No chance of stifling a moan now. Alistair's back curves, without conscious thought, to push down against him in kind.

Cullen's throat is an open invitation -- one he accepts gladly. Alistair mouths a line across his neck, letting his teeth graze the spot over Cullen's pulse.

Maker, he wants to --

He tries to catch his breath. Manages to say, hot against Cullen's neck, "How much do you want?"