An Enjoyable Side Project
By KSCrusaders
Solas was reading at his desk when he heard everyone stumbling back from Varric's game of Wicked Grace, a wave of laughter and unsteady footsteps echoing through the great hall of Skyhold. He set down his book and braced himself for the inevitability of some tipsy person crashing through the rotunda. Perhaps it would be Dorian this time, though Dorian was usually good about holding his drink. He hoped it wasn't Iron Bull again; he'd almost brought down the whole painting scaffold trying to climb it.
But it was Clariel Lavellan's soft, familiar knock that came at his door once all the other players had wandered off to their respective quarters, or maybe just some horizontal surface somewhere. "Solas?" she murmured softly. "Are you still awake?"
"Yes, lethallan. Come in."
She eased the heavy door open, and he was surprised to see that her eyes were crystal clear. He subtly sniffed the air: no sharp tang of alcohol. "You were at Wicked Grace?" he asked.
"Yes. I stayed behind for a minute to find poor Cullen a blanket." She laughed, soft and bright.
"I - never mind. I'm not sure I want to know." Solas studied his Inquisitor carefully; she was completely steady on her feet, looking up at his latest fresco in minute detail. "You don't drink," he said, surprised he hadn't realized it sooner.
"No."
"At all?"
"It dulls the senses and clouds my judgment. Why would I?" Clariel smiled and perched herself on the edge of his desk, ghosting her fingers over his knuckles. "Besides, I have better diversions."
Solas couldn't help the smirk that tugged at his lips. "Indeed. Speaking of diversions, I had an idea this evening."
Her cheeks grew pink, green eyes bright with interest. "Oh?" Her fingers began to slide up his arm to his shoulder.
"Yes. I was thinking of restoring the small library in Skyhold's basement, the abandoned one that no one uses. We find many books and scrolls in our travels, and I believe Dorian and Helisma are growing irritated with my attempts to find space for them on our existing shelves."
He had to laugh when she pouted at him and withdrew her hand; suddenly she looked years younger, momentarily free of the burdens of the Inquisition. "You want me to help you clear out a cobwebby den of moldering books," she said flatly.
"Some of the old books may still be salvageable. I am happy to do it myself, but I certainly would appreciate your company. Think of it as...an enjoyable side project, vhenan. A diversion from saving the world."
He thought he could get another smile from her, but instead, Clariel looked down at her hands and muttered something.
"Hmm?" he prompted, lightly resting his hand on her shoulder.
She wrung her hands in her lap. "I don't like spiders," she all but whispered.
It took every ounce of self-control he possessed not to laugh at her. His Inquisitor who effortlessly faced down maleficarum and corrupted templars and horrors beyond count from the Fade...was afraid of spiders. It occurred to him that she'd never shown any visible fear when they found giant spiders in the caves off the Storm Coast. Or perhaps he'd simply been too distracted to notice, what with one of the creatures catching Blackwall in a web. He still hadn't forgiven Solas for singing off part of his beard along with the entangling sticky goop.
Clariel caught his lips quirking and slid off of his desk. "I'm serious," she said, crossing her arms and glaring at him. "They just - they have too many legs."
Solas raised his hands in an pacifying gesture. "All right. I'll clear out the webs and spiders in the morning tomorrow, and you can help me with books in the afternoon." When she continued to look dubious, he added, "I promise to be thorough."
She gifted him another laugh, nervous but genuine. "Thanks for humoring me, hahren. I know it must sound terribly stupid, but - "
"We all have fears that we would rather not face, trivial or otherwise. I don't expect you to be any different." He briefly touched her face, tracing his fingers along her cheekbone to the sensitive tip of her ear. "Sleep well. I will join you in the Fade after I finish this chapter."
The next morning, Clariel made her rounds through Skyhold, checking up on the new construction and making sure all her friends had survived the night's revelry. Most of them were all right, if a little hung over still. She decided to give Cullen a day or two to recover his dignity before discussing the red templar presence in the Emerald Graves with him. And Sera was apparently lucid enough to throw a shoe and curse viciously when Clariel knocked on her door. She made a mental note to keep the bottle of aged Antivan liquor scarce next time.
Solas wasn't in his study, nor did he make it to the great hall for lunch with everyone else. He'd probably forgotten to eat altogether, eager to begin work on the library in the basement. Clariel stopped by the kitchen to fill a basket of food for him: Orlesian butter rolls, stuffed Antivan olives, fruit, cheese, and some of those frilly little cakes he loved. Varric was there too, stacking more of the frilly cakes atop a large plate.
"Inquisitor. Nice of you to help out Curly last night," he said, smiling at her around a mouthful of chocolate cake.
"I thought Josephine had done a good enough job taking him down a peg without the walk of shame," she said. "Are you planning on eating all of those?"
Varric didn't even look abashed. "Some people write better when drunk. I write better when plied with delicious pastries." He eyed the basket of food dangling from her arm. "Lunch date with Chuckles?"
Clariel was very grateful for the ruddy light in the kitchen that hid her blush. "No. Just helping him clean out more space for books."
"Right," said Varric with a shit-eating grin. Before he could say anything else, she hurried out of the kitchen and into the basement. Solas had lit a few tapers, but it was still rather gloomy and dark here, the clatter in the kitchen and voices from the great hall muffled through thick walls. Piles of dust lay under her feet, making her sneeze, and there were cobwebs everywhere, draped over the old paintings like curtains. After a moment of hesitation, Clariel lifted her left hand; the Anchor responded when she focused, bright green light guiding her around the worst of the cobwebs and dust toward the abandoned library.
She suppressed the Anchor before easing the door open; Solas hated it when she did that, using the mark for more mundane utility. As far as she was concerned, if she was stuck with it, she might as well make use of it however she could. He'd made good on his promise to clear out the cobwebs, though the musty smell of crumbling paper still made her nose wrinkle.
"Ah, there you are," he said, getting up from the desk at the end of the room when he heard her walk in. He reached into his pocket and handed her a pair of white librarian's gloves, identical to the ones he wore. "The books down here are old, but a surprising number of them are still in good condition. We should go through and see which ones we can save. Be careful with the pages."
Clariel took the gloves, but didn't put them on. Instead, she caught both of his hands at the wrist. "Lunch first," she said firmly. "You haven't eaten anything today, have you?" Solas grumbled a little when she peeled off his gloves, but let her push an apple and a roll into his hands. There was only one chair down here, but it was wide enough for both of them when he scooted over to make room.
He brightened considerably when he peeked into the basket and saw the sweet cakes. "You know me rather well, vhenan."
She wrapped one arm around his narrow waist, resting her head against his shoulder. "Food then dessert, hahren," she teased playfully. He didn't rise to her bait; in fact, he calmly replaced the librarian's glove on his left hand and resumed reading the huge tome open in front of him while he ate. Clariel glanced at the top lines and frowned; it was in Tevene, and despite her best efforts at learning the language from Dorian, it didn't come to her as easily as elven did. Apparently what Solas had said about their people feeling the cadence of the language held some truth after all.
"What's it about?" she asked him.
"It is a summary of Tevinter attempts to map the Fade," he replied, only halfway paying attention to her. "Such an endeavor would be fruitless, but there is some interesting knowledge buried in all the drivel. For example, personal memoirs written by an early somniari." He carefully marked the page. "I'll translate some of it for you once we're done here. You would benefit greatly from the somniari's technique."
"Me?" she said, surprised. "But I'm not a mage."
"The Anchor allows you to dream like one. Mental discipline and curiosity, not magic, are the keys to true understanding of the Fade. You possess both qualities." He gave her a little half-smile, the one he reserved for her alone, then went back to the book. Clariel let out an impatient huff, which he again ignored. She looked around the room; Solas had already cleared out a few shelves, separating out the salvageable books.
Her eyes fell on the picnic basket, and the seed of an idea took hold in her mind. She put on the librarian's gloves and began going through books herself, waiting for Solas to finish eating. Only about one in ten was actually still readable, and some even crumbled to dust as soon as she touched the pages. But she did eventually find a volume on the Second Blight, which she stacked on the desk with the other books to be saved. Then she returned to the desk, settling herself in Solas's lap.
"Clariel -" he began, irritated.
"Take a break," she said. She pulled off the gloves and reached into the picnic basket, coming up with a little Orlesian cake. She didn't like them herself; human sweets, particularly Orlesian ones, were always too cloying. So she extended this one to Solas, holding it just shy of his lips.
He arched an eyebrow. "You are so much trouble." The effect was somewhat spoiled by the sudden heat in his blue-grey eyes, the way his body unconsciously leaned toward hers.
"Is that a no, then?" She started pulling the little pastry away, only for Solas to lightly trap her wrist in his ungloved hand. He guided her hand back to his mouth, letting his lips brush over her fingertips before he took a bite. Chocolate frosting coated his lips; she couldn't help staring and he knew it, ghosting the tip of his tongue over his bottom lip as he swallowed.
"I'm trouble?" she asked incredulously, her mouth going dry.
Solas didn't respond. He continued to take little bites of the chocolate cake from her hand, slow and unhurried. Clariel sat perfectly still, her heart hammering in her chest as she watched him mold his lips around the chocolate. He plucked the last piece of cake from her fingers, and the very tip of his tongue caught a piece of frosting on her thumb. "May I?" he asked, raising her frosting-covered fingers to his lips.
In one fluid motion, Clariel effortlessly twisted free of his grasp and hopped off his lap, walking around the desk so it was between the two of them. She slid her index finger between her lips, worrying it with her teeth. The frosting was still too sweet for her taste, but there wasn't very much of it, and the effect was so very worth a few licks of sugar.
Solas's breath hitched, eyes fixed on her tongue and teeth gliding over the tip of her finger. "What exactly do you think you're doing?" he whispered.
"Um..." She felt a fierce blush start to spread like fire along her ears and cheeks. The truth was that apart from feeding him the cake, she hadn't been thinking at all. The rest was just pure instinct. "Seducing you?" she blurted out.
His jaw clenched, then relaxed as he laughed, a soft and deep rumble that rippled the air between them. He slowly pulled off the librarian's glove, dropping it on the pages of the book before closing it with a snap. "Come back to me, vhenan," he said, his smile warm and gentle. "Give me your hand."
She obeyed, moving back to him and extending her fingers. Solas took her palm in both of his, began tracing the lines of her hand with his lips. He followed them up to her fingers, his tongue easing away the last of the frosting, warm breath ghosting over her skin. Strong thumbs began to massage circles on her palm, and magical warmth spread outward along her skin wherever he touched.
Clariel let him pull her in by the hand; one arm curled around her waist, settling her hip-to-hip on his lap. The touch of his magic kept spreading from her hand up to her arm and shoulders, gentle and light as a summer breeze.
He leaned his head back against the chair, lips parted for her to kiss him. He usually waited for her to make the first move, and she usually obliged him. But this time, she hovered just above his lips, letting him feel her breath on his skin without touching. Her free hand wrapped around the back of his shoulders, mimicking the motion of his knuckles against her palm. She couldn't help a small, proud smile when his head fell back a little further, pulse fluttering under the pale skin of his neck.
"If you truly wish to seduce me, use your eyes," he said, matching her smile. "Let me see you." The smile melted into a groan when she rocked her hips against him, just once.
"Like this?" She kept her eyes fixed on his and moved her fingers up to the tips of his ear. A faint flush colored his cheeks, his breath hitching again when she started massaging little circles up and down the shell of his ear. Not to be outdone, Solas exhaled, and the magic enveloping her grew warmer, sharper, seeking out sensitive skin and lingering there until she shivered. His hands dropped to her hips, guiding her motions, pressing her body against his in time with the ebb and flow of his magic.
"You are...ah...a quick study," he gasped. "I've always liked that about you."
"Flatterer." She pinched the tip of his ear again, harder, silencing his moan with a swift kiss. Sweet chocolate and tart apple lingered in his mouth, danced along her tongue. A wave of force washed over her, opening the buttons on her jacket. The first time he'd used that trick on her, she nearly jumped out of her skin. Now, it made her heart pound, heat beginning to pool between her legs.
Her lover leaned back slightly, breaking the kiss. "If I wanted to flatter you, I would choose more eloquent words," he said, his voice dropping to a low purr. He caught her by the shoulders, sliding her top off and carelessly tossing it aside. His palms cupped her breasts through the thin cotton band, little tendrils of green energy lingering wherever he touched. "Your breasts, for example..."
Solas leaned forward and murmured a string of elven words in her ear, drawing out the vowels so they sounded like a sinful hymn in that low, sweet voice. She didn't understand, but that didn't keep her body from responding. He slid his fingers under the fabric to pinch her nipples and she gasped, her back arching toward him.
He laughed, soft and delighted. "You are always so responsive, so eager," and those words dissolved into more elvish, more magic crackling between them as he teased her.
Clariel fought the sudden urge to hide her face from him, the natural shyness that sometimes held her back. But there was no one in the basement to hear them, several feet of solid stone and wood between them and the next living soul. So she held his gaze and let him draw soft whimpers from her with each touch. Hunger and affection warred in those sharp blue eyes, and he suddenly picked her up by the waist, settling her down on the desk in front of him.
What happened next was probably inevitable; she briefly lost her balance and threw out an arm to catch herself, sending his carefully stacked pile of books crashing to the floor. He looked so startled and aghast that she burst into helpless laughter.
"Don't you dare pick those up now," she said, barely able to get the words out through her giggles.
"I wouldn't dream of it," he said, starting to chuckle as well. His eyes softened, and one hand lightly brushed her cheek. "You are so beautiful when you laugh. I'll consider a few fallen books a worthwhile trade." Before she could do anything but blink up at him, he withdrew his hand, knelt between her legs, and breathed, another wave of magic that went straight through her clothes to caress her skin.
"Solas - " Her hips bucked, and he quickly wrapped his arms around her thighs to hold her still.
"Shh. You and I have already made enough noise, no?" As he spoke, the tapers he'd lit dimmed to nothing, leaving them in complete darkness.
Clariel shivered when she felt him hook his fingers in the waist of her pants and pull, bringing her smallclothes down as well. The fabric fell from her ankles, leaving her completely open before him.
"Do you want me to stop?" she heard him whisper, each word sending warm air over her bare thighs.
She hesitated for a moment, knowing her next words had the power to break his careful self-control.
"Hahren, please."
She felt his soft growl rather than hearing it, a rough vibration against her skin before he sealed his mouth over her clit and slid two fingers inside her. Magic curled around his fingers, reaching deeper inside her, and the tip of his tongue began to trace slow, torturous circles over her sensitive clit. Clariel fell back onto the desk, another cry escaping her throat.
Solas didn't hush her again; instead, he made an appreciate hum at the back of his throat and moved a little faster, his fingers moving in and out of her body with sinful ease. The loss of vision heightened everything else; her hunter-trained senses picked the soft rub of skin against skin, the slick whisper of his tongue, every nerve anticipating his touch. Her hands found his scalp, trying to bring him closer, wordlessly begging for more. He obliged only for a few moments before slowing his pace again, and she felt him chuckle when she made an impatient whine.
He pulled his fingers and mouth away from her body. "Patience, vhenan. I could pleasure you like this for hours."
Clariel fought down the urge to giggle again. "Would your old knees even last that long?" A tense silence followed her teasing. "Oh no, Solas, that wasn't a challenge - !" The faint protest died on her lips when his tongue slid up her slit, gentle but insistent.
"Really? It sounded like a challenge to me." And then she was utterly lost, drowning in the waves of ecstasy he drew from her with his mouth and hands and magic, helpless with that intense focus turned toward her pleasure. She didn't know if minutes or hours had passed, and she didn't care. Occasionally he paused to whisper more elvish in her ear. Twice he brought her to completion, but the third time he held her ruthlessly on the knife's edge before pulling away.
She heard the soft swish of fabric falling away from skin, and finally he stepped between her legs, his cock pressing against the inside of her thigh. She could feel his hands shake ever so slightly as he grasped her hips. He leaned down to kiss her, chocolate and apple replaced with the taste of her body on his lips. They were both close, so close. But still he took his time, easing himself into her by inches, punctuating every slow thrust of his hips with another kiss on her lips, her breasts, the curve of her stomach.
There was just enough space between their bodies for his magic to find her clit again, a soft and steady hum that drew another helpless moan from her. Solas lifted her legs into the air, resting them on his shoulders to give himself more leverage, and that was all it took to send her over the edge, crying out his name and not caring if everyone in Skyhold heard her.
He cursed, his rhythm breaking as her body rippled around him, pushed him to his own climax. She heard him whisper her name, felt shaking hands grasp her hips and hold her close. Solas slowly shifted her legs back down, resting his body over hers. Her breasts brushed his chest as they both gasped for air, counting each other's heartbeats.
"You should probably turn the lights back on," she said once she'd found her voice. "Otherwise we'll never find our clothes."
He laughed and slowly straightened, bringing her up with him. "Ever the pragmatist." The tapers came back to life one by one, giving their eyes time to adjust. Clariel cringed a little, looking around the room at the mess they'd made.
Solas followed her eyes, and his smile turned slightly wicked. "The next time we do this, all the books will be on the shelves."
From that day on, the basement library became their private refuge. Sometimes they'd catalog new books, sometimes he taught her fragments of elven, the language rolling off his tongue like water. And every once in a while, as soon as he heard her open the door, he'd turn around and smile at her before putting out all the lights.