anonymous asked: 8. "Wanna bet?" / Solas + Lavellan. Maybe make it sexy? =P
"You're up late."
Solas turned, looking up from the open book in his hands. When he recognized her face in the darkness, his concentration warmed into a smile, and Eve's pace quickened briefly to see it.
"And yet I see that you could say the same."
"True." She leaned against the bookshelf, the thick wood serving as a partition between their section and the territory Dorian had staked out for himself upon arrival. A single lamp sat upon the windowsill; they were alone in the library, and so there was no need to light any others. All of the usual occupants had long since retired to their rooms, and even the crows overhead quietly shuffled and chittered in sleep.
Eve had lost herself in the silence enough to miss Solas' question when it was first asked.
"I'm sorry, what?"
"I asked," he said quietly, folding the book in his hands closed, "if something in particular has made sleep elusive to you."
"It's my own fault," she admitted, setting down her wineglass and picking up a book Dorian had thrown earlier in critique of the collection. "I meant to catch a quick nap after my afternoon meeting, but I met a spirit of philosophy or pedagogy or something in the Fade, and Andruil's tits did he like to talk."
Chuckling, Solas re-shelved the book and ran his fingers down its spine to align it properly with its brethren. "I would easily believe it." He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. "I imagine that it was pleased to have someone to speak to."
"Yes. At length." She stretched, feeling her spine pop satisfyingly in a few places as she did so. "I woke up three hours later, starving and with a renewed appreciation for behavioral theory." She watched him tug a new book free, studying him curiously. "You'd like him, I think."
"From your description, I am inclined to agree."
She smiled, leaning back against the shelf. "Well, if ever you want to meet him, let me know."
"It may not be so simple." He turned, inclining his head. "Spirits are capricious, as is the Fade. It is not uncommon to go centuries without encountering the same spirit twice, despite one's best efforts."
"Right, so he gave me his calling card." With one index finger, she traced the outline on the opposite palm. "His sigil. I draw it with a bit of magic, and there he is."
Solas straightened, bright gaze suddenly focused intently on her face. It made Eve's chest tighten when he looked at her like that – there was an intensity that he was capable of, almost frightening in its ferocity.
"Have you attempted it," he prompted, moving closer. "Successfully?"
"I believe so." She wiped her palm – out of instinct, despite nothing visible on its surface – on her tunic. "I told him that I'd never done anything to that idea, so he insisted on practicing. He spent a lot of time explaining the magic, the idea behind it, and then disappeared a few dozen times to have me call him back until I was consistently producing sigils fast and strong enough for his liking." She frowned. "I woke up drained thanks to that tedious prat."
Solas chuckled. "Ah, yes. Pedagogy." The intensity was gone, replaced with a brilliant wonder as he beamed down at her, hands moving to her jaw. "To be able to call a specific spirit to your side in the Fade is an accomplishment indeed." His fingers, deft and warm, caressed the shell of her ear as he drew closer. "What will you find next to amaze me, I wonder."
She smirked up at him, shoulders against the books. "You never know."
"Not with you," he murmured in agreement. "And I relish such moments."
The book in his hand was abandoned, slid onto the shelf behind her as his mouth sought hers. Eve met him eagerly, hands sliding up his chest and over his shoulders. As her nails dragged over the back of his neck and scalp, she was rewarded with a hum of approval, and his hands moved downward to brush the sides of her breasts in their path to her waist.. Solas wasn't shy, by any means – but at times like this, Eve itched to dig deeper, to find the source of that flaring burn she often caught glimpses of.
She inclined her head to allow him better access to her mouth, and he accepted the invitation with a palpable hunger that stole the breath from her lungs with every movement of his strong chin. With a moan, she freed one of her hands from his collar and wrenched it between them, down through what little space there was to take hold of his belt and pull, pressing her hips to his insistently.
Something resembling a growl sounded in his throat, and the strength in his hands caught her by surprise. He was strong, deceptively so – though he wouldn't need much, if anything at all, to keep her exactly where she was, caught between the heat of his body and the unyielding bulk of the library shelf. They were a tangle of limbs and thirst, the rustling of their clothes and muffled voices the only sound in the cavernous tower.
The embers rolling in Eve's belly were threatening to turn into a full-blown fire, and she was all too eager. The man had a clever tongue and clever hands and she was more than willing – as evidenced by the way her thighs parted for his knee, his hip angling to lift his upper thigh against her groin. She moaned into his mouth, enjoying the broad, firm friction that felt absolutely perfect when she rolled her hips against it.
He groaned, the sound vibrating in her chest as he pulled his mouth just barely out of reach, freeing his lower lip from Eve's firm-yet-playful bite as he did so. There was a tension in his limbs as one of her hands snaked down under the front of his tunic, running her knuckles steadily against the underside of his trapped cock.
"When we first met," he managed, "I hadn't imagined you to be so- " a gasp, "aggressive."
"I'm not always," she replied thoughtfully, calmly maintaining her strokes. "In fact, I usually like to be held down." She caught her bottom lip between her teeth. "Or bound."
His gaze suddenly snapped to hers, eyes dark and focused in the dim light. They pinned her in place, their keen owner suddenly very, very interested in talking.
"Do you, now?" His grip on her waist tightened. "Tell me more; I am listening."
She snickered, planting a teasing kiss across his mouth. "I don't think so," she murmured. "Not until I get what I want."
"And what is it," Solas insisted as he leaned back in, lips brushing hers with every word, "that you want, vhenan?"
The endearment was a spark, something promising – but Eve didn't want to drag him to bed, not just yet. She enjoyed the slow burn, and drawing it out would be an exquisite form of torture.
"A reaction out of you," she declared, and after a moment, he drew back with a chuckle and amusement clearly written on his face.
"You cannot be unaware of the state you leave me in, that I am at your mercy," he said. "What more would you have?"
Smiling, Eve let her head fall back against the books and looked him square in the eye. "I want to watch you let go," she informed him. "I want to watch that calm and collected veneer fall apart and show me what you're hiding."
The entertainment disappeared from his face as she took up her ministrations again, firmer this time.
"You wish to see what lies beneath," he said against her ear. "Famous last words of the mighty and the foolish." He drew in a long, slow breath. "And how, precisely, do you intend on drawing it out?"
She nipped at his earlobe, hooking one finger into the waistband of his leggings. "I do have one idea."
His mouth found hers again, drawing the warmth back to her throat. "I look forward," he said, "to your efforts."
"Good." She pushed off of the bookshelf, standing and backing him up the two paces across the narrow space until his shoulders hit the opposite stack. The confusion in his expression was quickly replaced with a gloriously satisfying combination of surprise and horror as she gracefully sank to her knees in front of him.
"Here," he managed as her fingers found the ties at his waistband. "You cannot be- !"
"Want to bet?" She smirked up at him, holding her hands in place.
"I..." Color crept up from his collar, flushing his throat and turning his skin a beautiful shade of rose. "Again, you surprise me."
"No one is here," she said slowly. "And it would piss off Dorian to no end."
That earned her a chuckle. "And if someone should happen upon us?"
"Then we'll have to be very quiet." She caught his gaze. "Won't we?"
She waited, gently kneading the sensitive flesh at the junction of his thighs as she hesitated. She was giving him a chance to offer resistance, to tell her 'no.' She wanted, needed him to want this.
Her patience was rewarded with the threading of his fingers through the thick braids circling her crown, a fond, almost feral smile on his lips.
"Of course."
That was all the consent she needed. With a few deft tucks, the front panel of his tunic was pinned under his belt and out of the way, and the waist of his leggings was pulled down to free his cock from its confines.
Eve felt his breath hitch as she pressed a warm kiss to the base, the length of him brushing her cheek as she wrapped a few slender fingers around it. She opened her mouth, exploring with her tongue as she ran a few experimental strokes – aha. He liked that.
"Ah," he choked out. Anything after that was marred by his breathing – short, staccato attempts at maintaining control, the tension in his fingers and stuttering movements a testament to the difficulty of it. Eve was gentle at first, limiting her mouth to the base of his shaft and occasionally testing him with light suction and broad swipes of her tongue.
"Fenhedis," he swore as her grip shifted and found the underside of the head. "Ah, this– hnnn."
Her fingers were replaced with her mouth – for a few inches, at least. Solas shuddered within her lips, and his hands abandoned her hair to furiously grip at anything – the jawbone around his neck, the fabric of his clothes, the empty air – before settling on the shelves at hip level, knuckles blanched.
She drew back, allowing her hands to dip into the saliva left behind and spread it slick down the whole of him. "Something wrong?"
He breathed a low moan, brow furrowed. "It has been... some time,"he admitted, "and I am unable to trust – mnnnh. I do not wish to hurt you."
The idea that his control was slipping sent the blood southward. Eve ducked down to take all of him into her mouth in one quick motion, pulling away just as quickly and eliciting a groan of frustration from her partner.
"You put those hands right back," she told him. "If you don't give me a good pull, I'll be sorely disappointed."
He let out a strangled laugh, but did as he was told. "Ma nuvenin, then. As you wish."
As her mouth rejoined her hands, she could feel the hesitation in his fingers. He still didn't seem to quite believe her – and there was one sure way to fix that. Her free hand ran a single knuckle firmly from the junction of his thighs to the base of his cock, mouth working back down to meet it. Groaning, he bucked his hips – and wrapped his fingers firmly in her white-blond locks and jerked.
Scalp tingling, Eve hummed appreciatively. There it was.
In keeping with her love for the slow burn, she took her time, exploring and teasing every inch she could. His murmured encouragements and stuttered, incomprehensible Elvish were testing at her self-control, but she was long-practiced at restraining herself. No, this was about Solas: building him up, breaking him down, and watching him squirm.
She had just begun to speed up when the click of a lock echoed in the empty chamber. Solas stiffened under her touch, and the approach of footsteps echoed off the stone. Lower level. Metal boots.
Eve was unable to resist. Solas was proud, his facade and composure two of the things he prized most. She was the Inquisitor, and didn't give a damn what state her own guards saw her in – might even get off on it, in the right conditions – but this was too good of an opportunity to pass up.
She redoubled her efforts, working him with lips and mouth and tongue and hands at a pace that was steadily arching his shoulders. Creators, he was a sight, eyes closed and chest tight, sweat glistening on his bare scalp in the lantern's low light. His expression flitted between agony and rapture and back again, a far cry from the knowledgeable and (more often than not) condescending Fade authority he usually projected.
The footsteps drew closer to the door and stairwell, and with Eve's elven hearing, she knew Solas heard them just as clearly. She refused to relent, however, winding him tighter and taking him in deeper.
He hit the back of her throat, and she felt his knees buckle.
"Eva'nahn," he managed. "Vhenan, please."
This, she thought as she adjusted her tongue, splaying her fingers across his length and base. This was what she had been looking for. Not the begging itself, but the raw edge that was starting to fray. She welcomed it, speeding up just enough to bring him to the edge.
The tremor started in his thighs, soon spreading like a fever to the rest of his body. Every muscle was taut, every fiber of his being chasing release. The feeling was beautiful – and his aristocratic face was a damn mess. It was glorious.
The footsteps passed, finally, and as they faded, Eve could feel something in him finally let go.
"I," he gasped, "don't stop, for all the– "
She gave his thigh a squeeze. It's all right, she conveyed.
Come.
It wasn't more than a moment before she felt it, felt him fall apart with his fingers desperately clutching at her hair as he emptied himself into her waiting mouth, unable to maintain even a semblance of poise.
As he tumbled over the edge, Eve was gentle, admiring her own handiwork. This – this Solas she could work with. Watching him come undone was a rare privilege, and the things he whispered as she finished him off were full of warm, unrestrained affection.
Yes. Completely worth potentially scandalizing the staff.
Smiling, she pulled back and reached for her wineglass, taking a long swig to wash away the lingering aftertaste. "Satisfied?"
A drowsy smile pulled at his mouth, and there was a glint in his eyes as he watched her rock back on her heels. "Quite, though I supposed that question would be better asked of you."
"Mm. For now."
He laughed – a loud, infectious sound – and returned his clothing to decency. "I see! Such are the demands to be made of me, then?"
She stood, rolling her shoulders, but let out a startled squawk when she was caught around the waist and pulled in for a kiss.
"You," Solas murmured, "are beautiful. Unrivaled." With a smirk, he caught her chin in one hand. "Yet I will have my revenge."
Eve snickered and braced her palms on his chest, granting herself a few inches of room. "I'm not afraid of you."
"Perhaps you should be."
There was something in his voice that caught her – something almost threatening, the tone ominous. His expression was a dark shade of mischievous, and Eve didn't know if it was pulling her in or telling her to run.
She straightened her back, meeting his stare.
"Show me what you've got."
With a laugh, the darkness broke – and his warm smile settled itself into her heart.
"I look forward to it, vhenan."