Fingers stumbling over the clasps of his tunic.
Restless and searching.
Solas smoothed a palm over his head in frustration before finally coaxing the small round pieces of bone through their respective holes. Shoulders shrugged and allowed the discarded vest to pool next to his seated form.
He silently thanked Josephine who had managed to acquire separate tents for their excursion. Pale fingers tugged at the collar of his shirt, the fabric sliding off his skin and into his palms. He tossed it onto the furs of his cot and traced his palms over his neck and down the sides of his torso.
Relishing in the feel of being touched.
Tracing the firm ridged muscles of his abdomen to brush against the slope of his hipbones. Solas suckled at his bottom lip, focusing on the feel of his hands. The man shivered as his hand dipped beneath the band of his trousers, blunt nails scrapped against the fabric sliding it down his thighs so that he may further examine himself.
Devoid of any garment, Solas released an exhausted sigh his eyes flicking to the left wall of his tent. She was just a thin barrier away and yet he felt as if all of Ferelden were between them. Duty separated them, and although he knew he should not pursue anything physical, there was no harm in conjuring her image in his mind. So he allowed himself to think of her.
Her shapely legs streaked with small slivers of marks. She had looked embarrassed when he had caught sight of them. Ashamed of her stretched he had only seen perfection. Splinters of the moon peaking through her flesh. Tempting and beautiful. Every scrape and scar was maddening. Memories long forgotten that went untold.
His palm met the firm flesh between his own thighs, the calluses from twirling his staff rubbed against the underside of his hardening cock. He palmed himself roughly then, choking back a groan in favor of clenching a hand into the pile of furs. The candle beside him flickered, casting his lewd shadow on the wall of his muddied tent. He ignored the silhouettes taunting him in favor of grasping his erection firmly, giving his wrist a slow pumping rhythm.
Not enough.
He snarled, his eyes automatically looking to his left once more. If only she knew how he felt. Oh how he wished for a single night. That is all he wanted. One night of passion. Of carelessness. He bite his lip roughly, stroking his flesh harder. His breathing was becoming shallow, the thrill of her being so close spurring him on further.
He could almost taste her chapped lips against his. Feel the freckles beneath his fingers. Curl his hands tight in her short locks. The last image made his hand stutter along his dick. She was so angelic...if he were to see that face in his lap. Mouth tight around him as she sucked. Solas rested his forehead in his right hand, closing his eyes in order to keep the image fresh behind his eyelids. Her slick locks frazzled with static, her pointed ears flushed in the candlelight. He wanted her far more than he ever should. Yet that did not stop his hand from continuing its torturous attack on his flesh.
Dusky blue eyes snapped open and with a wave of his fingers, the hand moving along his flesh grew hot and distant. For just a moment, he could imagine her hand taking his place. Small olive hands wrapped around his member. Working him quickly, coaxing him for release. Solas orgasmed, her name dripping from his lips as milky streams pulsed from his spent erection. The softening flesh heavy on his thigh, as he pressed a chilled hand to the back of his neck, willing away the gathered sweat that threatened to trace down his spine.
He slumped back, laying on his cot to stare at the leather ceiling of his tent as he relished in his temporary high. Solas let out an aggravated sigh, pressing his forearm to cover his eyes, attempting to hold on to the remnants of his climax for as long as possible. Sure enough, the giddy feeling left him, leaving him alone with his thoughts. The chill was starting to seep into his skin, the once warm streams of semen across his thighs and abdomen cooling with each passing minute.
Reluctantly he rolled off the bed to throw his tunic over his head and tug on his breeches. Gathering up a roll of cloth for drying he left the warmth of his tent in favor of the river. The elve's eyes lingered on the opening to the Inquisitor's makeshift room before making his way down the path to the stream.
It was for the best.