[How many times has sex started like this, with them talking and talking until they simply can't anymore? Oh, countless times, surely. Who crumbles first is clearly a point of contention, and Fenris has lost just as often as he's won, but he tries every single time.

Like now. He moans pointedly, half in genuine reaction and half in pointed provocation-- Lorenz could be carrying him around right now, but this is a fantastic alternative, but not any less strenuous-- and drags his mouth over to the other side of Lorenz's neck. Not at the top, but rather the bottom: the crook of his neck, biting just a little too hard there. One hand reaches back, grabbing Lorenz's wrist, pinning it firmly to the mattress as he bites. Like that, and he trusts Lorenz implicitly, but it also never hurts to, hm, leave him covered in his scent, his marks, to let the world know that this darling boy, this perfect man is claimed . . .

And who, hm, had asked a question. What was it? Oh, right.]

What else--?

[Uhh--]

Lorenz.

[It's a little bit of a whine.]

Kitchens-- cooking, I like seeing you cook, even if it's fish, I enjoy watching you in the kitchen . . . you try so hard.