[Fenris gives a frustrated groan into the kiss, feeling Hawke slow, pulling him back from the edge he was very willing to crumble over. One hand moves to tangle roughly in Hawke's hair, tugging a little to vent his frustration. He uses their closeness to push up against him, trying to force some friction, anything. When he speaks, it's with his lips close to Hawke's, his voice horse and deep. ]
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Fasta vass, move, damnit.