Northstar Vale a grin as sharp as a knife (mtr.)

so this got Longer Than Expected & nobody is more ashamed than me, eye-

Smothering her with steadied staccato, roving, ravishing; eyes lidding as he cascades with her and her 'round him and they melt and meld together; the thumping of his warheart an imprinting thing between her scarred shoulders and she arcs beneath him  —  remedying, readying  —  but, then! he heaves from her, and, and no no, no —
“P-...please  –  come back to me,”
chords thin and trilling supplication; dark lashes filmy, gauzy-eyed and glistering; features made finespun and sugary as she sketches the waxen arc of her nipped neck over shoulder-spires to ply the tundrian with an entreating look, an enervated look  —  was as far from it as she was the epitome of it.  “You should ... you could, you sh–should have kept going,”  gaunt hips tugging almost timidly against the seal of him; the tether of them.  “Such ... pity.”  Boney derrière  (somehow desirable)  ebbs now shallow and soft against the backs of dark thighs; the height there encouraging the seelie to poke her hips up as she presses her weight to limestone. Lashes flutter shut and words a back-of-throat whimper as she torments herself upon him; ever insatiable, ever unslaked.

Were he to protest in the slightest, she would heed him and halt ... but for now, Andraste cradles herself against his swell in some carnal, cherished stupor. Mouthless; moaning gentle his name, and that she could show him how to outlast her  (in time, of course)  and how she was simply not done with him;
syllabary petering off into muted, mouthless Melkors, confessions:  “This will never be enough, this ...”  rubied crown tipping, toppling to hang beneath straining shoulders,  “this wanting you, needing ... never ... ll'neverend. H-holdme,”  tongue thick and bloated, can't name him; can only drag herself against him at a pace that is suffocatingly slow.