Plurk paste

Morning light filters in through pale curtains, casting the whole room in a soft, golden glow. Once, it had been rare to be able to sleep until he awoke naturally, hounded by nightmares and masters and paranoia. Somehow, incredibly, it felt like a lifetime ago.

The notable absence of warmth is what pushes him a little more awake, finding a cooling, empty space on the bed next to him. Drowsily, reluctantly, he opens his eyes to search for her.

Hawke isn't far - they rarely are from one another, these days. But she's there sitting by the side of the bed, looking down at him with an almost serene smile on her face, and nude but for a rather familiar piece of clothing that looks almost comically too small for her. That smile widens when she notices him waken, and he feels it warm his on his own lips. Fenris reaches to trail fingertips softly against her cheek, brush the backs of them against her lips (which earns him a soft, playful nip for his trouble) before trailing to tug at the edge of his own tunic, open and covering little on her larger frame.

"This's mine, you know," he comments lazily, letting his hand resume its wandering, softly over one breast, then between them. The shiver as she leans down he takes as a reward, perhaps just as much as the kiss she greets him with.

"Mm, is it? I hadn't noticed," Hawke clearly doesn't try to hide a glint of mischief in her eyes, grinning even as he slides his other hand to the back of her neck and pulls her back down to the bed to curl close, taking several long, slow kisses. "You can wear my robe later, if that will make you happy."

He huffs, nosing against her jaw as a distraction to tangling their legs together, much like how they had ended their night some hours before. "I get the feeling it might somehow make you happiest, of the two of us."

"What can I say? You look good in red."