Tap, tap, tap.
Solas glances up from his book at the invasive noise coming from the side. The Inquisitor reclines across the sofa with a book of her own open and forgotten atop her hip. A quill taps against the cover in a steady rhythm, the cause of his initial distraction, but it is Keela's expression that keeps his attention.
She regards him with fingers braced against the side of her face and the tip of a nail caught between her teeth. There is something predatory about the glint in her eyes that seems to search and analyze for the best place to sink in starving fangs.
Solas looks away and uses the pretense of turning a page to gather his thoughts. The air of the rotunda feels as if it's baking beneath a scorching sun, but it is only her piercing gaze that heats his skin.
"Does the tome you selected no longer hold your interest?" he asks when he is sure his voice will flow even and confident.
From the corner of his eye he watches Keela slink from the couch and approach on silent feet. Solas keeps his sight down towards the words of his manuscript though he cares little for their meaning. When she nears his chair, a long finger reaches out and traces a lazy line down the wooden armrest.
"I've found something else to ponder," she says, voice low and deep, and he feels it shiver down his spine. Her caress carries upwards across the fabric as she moves behind him.
"And what could that be?"
Warm breath tickles against his ear before he feels the fleeting touch of her lips. "I'm wondering what type of lover you might be."
Parchment crinkles in his grasp to hear such a thing. He can feel a smile birthing against his skin before she moves away and continues to circle him like a shark in red water.
"Are you quiet or loud, soft or demanding? Do you linger long with simple kisses and touches, or do you take what you want with wild abandon? Do leave your partners merely satisfied, or husks so thoroughly worn they can barely stand?"
When she moves to the other side of the chair she dips down again and this time trails her finger across the arm of his tunic, down to brush atop his knee. Slowly, very slowly, her touch rises up his leg. He does nothing to stop it, although he should, and she takes it as an encouragement.
"I see the way your eyes devour me, the way you tremble with restraint when we collide. And I remember the hunger of your kiss in the Fade. Oh, do I remember it. I am desperate to unravel this mystery. Have you decided yet?" she whispers, her tongue wrapping every syllable in a grip he feels tightening inside.
Muscles twitch beneath her pioneering touch that grows more daring with each second and Solas shifts forward, hiding a groan behind a polite cough. His mouth has grown too parched to reply, but he would not trust the things that would tumble from his lips in any case. They have been playing this game for a few weeks now and it is clear who is close to victory.
They both know the decision has been made for quite some time, but she cannot know the doubts that still hold him at bay. He would like nothing more than to grab her wrists, to pin her wicked hands above her head and give her exactly what she wants, what they both want.
"You know my curiosity is insatiable, but my patience is not." Solas follows the journey of her finger with rapt eyes, his own hand clutching tight to the armrest as she nears the apex of his thighs.
All at once her touch falls away and something heavy and unforgiving slams into his lap. An ungraceful curse leaves his lips at the unwelcome jolt and he glares down to find the thick book Keela once perused.
She looks down at him with a cutting smile and a burning challenge in her yellow eyes. "Don't make me wait much longer, Solas."
Keela flies away and it is even a torture to watch her leave. Solas lets out a sigh when she is no longer within hearing and closes his eyes. Her image lingers against the darkness, her bright gaze leaving him burning long after her touch grows cold. He will not be able to resist this, resist her, for much longer, but he worries more that he no longer seems to care.
She is his canary, the herald of his impending doom, and he will welcome whatever oblivion awaits.