Even with Cullen relaxed, he surrounds Alistair tight and hot. Alistair has to dig his fingers into the bedsheets to keep his own composure; he exhales a shaky breath that nearly tips into a moan by the end.

"Yes," he echoes, barely thinking. He presses his hips forward an extra inch; another. "Maker."

He fights to regain enough of his faculties to keep talking.

"If you could see yourself, love. Laid out for me like this. Ready for me." A breath of laughter. "You're beautiful."