-trimmed nails.
She drags the roughest parts of his fingertips against her, loving the rasp of it. She rubs his hand against her cheek, across her soft lips, lightly kissing. Tracing her lips once, twice, before her mouth opens. Sliding one digit into her mouth, swirling her tongue around it, then sucking on him with long pulls that he feels in other parts of his body.
Her touch on the brands themselves is a contradiction, the lyrium pulses uncomfortably, bringing a biting echo of pain, and the memory of pain, but an exciting pleasure all at once. He itched with the need to touch her, to feel her soft caresses on every part of him.
Pulling his finger from her mouth with a 'pop', she trails the damp digits across her face and down her chin, along the smooth column of her neck.
The back of his fingers feel the brush of her hair. His fingers twitch, tingling as they map the soft curve of her cheek, down to the hollow of her throat. So much life there.
She continues across her bare chest, filling his palm with the warmth of one full breast. The tip peaks, pushing against one thin white line.
His jaw flexes, he hisses through gritted teeth as his fingers clench, giving her an involuntary squeeze.
She shudders with pleasure.
He was never meant for this. To see his calloused hands, hands that had taken the lives of so many, against the softest parts of her, the trust, the affection, calls out to something primitive and savage inside him, something buried and forgotten.

Description

Touch - DRAGON AGE 2 - FemHawke/Fenris
Removing his gauntlets is almost a ritual. Still warm from his body, she touches them with care, minding the sharp edges. Sliding them down his forearms and all the way off, she places them neatly aside with the sound of clinking metal, staring at his newly bared flesh, as if what she's revealed is an intimate part of him. And perhaps it is.
Placing her hands gently against his, she holds them up, palm to palm. Their differences help define them. He's bigger than her, harder, and darker, the strength a living thing within him.
His fingers curl against hers as he marvels at how fragile and yet how necessary she is.
She grasps one naked hand in hers, bringing it close. She's only seen glimpses of them before, brief flashes at times he's torn his gloves off, frantic to feel them against the hottest parts of her body. The desperation and frenzy has its place for them, but this time is for her, fervid and slow. His lyrium markings swirl in delicate shapes, loops running up his arms, across his shoulders, the very top of his chest, down his legs and across his feet. The lines on his palms are concentrated, bunched together.
She stares in wonder, turning his hand to trace the bones of his fingers and the large knuckles, rubbing the back of his hand with soft fingertips, light touches on his well-trimmed nails.
She drags the roughest parts of his fingertips against her, loving the rasp of it. She rubs his hand against her cheek, across her soft lips, lightly kissing. Tracing her lips once, twice, before her mouth opens. Sliding one digit into her mouth, swirling her tongue around it, then sucking on him with long pulls that he feels in other parts of his body.
Her touch on the brands themselves is a contradiction, the lyrium pulses uncomfortably, bringing a biting echo of pain, and the memory of pain, but an exciting pleasure all at once. He itched with the need to touch her, to feel her soft caresses on every part of him.
Pulling his finger from her mouth with a 'pop', she trails the damp digits across her face and down her chin, along the smooth column of her neck.
The back of his fingers feel the brush of her hair. His fingers twitch, tingling as they map the soft curve of her cheek, down to the hollow of her throat. So much life there.
She continues across her bare chest, filling his palm with the warmth of one full breast. The tip peaks, pushing against one thin white line.
His jaw flexes, he hisses through gritted teeth as his fingers clench, giving her an involuntary squeeze.
She shudders with pleasure.
He was never meant for this. To see his calloused hands, hands that had taken the lives of so many, against the softest parts of her, the trust, the affection, calls out to something primitive and savage inside him, something buried and forgotten.