Cole prodded at the campfire with a long stick. Turning a glowing log to stoke the flames back to life. The movement produced a spray of sparks, a flash that drew the gaze of a few pairs of eyes. Their curious owners watching just long enough to see the embers settle before returning to their tasks.
Varric was perched on a large, flat, boulder partially entombed by moss. His crossbow – Bianca – lay next to him, disassembled. The pieces arranged in tidy, even rows as he worked to clean away the debris accumulated by the day's battle.
Sera lay on her back upon a patch of thick grass by her tent. A foot bounced against the opposite knee, following the lilt of a tune she hummed to herself. The same one she'd been singing since the party had left Skyhold; something she picked up from the bard at the Herald's Rest, and seemed moderately perturbed to be stuck on. She chewed a stalk of elfroot – something to settle her stomach after their unusually heavy meal – and idly picked at the loose threads of her fraying vest.
Solas and Ellana sat opposite each other, leaned against her tent and a felled tree, respectively. Legs stretched out before them, not quite close enough to touch. Each held a book: hers, a loose binding of blank parchment that she used to document the party's progress each day, and his a considerably larger, older tome. A collection of various theories about the nature of spirits of the Fade that he had ordered from a university in Orlais some months prior.
Cole sat close enough to the flames for it to be unsettling, seemingly entranced by the colourful, flickering dance. A cheek rest upon the top of his knees, pulled tight against his chest. His face hidden behind the familiar, wide-brimmed hat and a fringe of messy, blonde hair. He had said – and done – very little over the last few hours. His presence all but forgotten by the others in the comfortable quiet that had descended over the camp in the late hour.
It was well into the evening and the mood serene. A warm, lazy breeze carried upon it the scent of spring flowers blooming in the Hinterlands. A heady, sweet mix from the night blossoms that heralded the changing season. Even a day's travel out of the plains, the smell was strong enough to linger. The lightly perfume on the air lent a sense of contentment that made setting camps in the area feel somehow safer. Comfortable. And it did much to improve a soured mood.
The party had finished the evening's meal some hours earlier, the tankards, bowls and pots already cleaned and packed. Skins from the rabbit hunt were dressed and wrapped. And the remaining supplies organized for travel. Everything was ready and waiting by the horses; leaving only tents, bedrolls, and bodies to pack up the following day. Even breakfast – a few rations of dried meat and some fruit for each of them – was set out and ready to go. It would save them the time of prepping in the morning, as the party was eager for an early start – it would be the last day of their journey.
They had made excellent time on the return trip, only another six to eight hours on horseback lay ahead of them. And so they set the evening's camp not far from the mouth of the mountain pass that led back to Skyhold. If, for no other reason, than to squeeze one more comfortably warm night out of the trip rather than cut a few hours off the last day by moving the camp into the pass itself.
It was late enough that, normally, some of them would have already turned in for the night (or at least drawn for first watch), but after the day's events no one was quite ready to sleep. Travel along the roads to Redcliffe was not exactly a bore, but as the trip there demonstrated, it very rarely offered much in the way of excitement beyond the occasional beast taken by surprise. Or, more rarely, the discovery of a crumbling ruin now overrun by fennecs and more rashvine than anyone could ever have need of.
The afternoon was of particular note when the group stumbled across a small encampment of rogues. When the party emerged from the underbrush and came upon the men, a moment passed wherein the two groups simply stared at each other in stunned silence. Struck dumb by their mutual surprise. In the end, it was only once Varric tried to speak to the men that they regained their wits, and attacked. The battle that ensued was surprisingly challenging, but won relatively quickly all the same. And, thankfully, without any serious injuries. Though the party was outnumbered, the bandits stood no chance against their team of well-trained archers, rogue, and one exceptionally skilled mage.
Following their victory, Varric, Cole, and Sera poured over the remains of the little camp, scavenging from it as much food, coin and weaponry as they could find a use for before Solas set the rest alight with a well-aimed fireball. This, to ensure no evidence of the struggle be left behind, just in case there were others nearby. Once finished, they all agreed to put some distance between the charred site and the evening's camp, which otherwise would have been set nearby. And since the bandits had been traveling along the main road, the party chose to veer off the usual path.
Map in hand, they aimed for an uncharted area of forest a few miles out, where a campfire would not be seen. After a time, they passed through what was once a small village, decades or perhaps even hundreds of years back. At one time, the area might have been home to a few dozen families – still too small to have been marked on any map. Not much had survived other than a few old, wood, frames now rotted through, and something that might have once been a stone anvil. The party picked through the meagre remains, finding little of value, and so kept going. Their curiosity rewarded by the discovery of a small grotto nearby. It was well protected – surrounded by a wall of trees and rock – making it an ideal location to settle in for the night.
Sera drew the short straw to go hunting for something to stew. It was a job she had somehow managed to avoid ever being tasked with before, and it quickly became apparent as to why. For all her skill as an archer and Red Jenny, the girl possessed very little experience in game hunting. More to the point, she was terrible at it. It was a wonder she had ever caught anything in her life with the raucous she caused. Her joyous whoops and angry cursing echoed through the area, sending any nearby wildlife fleeing in terror long before she ever had a chance to round them up. After listening to her try – and fail – to capture several small animals, Varric eventually took it upon himself to offer his assistance. Or, at the very least, convince her that moving quietly would work in her favour.
With Cole the only remaining companion in the camp alongside Ellana and Solas – and he occupied by the horses – they were gifted a brief moment of relative privacy. The pretense of conversation and playful flirtation had disappeared along with their patience, and so instead, they indulged those few moments locked in a passionate embrace pushed up against a nearby tree. What little time they had they enjoyed thoroughly, as they were unlikely to have another chance until long past nightfall – and then, only if one of them drew a watch that the other remained awake for. Still, it was a gamble. Thin canvas walls and the close quarters of a party camp offered little privacy. That said, the last two nights, Ellana had managed to sneak into Solas' tent simply to share space with him.
She waited until her watch the first night, and Cole's the next. Once stripped of her armor and down to civilian clothing, she crawled, silent, into his tent – noting with some amusement how readily he tossed aside his book upon seeing her enter. Normally, he was inclined to flirt a little – at least at first – but it seemed he'd abandoned that front in lieu of savoring every second they could spare. Unwise as it was, they lay together sharing slow, passionate, kisses until the heat became unbearable... and inevitably separated. Returning to their respective tents and duties. Lest they be overheard, or risk waking their companions. It was exquisite torment.
And it made the evening particularly wearing.
After battle had left them all high on adrenaline with hearts racing, the anticipation of yet another night spent in forced chastity was torturous. It was the primary reason that, while they chose to sit near each other, they were sure to put enough space between them to keep from physically touching.
That, and Ellana wasn't entirely sure she trusted Solas with even the most chaste contact after whatever it was he did at the tavern once his inhibition was loosened by drink. Not that it had been unwelcome, of course. After knowing only his polite, reserved, approach to intimacy, seeing a playful and flirtatious side of him was a wonder. It was… intriguing. A side she enjoyed very, very much.
A side she found herself presently too distracted in thinking of to continue her journaling.
She had long since finished documenting anything of actual importance – down to a catalogue of the items they had pilfered from the bandits – but even that was proving difficult to complete. Soon, she found her eyes wandering. The soft scratch of her feathered quill against the paper slowing, and fading away.
Across from her, Solas leaned against an old, felled, tree. One hand resting on an upraised knee, holding his heavy tome. A familiar crease lined his brow – a look of deep concentration – eyes darting back and forth across the page. He seemed deeply absorbed, as he had been the last hour, and so she allowed herself the momentary indulgence of watching him out of the corner of her eye.
He was dressed in his familiar leg wraps, ragged breeches and a laced linen tunic – having removed the light armor he wore when they first set camp. The area was isolated, and showed no evidence of traffic, so the precaution of sleeping in leathers was unnecessary. A blessing, as the evening was unseasonably warm. Enough so that Solas had chosen to roll up his sleeves and loosen the ties around his collar before finding a place to sit. The low, open neckline fluttered in the breeze, lifting slightly, allowing Ellana a glimpse of bare skin beneath. From where she sat, she could just make out the sheen of perspiration on his freckled skin, glowing in the soft light of the fire.
The sight immediately conjured vivid memories of their night together. Hands sweeping across his chest, over flushed skin that heated under every touch. Feeling his heart pound as she took hold of his shoulders. The beads of sweat that lined his crown as he moved against her in the final throes. Even as he succumbed to pleasure, he cradled her body as though it were a precious thing; as though every stroke of his hips were an act of worship. Her name a litany from his lips.
Absently, he drummed the fingers of his free hand against a thigh. The movement drawing her gaze. And suddenly, she was caught up in memories of their talents as well. Her eyes wandering a dangerous path.
The journal in her lap was truly a lost cause now.
There was no way to wrest her attention back to the task. Not when her mind flooded with memories of his breath on her ear, fingers in her hair, the utter ecstasy that was connection magic, the way he'd bitten her neck while lost to passion, and that incredible, desperate, sound he'd made when—
"You should probably stow the logbook for tonight, if you are feeling drowsy enough to have difficulty completing your work."
Solas' voice broke through her reverie, giving her a start. His eyes remained fixed on his tome, the slightest hint of a smile pulling at the corner of his lips as he spoke.
She cleared her throat before replying, "I'm not drowsy" – and then inwardly, cursed. Only once she had answered aloud did she realize she had taken the bait.
His lips twitched again, more obvious this time. "Oh?" he said. His eyes lifted, peering over the edge of the book and meeting hers for the briefest second before lowering again. He turned a page. "It seemed you were having some difficulty focusing. I assumed it was exhaustion. My mistake." Cool and even, his tone revealed no hint of the subtext with which he had laced the words. A warm flush crept into her cheeks, heated by the embarrassment of being caught leering.
Tease.
Fortunately, she was saved any further admonishment when Varric cut in with a loud, satisfied, sigh. He held a polished silver bolt up to the firelight, inspecting it with one eye closed. "Good as new," he announced. More to himself than to anyone else. "All clean again. Beautiful."
From the patch of high grass across the fire came a pointed scoff. "Your love affair with that crossbow is disgusting," said Sera.
The dwarf snorted a laugh, and then mimed petting the weapon, "Shush now. Bianca, don't listen to her, she's just jealous of us. What we have is special." He shot Sera a look of feigned offense, and she replied with a groan and two fingers.
The exchange awarded them a smile as Ellana tucked the quill into the bindings of her journal. Closing, and securing the cover with leather cording, she then placed it on the ground next to her. Ultimately deciding to take Solas' advice, and give up on the writing for tonight. She stretched: arms raised high over her head as she pulled at her fingertips, pushing her chest out and rolling shoulders back. It granted her a series of satisfying cracks and pops, loosening the kinks that came with spending hours hunched over a book. A small, satisfied, groan slipped from her lips – and she did not miss the eye that Solas gave her upon hearing the sound, a brow raised as though to question its authenticity.
Her lips twitched. "Perhaps you're right, Solas," she cooed. And then, louder, "after all it was a rather interesting day, I'd say we all need a bit of extra rest. I may turn in soon."
His eyes held hers over the edge of his book, the air between them heavy with unspoken promise. One more day. Ultimately, she was forced to turn her attention to packing up, but the suggestion she had planted seemed to take root, and she spied a rather crooked smile curling his lips just before she turned away.
"Me too," added Varric, oblivious to their flirtation. "I'm exhausted. I did not expect to run into any trouble on this trip. This road is usually smooth sailing. I didn't think this area had anything interesting enough to attract those types." While he spoke, he held up each one of the cleaned bolts for secondary inspection and, once satisfied, placed them in a row upon the rock next to him.
"It does not, to my knowledge," informed Solas. "Other than the remains of the village we passed. However, it was likely too small to hold much in the way of treasure. It is possible the group had chosen to make camp for the day as they passed through, much as we have, and had simply managed to avoid Inquisition outposts thus far."
"Was a bit fun though," added Sera, picking at her teeth. Always one to find the silver lining. She giggled then, patting the pouch at her waist. "I liked the part where we nicked their gold."
Varric chuckled. Now finished cleaning his weapon, he stowed the bolts in a leather quiver by his feet, and set to gathering the pieces of his crossbow for reassembly. "That was a nice bonus," he agreed. "Now I can afford to get a nice, big, bottle of dwarven ale at the Herald's Rest once we get back into Skyhold. I've been killing for some since we left. Oh, and that flatbread that new woman in the kitchens makes. Human, with the red hair. Have you had that yet?"
Sera waved a hand dismissively. "Keep your bread," she scoffed. "All I want is my bed. A nice, big, comfortable bed. Lots of space. Lots of soft."
"Rushing blood. Pounding heart. Hunter and hunted." Cole broke into their banter. His eyes still locked on the fire.
Following the interruption, Sera gave a tittering, nervous laugh. "What? The bandits?" she asked, sounding more than a little unsettled. "Yeah, we hunted them good. Cold and dead now, so the blood's not exactly rushing anymore." With a scoff, she added, "Be pickin' it out my hair for the next day unless we find a river." She unfolded one of her arms from behind her neck and flicked at a matted loc of hair for emphasis.
"Not dead. Not cold," the spirit pressed, his eyes widening, "Once faded, forgotten, but no longer. Reawakened, rejuvenated, reignited, renewed!" He took a breath. Heaved a deep, satisfied sigh and added, "It's a different kind of freedom."
A long and rather awkward silence followed. Even Varric had paused to stare at the boy, utterly bewildered by his words. Solas frowned, eyes narrowing, but ultimately he said nothing. If he had any opinion on Cole's insights, he kept it to himself.
It seemed an age had passed before someone finally spoke.
Sera blinked. Coughed. "Uhm," she managed, and then cleared her throat again. She eyed the spirit warily. "Right. Don't know if I'd describe it like that." Then she shivered – the movement exaggerated for theatrical effect. A moment later, the bouncing foot paused as a thought struck. She turned to face Cole. "Oy, wait, are you doing your weird shit again? That thing with the stuff? Fade stuff? Like the shit that happened here before us? Picking up on ghosty thoughts?" She indicated with a finger, drawing a loose circle in the air. Cole said nothing in reply, offering no sign he even heard her questions. After a moment, she turned away, giving a derisive huff and mumbling, "Creepy shit, you are."
"I don't know, I don't always mind it," offered Varric in an attempt to ease the tension. He pulled a wooden brace of his crossbow into place with a satisfying clunk. "You get a bit more of a—" he paused, searching, "—intimate insight into a place. I mean the bits I can understand from him anyway. Maybe he's picking up on the village. Small town, lots of interesting stories to tell, I'm sure."
Solas nodded thoughtfully. "I'm pleased you agree, Varric." He lowered his book to the ground, marked the page and closed it. "Certain locales – as well as the people who lived in them – have seen events in their history torrid enough to leave behind a deep imprint, to which Cole is particularly sensitive. His talents can, at times, reveal details that one could otherwise only lean by exploring the Fade in dreams".
"Sometimes thoughts are loud," agreed Cole, seeming to address the group rather than the fire this time. "Louder than memories. Loudest with a look, a breath. Words left unspoken."
Sera kicked a heel into the ground, giving Cole a rare start. "Ugh!" she yelled. "You two can swoon over Mister Crazyhat over here on your own time. Don't make a lick of sense to me! If I'm gonna be forced to listen to it all night, I'll need a stiff drink."
At that, Varric grinned. Volunteering, "I've got some in my pack, if you want it?"
In response, she held up a hand, beckoning with her fingers. A moment later, Varric tossed a leather skin of spirits over the flame. Sera caught it easily and took a long, audible, swig before replying. "Thanks, Varric. I'm gonna need all of this if it keeps this up all night." She motioned to Cole with the flask.
Solas turned to her, frowning. "Sera," he chided.
"What?"
He cast her a disapproving look, one she returned in kind as she took another long pull from the skin. They held each other's gaze for a long moment, but ultimately, she gave in. Sighing, "Fine," she replied. Drawing the word out over her tongue like it was its own sentence. She rolled her eyes, looking all the petulant child made to issue a reluctant apology. "It. He. Whatever."
Cole cut in, seemingly oblivious to their exchange or the fact that it centered on him. "Ina'lan'ehn or evune, ma vhenan," he muttered quietly. "Words to make the heart beat faster."
Sera rolled her eyes and heaved another great, dramatic sigh. "Oh great, elfy shite and Fadey shite! My favourite! Just what I wanted." She took another drink, and then shook the remains in Varric's direction. "I'm serious Varric I'm taking all of this now!"
"Aw, not a romantic?" teased the dwarf, laughing. "I'm no expert but that sounded suspiciously like someone in love." When Sera gave no reply but to wrinkle her nose in obvious disgust, he chuckled heartily.
"It means, 'You are beautiful in the moonlight, my heart'," Ellana offered, glancing briefly at Solas. It was not something he had ever said to her, and so she knew the thought had not come from him, but she still felt shy speaking it aloud all the same. More so, after he turned a small, proud smile onto her – nodding once to indicate the translation was correct.
Varric perked up. "Oh, maybe a passionate affair? An illicit tryst in the woods? Young lovers from the village, perhaps?" He made a wide, sweeping motion with an arm. "The kind of stuff good books are written about! Come on Cole, keep it up, I could use this for my next Swords and Shields novel".
Sera's only reply was to mime violently retching.
Ellana laughed and shook her head. Having already announced the intention to turn in, she began her preparations. With a foot resting on opposite knee, she carefully unwound her leg wraps, commenting, "I think it's sweet." Once undone, she folded the fabric, knotted it, and placed it on the ground next to her.
"You would!" countered Sera. Sending a series of loud, exaggerated, kissing noises in her direction. "You Dalish are all into that whole elfy business, right? Probably gets you wet just hearing the Elvish at this point."
A shriek of laughter burst from her before she could even think stifle the sound. "Sera!" she chided through a fit of embarrassed giggles. Varric joined her, the sudden peal of laughter very nearly causing him to fumble his crossbow.
Solas was not as amused. He cast an icy glare at the archer. "Must you always be so crass?" he barked.
"Crass," Cole echoed. "The mind thinks what the mouth would never say."
No one paid him any mind.
Sera turned her nose up. "Only when it's funny. Which is all the time." Then she pursed her lips, and broke into a cheeky grin. Looking Solas up and down disdainfully. "Not like you'd ever recognize an opportunity. You probably never had a dirty thought in your life, Droopy".
He narrowed his eyes and opened his mouth to retort, but was silenced by Cole's eager interruption. "Ar'da'laven, sil'ma, ar tel'matha. Isalathe ma'dun, ma'numin," he offered helpfully. The words would have gone by unnoticed by the rest of the party, had it not been for Solas' reaction to them. His head snapped toward the spirit, jaw slack, blatantly agog.
Sera followed his gaze, glancing between the two, and then pushed herself off the ground onto her elbows. She pointed an accusing finger at Solas. "Oy, that one was you, wasn't it? Now who's crass?!" She rounded on Cole. "What'd he call me?"
"Not for you. For her," replied the spirit, nodding at the Inquisitor.
All eyes turned to her at this revelation.
With her grasp of Elvish significantly poorer than Solas', Ellana lacked the vocabulary to understand every word. It was only by the grace of his lessons on the subject that she now knew enough to muddle through, and eventually grasp the basic idea behind a phrase. And so, it took a moment for the meaning of what Cole had revealed to dawn on her.
'Touch'? No – 'hands', I think. Thought? Thinking? 'Too much'... or, 'not enough'? 'I need'…
Oh.
Oh!
A surprised noise slipped from her lips, something like a choked gasp. And soon after, she felt the heat of a deep blush bloom upon her cheeks. Her gaze passed from Cole to Solas, who was watching her warily, clearly hoping she had not been able to translate the phrase. When their eyes met, she could see a shade of panic there. The embarrassment he could not quite hide. It was enough to make them both avert their eyes.
The exchange had been quick, and subtle – but unfortunately, Sera caught it.
The awkward silence that had followed the spirit's admission was rent by her raucous, jeering laughter. "What was that? Oh, now this is grand!" She tittered with excitement.
Solas composed himself quickly, doing his best to ignore the taunt. His tone was firm, though the words caught in his throat as he spoke. Ears pink. "That is private, Cole."
The spirit looked hopelessly lost, glancing at each of his companions in turn, struggling to comprehend the confusing flurry of thought and emotion that flew at him from all directions. Solas, restrained and yet clearly nettled. Ellana staring at her feet, hands balled into white-knuckled fists. Varric, eyeing the elves with amusement. And Sera between them all, looking positively wicked.
She pressed Cole hungrily, giggling all the while. "What'd it mean?"
"You have never cared to bother with Elvish before, Sera," snapped Solas. "It is certainly not your concern now."
Ignoring him, Sera drew herself up onto her knees, clapping her palms together. She cast a wolfish grin at Ellana, practically salivating in excitement over the rare opportunity to see her blush. "You're red as a berry, you are! Must have been something right filthy." She affected a breathy, teasing tone, imitating Solas' cadence as she taunted, "I'll rut you on the desk so good it'll leave you walkin' bow-legged for a week."
Cole frowned, confused. "No, not a desk—"
"Cole!" The pair interrupted in unison, and then Ellana dissolved into an entirely inappropriate fit of nervous, girlish giggles. With her face buried in her hands, she did not catch the rather offended look Solas aimed at her.
Sera clutched her stomach and rolled backward, falling onto the ground as she let loose peals of hysterical laughter. Somehow managing to choke out, "I thought you two hated each other now, but I guess it didn't stick, hey? I just lost 20 sovereigns and I don't even care, your red faces is worth it! "
Across the campfire, Varric finally managed to catch his breath. He wiped at his eyes with his sleeve. "Okay, okay, I think that's good! Sera, I think you've had enough fun at their expense." Solas shot him a hard glare, but said nothing. And the dwarf gave him a sly smile in return. "That said," he added a moment later. Unable to resist pushing the joke just a little further. "Dirty talk is not something I thought you had in you, Chuckles. I have no idea what any of that meant but it sure sounded lovely. Maybe I should be coming to you for ideas instead?"
Sera's laughter started anew at that. Gasping, she managed, "Even stuck-up elfies need to get it sometimes!" then collapsed with another fit of crowing glee.
That was the breaking point. Solas rose to his feet, cursing under his breath. "I think I shall retire for the night and leave you with your childish japes."
"Solas…" Ellana lifted her head from her hands to call to him as he passed, trying in vain to regain some of her composure. He gave her a look she could not quite read but said nothing in reply, brushing past her and heading toward his tent at the far end of the camp. He disappeared inside a second later, the flap falling into place behind him with a loud clap.
As soon as he was gone, she turned a glare upon Varric. "Was that really necessary?" she bit. Pouring as much anger as she could muster into the rebuke, and tamping down the urge to break into another fit of nervous, embarrassed giggles.
Varric held up his hands in defeat, bright laughter still bubbling up as he spoke, "I'm sorry, Inquisitor. I couldn't help myself! It's not every day I get a chance to ruffle his feathers like that." He gestured toward her. "Embarrassing you was just a bonus."
Ellana shook her head, sighing, and hid her face with her hands once more. "Gods and creators," she breathed.
"I did not mean to bother," offered Cole quietly. He looked just as lost as before. "I thought he wanted you to know."
Sera snorted. "Yeah he did."
Ignoring her, "It's alright," Ellana soothed, flashing him a sympathetic smile and trying to ignore the heat that crept into her ears again.
"Cole," said Varric patiently. He coughed, trying his best to clear the last of the mirth from his voice before continuing. "Pretty much anything of that, ah, subject matter is... best left expressed between those involved."
The spirit was quiet a moment. Ruminating on Varric's advice. "I think I understand. Thank you."
Sera's howling finally slowed to a few gasping, breathy rasps that gave way to a long, satisfied sigh. After such a raucous display, the silence that followed was a welcome change. It did not last long, however, before she rounded on Cole again.
"But really though, what'd it mean?"
As it happened, Ellana drew first watch, and Cole the next. Though the spirit did not sleep, it felt both unfair and disrespectful to take advantage of the trait by tasking him with permanent watch duty. Even if he didn't share the sentiment. Therefore, he drew straws for the job the same as everyone else. Spending time with the mounts, keeping company, or simply disappearing when it was not his turn. After Sera and Varric announced their intentions to turn in for the night, he wandered off in the direction of the horses and did not return. Somehow, he always managed to find some way to keep himself occupied, and yet still be available in an instant if trouble should strike. Whatever it was that had captured his attention remained a mystery – he did not generally inform anyone of his motivations and this instance was no different. Still, Ellana was grateful for the illusion of privacy just the same.
In fact, if she didn't know better, she would have thought he felt sheepish for the embarrassment he'd caused earlier, and had offered her the time alone as apology.
But that would be rather presumptuous.
It took all of 15 minutes before the rhythmic droning of Sera and Varric's snores had completely drowned out the crackling of the campfire. Following that, Ellana waited an extra five before deciding to politely forget about the evening's embarrassment – or at least pretend to politely forget – and find Solas in his tent.
It had been silent since he had entered – she had heard no shift nor sigh in at least an hour – and so took care to be quiet when she lifted the flap, and ducked inside. As expected, he was asleep. So quiet at rest that she could scarcely hear him breathe. A habit surely borne of spending so much time sleeping in dangerous places.
He was bare-chested, fingers loosely woven together across his middle, with a blanket of animal furs tucked around his waist. By the foot of the bedroll lay the tunic and leg-wraps he had been wearing, folded in a neat pile. Only his breeches remained on while he slept.
She studied him for any sign that he had awakened when she entered, but his eyes remained closed, and his breath slow and steady. It was clear he had been asleep for some time. With a sigh, she resolved to spend the hours of her watch next to him, if nothing else. Perhaps finish up her log. His nearness would assuage some of the loneliness she felt – though it would do little good for the tension.
But first, she granted herself a moment simply to gaze at him. To watch how his chest rose and fell with each breath. How his bared skin appeared almost luminous, bathed in the warm light of the campfire spilling through the threadbare walls of the tent, (one of many in need of replacing). Count the spray of freckles across his shoulders and collar, and wonder if they came naturally, or if it had taken wandering shirtless under a summer sun to amass them. Appreciate the way his long fingers twisted together and rest just below his navel. Covering the single, sparse, line of hair on his body.
The night they had spent entwined at Skyhold did not allow her this chance. No lazy, undisturbed morning awaited them. The few hours they'd had together at dawn were occupied by passion. They woke to birdsong, tangled together with Solas' lips pressed against the back of her neck. One good morning kiss led to another, and another, until she had a leg hooked over his hip and his hand on the small of her back eased her into a slow, leisurely rhythm. Following their lovemaking, Solas dressed and returned to his room before the handmaiden arrived to wake the Inquisitor for the day. Forgetting, for the moment, that discretion demanded he should have slipped away hours before.
Thankfully, the early hour meant few were wandering the halls, and no one he passed drew any conclusion from his presence. Nor from the pink glow that lingered on the points of his ears.
They could not unabashedly bed together – not yet, and perhaps not ever – and that knowledge left her acutely aware of how deeply she wished for his presence in hers now that they had shared it. It wasn't simply a matter of lust; she craved the little moments just as much. Falling asleep on his chest, waking with his arms wrapped around her. The feel of his breath against her skin.
Or watching him sleep.
It was a deeply intimate act, to observe a lover at rest – quiet, peaceful, and vulnerable – and so she lingered.
Somehow, she found herself reaching out for him. And before she could think better of it she was drawing her fingers over a cheekbone. Across his jaw. Tracing a thumb over the pout of his bottom lip, and a fingertip down the bridge of his nose. Soon his eyelids fluttered, and he took in a sharp breath as he woke, exhaling with a soft hum as blinking eyes met hers. "Ma'vhenan," he greeted. Offering a warm, sleepy smile.
Ellana drew her fingers away, suddenly feeling rather self-conscious about her indulgence. "I'm sorry," she muttered. "I didn't mean to wake you."
Solas unfolded his hands from his stomach and reached out to take one of hers between them. "I do not mind." Bringing her wrist to his lips, he kissed it softly. The little intimacy drawing a shy smile. "I was not yet deeply asleep. I had intended to meditate, but it seems I drifted off."
They shared a brief, but comfortable, silence with their hands joined over Solas' chest before Ellana turned away to shed her armour. She kneeled next to his bedroll, worrying at the buttons along the side of her leathers, and awkwardly reaching behind her back for the lacings. Solas rolled onto one side, propping himself up on an elbow and extending a hand to help her. Then, thinking better of it, he paused. Asking, "May I?"
She nodded, shifting to give him better access. He sat up behind her, making quick work of the lacings and fastenings until both her pauldrons and vambraces could slip from her arms. As he pulled one free, the loose, linen chemise she wore beneath caught on an eyelet, pulled, and slid down her shoulder. She had neglected to wear a breastband, the job done well enough by her leather corset, and so when the smocked collar caught on the swell of her breast, it nearly bared it. Deft fingers paused their work as Solas took note of her near-exposure. Considering. Then, with the lightest touch of his fingertips, he traced a path over her skin: up her back, along her bared shoulder and down her arm. He caught the ribboned edge of the blouse between two fingers and very slowly began to pull it back up.
A soft kiss fell upon her neck, just beneath her ear, and another below that. A mothwing press of lips on sensitive skin, raising gooseflesh where they brushed. His free hand grasped her opposite shoulder, holding her steady, and her head lolled back. Inviting him closer still. Melting into the embrace.
Short, hot little breaths grazed her skin between kisses. What began as delicate and slow was becoming harder and more insistent as his lips trailed down her throat. Along her shoulder. All the while slowly drawing the edge of her blouse back up her arm. She could feel his heart pounding where his chest pressed against her back, betraying his calm facade. Exciting her with the knowledge that he was equally aroused. And when she felt the slightest touch of his teeth upon her skin, heavy sighs gave way to a wanton moan.
At that, he stilled.
Mouth hovering a hair's breadth over the junction of her neck, and fingers paused at the curve of her shoulder. Waiting. Thinking. Inwardly weighing the decision to continue against his better judgment.
Gods please, she thought, do not stop there. The mere possibility of more had her aching. She could feel her own pulse thrumming in her throat, in her stomach, in her core. So desperate for his touch that even the drag of his fingertips along her arm had left her weak and heady.
But then, he took in a slow, even, breath and exhaled with a soft hum – the slightest note of amusement in the sound – and left another kiss upon her neck. This one almost chaste by comparison. Then, he quickly tucked the chemise back into place at the dip of her shoulder.
"My apologies, vhenan," he whispered against her skin. His nose brushed her ear. "I could not resist." And with that, he pulled away. Giving a final, playful, tug of her corset laces. The sudden jerk against her diaphragm stealing a sharp gasp from her throat.
Ellana felt her cheeks warm, and she gave a quiet huff of laughter. It was all she could manage in reply, having temporarily lost the ability to speak. She tossed a glance over her shoulder, finding Solas once more propped up on an elbow, hands folded together on the bedroll. A little quirk of a smile on his lips. He watched with interest as she shed the last remnants of her armour, until clad only in the loose chemise and a pair of breeches. She folded the leather pieces and stacked them in a neat pile, placing them by the entrance of the tent so they would be ready to take with her when she left it.
An idea struck her then – revenge for his tease – and with a mischievous smile, she turned around and crawled back toward him on all fours. The loose collar of the chemise hung low from her body as she moved, and with nothing beneath, it allowed Solas a generous view of her bared breasts. She watched, pleased, as his gaze slipped downward and lingered on the sight. Hastily meeting her eyes when she closed the distance.
She raised a brow, and offered a mocking, "Couldn't resist?"
He chuckled, a bit sheepishly. "Indeed," he admitted.
With a smile, she leaned in, brushing soft lips against his own. He lifted his chin, welcoming the kiss. It was a gentle, intimate thing at first – soft lips and warm breath. Yet it did not take long to become more. Parted lips gave way to breathy sighs. A quiet moan. The touch of his tongue and a soft suck of her lower lip that she returned eagerly.
Solas' hand drifted into her neck, twisting his fingers into the loose, messy braid. So neat and prim that morning when first she'd styled it, now little more than a gathering of frizzy fly-aways and escaped curls. She braced a hand against his raised shoulder and pushed. The kiss broke as they rolled; his hand grasped firmly around her waist to hold her close once their lips parted, then joined the other to wind deep into her hair. Quick, eager fingers soon found the ribbon that held the plaits together, and carefully pulled it free.
The silken tie fell away from thick twists of dark hair as they unravelled over her back in lazy twirls, settling into waves that framed her face and neck. Solas combed his fingers through the locs. Eyes following the flow of her unbound hair where it spilled over her shoulders and onto his chest. She closed her eyes, leaning into the touch – intimate and tender as he cradled her – but there was a hunger there, too. Palpable in the press of his fingers against her scalp, and the way he twisted and pulled the hair at the nape of her neck. Just a little. The sensation sent an electric tingle through her skin that granted him a soft hum of pleasure.
He did not idle there. Sliding his fingers free of the locs, he trailed his touch along the sensitive edge of her ears, across her jaw, before finally coming to rest upon her cheeks. Cupping her face with both hands. A thumb drew over her lips, coaxing them to part. A moment passed where he did naught but gaze at her, a look of deep longing upon his face. She watched him curiously, knowing too well what gave him pause and wondering how much longer he could fight against his own desire. Even having already laid with her, he faltered in this moment. A combination of old habits, she suspected, and lingering doubts.
Coquettish play and tease came easily; such moments were ephemeral, flights of fancy, with no promise of sex immediately following. But here, alone in the tent together, the air heavy with want and his heart beating a pounding rhythm against her breast, he hesitated to take what was offered. A lifetime spent embroiled in war, politics and guilt had hardened him to many things, but weakened him to love. He was forever fighting a battle with himself: against infatuation, falling for her, and then with lust. Careful – as much as he wanted to give in, to enjoy what they had. Always waiting for her to push him just a little – offer that small reassurance; a reminder that she was real. That what they had together was real.
It was not until the last shreds of self-control were stripped away that he embraced that need. Was lost to it. Love, like water to a parched mouth. The night in the library, when an impulsive kiss lit the flames, and at Skyhold, when their argument had left him too raw and exposed to keep pushing her away.
Slowly, but surely, she was chasing the darkness away. Easing his doubts with gentle hands and soft lips. Patience and persistence to chip away the last remnants of the mask he'd worn for so much of his life that he feared going without. She could see it now, as she stared back at him, how it was slipping. The way his eyes, dark and heavy, lingered on her parted lips. It would take the smallest touch to undo him, she knew, but she wanted him to admit to himself – to her – how much he wanted in this moment.
And she knew she had him when the corner of his mouth lifted, and he shook his head. A battle won, and choice made. The excitement that fluttered in her chest coaxed from her an eager sound as Solas leaned in, only barely uttering a hushed, "Ina'lan'ehn ma," before his mouth crashed against hers. Untamed passion pouring into the kiss like a deluge.
Rough hands slid down her back and gripped her waist tightly. She writhed and rocked, a thigh pushing against his groin and earning her a pleasured moan and a stutter of his hips. The evidence of his arousal swelling against her. Each time she rolled her body against his, he responded in kind. Hips lifting to meet hers. Quiet, needy, sounds slipping from his lips between frantic kisses.
A choked moan caught in her throat when he ran his teeth along her bottom lip. Biting it, and pulling gently. Teasing. A little suck, another nip, and a flick of his tongue before diving in for a deeper kiss. Blunted nails dragged along her back. His need evident in the red trails he left on bared skin where he had pushed up her clothes. One palm ran down her spine and settled on her ass, gripping hard and pulling up as he tensed his leg; the angle ensuring his thigh would drag against her in the most wonderful way.
The sensation had her body buzzing in seconds. He swallowed her pleasured groan, muffling the sound so it would not carry beyond his tent. Though Solas tended to set his shelter at the furthest edge of their camp, it was far from isolated. Anything louder than quiet conversation would easily fall upon the ears of anyone who happened to wake. Elven ears, in particular. And it was clear that, even while lost to this moment, he had no want for them to be overheard or interrupted.
However, if he was looking to keep her silent, he was doing a terrible job of it.
Between his hand working to rock her against his thigh, and the subtle thrust of his hips against her leg – strained, halted movements as though he was fighting to keep still, but could not help but indulge the sensation – her body was set alight. Quiet little whines in the back her throat soon gave way to moans that pulled deep from her chest as the sensation built. Teasing. Fire burning in her core. The sound of his fevered panting between kisses, and the feel of his heart racing against her breast, only drove her further. If they continued this way for too much longer, as tightly wound as she was, staying quiet would become considerably more challenging. Yet still, she wanted more.
Slowly, carefully, she dragged a hand down his chest. Pausing to roll her thumb over a hardened nipple, and enjoy the way his body tightened in response, uttering a groan that made her stomach twist. Too reminiscent of the sounds that fell so easily from swollen lips when he reached his end. Sounds that had haunted her dreams (and several ill-advised incidences of fantasy) for the past week.
For someone so quiet and reserved, he was far more vocal a lover than she had expected – far more than she was accustomed to. Young Dalish quickly learned the value of silence, and speed, when it came to a lover's tryst. A tumble outside the boundaries of the clan was best accomplished quietly and finished before anyone noticed you were gone. Solas was the first lover she'd had who was free with his praise. Pleasured moans and breathy sighs offered readily, unabashed, and she found she enjoyed it far more than she thought was possible. In particular, the way her name sounded as it was torn, ragged, from his lips as he crested. Better still, how easily he coaxed the same sounds from her. After years spent making love in near silence, being brought to a pleasure that left her throat raw and head spinning felt like discovering a new world.
Presently, she bit her lip. Drawing careful fingers down his side, across his stomach – his muscles fluttering beneath her touch – finally coming to rest at the waistline of his breeches. There, she scratched a single nail back and forth along the hem, just above his groin, where his erection strained against the laces. And there she stayed, awaiting permission to go further.
It was clear enough that he wanted her. Badly.
Still, she was careful not to push him too hard… Despite the fervor in his kiss, she feared common sense would win out over passion. Beyond his usual doubts, he was holding on to something else. A sense of propriety, she gathered, or ego. Given their current locale. Perhaps just a test of self-control. Reservation, and resistance to temptation, were a matter of pride for him – though it seemed when it came to intimacy, his self-control was near non-existent, once tested.
She could feel the tension in his body. Hear it in the choked gasp he gave when she rolled her hip against him. Feel it in his hands as he toyed with the hem of her chemise. How his fingers edged beneath the waist of her breeches only to drag back out again, as though testing himself. So, she waited – for an encouraging word, a movement; for him to let go and give himself permission to enjoy this fully.
Though, if she was honest with herself, she would admit it took every ounce of restraint she had left not to just tear his breeches down his thighs and sheathe him then.
Instead, she teased. Her lips only barely brushing against his own. Withdrawing far enough to make him have to chase her. Capture her lip in his teeth, suck, tongue darting out to lick, only to have her draw just out of reach again. A few more times, and she could feel the prick of his nails digging into her skin. His frustration growing. The next tease of her lips drew a low growl from his throat – and, surprisingly, a subtle shake of his head.
"Ellana," he breathed. Her name sounded pained as it pushed from his lips in a whisper. "You—we should stop." A hard swallow. His voice wavering as he spoke. "W-we shouldn't. Not here. The others, they may… I do not think…" he trailed off. Whatever thought he'd intended to finish soon forgotten as his eyes slipped closed, lips parting to search for hers again. Unable to keep himself away. His hands roved her back, hips, and thighs, moving as though they'd a mind of their own. Probing beneath the thin layers of her clothes, seeking the warmth of her bared skin.
Whatever his mouth may claim, his hands told a different story.
She shifted, sliding her leg out of his grip so she could fully straddle his waist. Knees locked tight to his sides. With measured care, she sank down upon him, dragging a slow rock of her hips against the steeled press of his arousal. The groan he gave in response was almost too loud. Too much, as his hands jumped her waist and instinctively pulled her body forward, drawing out the motion even further. Eyes rolling back and hips thrusting upward to chase the sensation. He muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like 'asha' elvar'nas, ma elgar'isalathe'.
She leaned down, ensuring her lips would brush against the shell of his ear as she spoke. Voice low and full of promise. "Are you telling me you truly do not want to?" she challenged in a whisper, and pulled away just far enough to gauge his response to her taunt. He gazed back at her with eyes heavy-lidded and pupils blown wide. A flush of red colouring his face and chest.
He gave her a crooked smile. "A lack of desire," he rasped, words punctuated by another hard, audible swallow, "is not the problem, I assure you. If anything, the issue is an excess of it that has allowed us to get into this—" She gave another slow rock, enjoying the way his breath caught in his throat before he managed to find his voice again. "—ah, position."
Lips trailed down his neck, tongue darting out to taste the sweat on his skin. He palmed her ass, fingers gliding around the backs of her thighs, inching ever closer. Again, she rocked against him, and again he thrust in return. This time throwing his head back, eyes squeezing shut as he choked out a moan that was definitely loud enough to carry past the tent this time. He seemed to realize this a second too late, cursing under his breath and biting his lip to stifle anything else that threatened to escape. Fortunately, it seemed they remained unheard – the chorus of snores across the camp continued unabated.
Against his throat, Ellana cooed a quiet, "Then why stop?" Rolling another pass over his groin.
"Because," he managed, "A party camp is not the – ah! – most appropriate place for intimacy." Though he did not sound particularly convinced of this answer.
She laughed. Pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, his jaw, slowly making her way toward his mouth. "You honestly think we would be the first to make love in a camp?" she asked slyly.
He chuckled, and shook his head. Gently, so not to interrupt the path of kisses she left along his face and neck. "I—no," he answered after a pause. Throat bobbing with another hard swallow. "I'm certain there have been many who took leave of their senses to indulge in carnality."
She grinned wickedly. "And would I be correct in assuming you've never had the pleasure?" she teased.
His eyes closed as her kisses neared his lips, now curled with a coy smile. "Do you believe me to be inexperienced with passion?" he replied, taking the bait. It was becoming a struggle to keep his voice steady, the gravelly rasp easily betraying any attempt he'd made to hide his state. It was a facade, and she knew it – and he knew that she knew – yet he persisted. Enjoying the game.
The trail of kisses stopped at the edge of his mouth, and waited. Pausing, to enjoy the way his lips parted in anticipation. Ready to welcome teeth or tongue. Only to be left unfulfilled when she reversed direction back toward his ear.
"Perhaps," she teased. Teeth dragged along the edge of his ear, nipping softly at the tip. He groaned, a sound both frustration and pleasure. She continued, unphased, "I'd imagine you've never taken leave of your senses." Her voice was low, breathy. The slightest hint of a moan slipped between teasing strokes of her tongue along the point of his ear. "Never allowed yourself to indulge in—" She punctuated the next word with a slow grind of her hips, "— carnality," and gave a salacious hum of pleasure as she rocked back and forth over his arousal. Ensuring he felt every little shift of her hips; the barely perceptible press of her swollen nub against his cock.
There was barely time to process the flurry of movement – both his arms wrapped around her back, a leg lifted her hips for leverage, a growl rumbled from deep in his throat – and suddenly they were rolling. Then she was on her back, gasping, the sound swallowed by his mouth as it crashed into hers. His kiss like fire; hot and greedy, feeding on anything she could offer it.
When they finally broke for breath, he was grinning. Looking positively wolfish as he stared down at her. One hand raked down her side and grasped her thigh, bracing it high against his hip, and then rocking against her. Angling his body so he would drag himself along her clit, teasing her much the way she'd done to him. She had to bite her lip to keep from crying out.
"Not," he whispered against her mouth, "In a very, very long time."
Oh, thank the Gods!
She laughed, in victory and relief, and circled her arms around his neck, capturing his mouth. The heavy press of his chest pinned her body to the ground, holding her in place as his hips worked a slow rhythm. Clothed though they were, the friction felt exquisite for bodies so tightly wound.
A hand slipped beneath her clothes to palm her breast. Kneading, and then pinching a tight nipple between two fingers. Eliciting a moan that rang in his ears, and sent his heart pounding. Wanting more. He grasped, frantic, at the hem of her chemise, pushing it up over her stomach. She arched off the bedroll to give him room, and in the next instant, he'd hooked his arms under her back and thrust them both upright. Mouths parting just long enough to draw the chemise up between them as he tore it off. Tossing it into some corner of the tent, instantly forgotten.
Once bared, he pulled her close – hard enough to steal her breath – crushing her breasts against his chest. Devouring her with hands and mouth. She took hold of the leather cord that held his pendant, wrapping it once around her hand, and then fell backward, pulling him down with her. They landed with a sharp grunt, sideways across the bedroll, though neither noticed nor cared. Too occupied by the task of pulling breeches down over hips. Ellana wriggled free of her own, giggling, as Solas struggled to do the same with his and still manage to keep kissing her.
And then it was nothing but naked skin. Flush with desire, and slick with sweat. Tangled limbs beneath a cover of fur blankets. Solas hooked her legs over his hips, pinning her body against the rumpled bedroll with his weight. The firm press of his arousal gliding easily along wet folds. Teasing. The slow, grinding, rhythm leaving her a writhing, mewling mess beneath him. Body coiled tight with want and achingly empty.
They were a flurry of frantic movement. Fingers delved into her hair, cradled her neck, and cupped her breasts. Her own grasping at his back and shoulders, pulling him closer when his lips began to wander down the column of her throat. Leaving sharp little bites that had her keening. Struggling to stifle eager cries into the back of her hand, now pressed firmly to her mouth.
She was on fire. Between the grind of his hips; the sound of his fast, heavy, breath at her ear; and the heat of his mouth working its way down her chest, her mind was a blur. Then his tongue began to trace the slope her breast, flicking a tightened nipple before he sucked the bud into his mouth, and she could take no more. The twist of heat in her core became a roaring flame. That delicious pool of tension between her legs beginning to spread through her body.
It took an incredible amount of effort to resist the urge to give in then and there. To surrender to sensation and ride the slow grind of his hips to a release she'd needed since they left Skyhold. A week of stolen moments and no outlet for her frustration had left her far too sensitive. Absurdly, she realized that was twice he'd been able to bring her close with little more than the rock of his body against hers. And while the thought of giving in was tempting – far, far too tempting – she was after more than just her own pleasure.
With thighs tight around his waist and ankles hooked together over his backside, she shifted beneath him. Angling her hips so he could slide between her thighs and push inside her. A silent plea for more.
But he did not take the invitation.
Instead, he pressed a palm against her waist to still her eager hips. Frustrated, she slipped a hand between their bodies, intent to guide him. But to her surprise, he broke the kiss. Deftly catching her wrist just before she could take hold.
"Not yet," he chided. A note of promise in his voice that spoke of other plans.
However, she had grown too restless to wait. "I want you," Ellana plead. Straining against his grip. Eager to touch. To stroke. And in spite of his efforts to restrain her, she soon found her target. Fingertips trailed over velvet skin, up and down the underside of his shaft. It was a small rebellion. One that left her satisfied when his hold on her wrist began to slacken.
"Ellana," he groaned, the word pushed through clenched teeth. "Vhenan."
Undeterred, she repeated, "I want you."
She took her time. Circling his length with the softest brush of her fingertips, exploring, marveling at how easily he succumbed to touch. Clearly, she was not the only one left weak and wanting. She watched, rapt with attention, the shades of bliss and hunger that played across his face as he struggled to resist her ministrations. Failing miserably once she began to squeeze her way down, fingers coming to rest at the base of his cock where she gripped him firmly and gave a long, hard, pump of her hand.
That, it seemed, was his breaking point.
Sensation won out. He bucked hard into her fist, groaning, all attempts to stop her forgotten. He buried his face in her throat to muffle the sounds a repeat of the motion elicited. Again and again she worked him, building up to a pace hard enough to have him at her mercy, but too slow to bring him to his end.
He was not the only one who could tease.
A string of Elvish left his lips, feverish words whispered against her skin. So urgent and breathless that she only caught a single phrase – you undo me – before he bit down upon her shoulder. Hard. The sudden sting of pain stealing a sharp cry. At that, she slowed her hand. Drawing out a final stoke with a long, careful movement before she released him. As he shuddered, she drew a line from stomach to throat with a single finger, then cradled his head in her palm. Still nestled in the junction of her neck and shoulder.
After giving him a moment to catch his breath, "I dare say you want me too," she whispered with a grin. His body shook with silent laughter, and he brushed his lips over tender skin. Surely now they were even. And so, "I need you," she urged. Wrapping her legs around his waist again. "Solas, ma vhenan, please."
"Not. Yet."
She made an angry noise. Kicked her heel into his backside hard enough to give him a start, but he only kept laughing. After having waited this long for him to set aside his reservations about making love in a camp and give in to passion, she had no patience left for endless teasing. While she quietly fumed, he kissed her neck. Whispering soft Elvish against her skin as a hand slipped down her body.
"Ar'harthan mar irlahna."
Oh.
That was his game.
He let his wicked promise hang in the air as his fingers swept over slick folds. Rubbing tight circles over her clit until he had her gasping, and then sliding two curled fingers deep inside.
"Gods, yes!"
She keened and writhed, helpless and lost to pleasure, as he worked a steady rhythm to the rock of her hips. It took no time at all to have her panting, open-mouthed, her forehead pressed to his. A quiet whine punctuating every breath while her hands gripped his shoulders. White-knuckled. Nails digging crescents into his skin. "Please," she begged, "Isalathe... elvar'el."
A sudden warmth bloomed within her. A rush – not painful, but deliciously teasing – spreading outward from her core. Seeping into her stomach, thighs, and chest. It was different from the connection magic he had used before. This seemed to arc through her body. Mana that surged from his fingers in quick, pulsing, waves that spread in all directions. His thumb circled and fingers thrust – every movement sending another wave through her. It tingled. It burned. Flooding her nerves, and driving her hard and fast toward her peak.
Before she could think to stop herself, she was crying out. Loud and unrestrained. Thighs twisting around his hand.
His lips were at her ear, then. "Hush," he whispered. "Or I will be forced to stop."
"Don't you fucking dare," she gasped.
Yet she couldn't seem to heed the advice; her cries rising from a quiet whine to a vocal gasp as the tension grew. She bit her lip to muffle the sounds but her breath was coming too hard now for it to work for long. She was vaguely aware of his voice at her ear, shushing her again, even as his hands urged her on. Harder. Closer. The world seemed to fall away. Her hips ground against him, head lolling helplessly back and forth as she fought to control herself.
She felt Solas' other hand slide up her body. Fingers brushing against her mouth, hesitant to cover it and yet all too aware of her increasing volume. He brushed his thumb across her swollen lips. "If you cannot quiet," he said, "I'm going to cover your mouth." A question as much as a command, she knew – he would never do anything she did not consent to. But his breath was hot on her neck, and had she long ago lost the ability to answer him. And then she was cresting. Though she tried to contain it, a deep, guttural cry grew in her throat.
His hand clapped over her mouth with an audible slap.
Something about the pressure made it all the better, and it tipped her over the edge. She pressed a long, loud moan into his palm as she came. Hands clawing at his back, legs twisting, and toes curling. Shaking, as the waves crashed over her, again and again. The slow pulse of his magic, and the rhythm of his fingers, drawing out her climax for as long as her body could carry her. Then slowly – very slowly – he brought her down again. The pulse ebbing, mana receding, until then there was nothing left but the glow. And then she was gasping, weak and shaking beneath him.
His fingers slid from her, swollen flesh left wet and quivering. Yet still she yearned. Too sensitive to touch, and somehow still buzzing with desire. It was at once too much and not enough.
"My apologies," Solas said quietly, removing his hand from her mouth. He lay a kiss where his palm had been. "You did not seem able to quiet yourself on your own. I did not wish for you to be overheard." The look he gave her then was far too smug.
Her eyes narrowed. "You," she accused playfully.
She wrapped her legs around his waist, and rolled. Pinning him on his back beneath her. Her kiss was devouring; so eager to finally have him that their teeth nearly knocked together when her mouth crashed into his. Parting his lips to taste him. The deft movements of her tongue mirrored in the grind of her hips. Sliding wet folds along his hardened length. Satisfied, when the tease earned a wonderfully desperate noise from him. A choked groan that escaped between curses.
Rough hands on her back pulled and pleaded, urging her body closer. Fingers curling to dig into her flesh until she could feel the sting of his nails and the way his hands… trembled?
Interesting, she thought.
Lips and teeth left a trail of wet kisses along his jaw. "Are you cold?" she tested.
He laughed weakly. "Far from it."
"You're shaking."
His voice was thick and rough, even in a whisper. He hesitated before replying, "It seems I may have underestimated your effect on me."
That, she thought, was more than enough; she could not draw this out. Not after such an admission.
She reached down between their bodies and took hold of him with a firm grip. Felt his stomach tense in anticipation, all the air in his lungs escaping in a sharp hiss. She sheathed him in one slow, slick, movement – savoring the pinch and stretch of seating him to the hilt. This time, he was not able to hold his body still as he entered her – the warmth was too welcoming, and he too wanting – and he thrust upward, deep inside her, whispering a quiet curse in penance.
Ellana stilled, watching the pleasure play across his face in the way his eyes rolled back and squeezed shut. Lips parting for air, and chest heaving. He was frayed and raw – breathless – already lost to the moment. The first, slow, rock was met with a moan and a buck of his hips. Then his eyes found hers. Dark and heavy, desire laid bare. With parted lips, he gasped and groaned as they found a rhythm. Already worn ragged from the challenge of staying quiet, and scarcely able to lean up to kiss her.
She braced one hand against the center of his chest and the other on his hip, rising to sit upon him with her knees held tight to his sides. She moved in slow, deep, circles – gradually building speed – leaning back just enough to find that perfect angle. The one that buried him completely, and ensured each turn of her hips had his cock press just the right place within her. It was a technique that would bring them both to a quick end, she knew, but setting a record was not a priority tonight. This was not a night for slow and steady – they were wound far too tight for such luxury.
Aside, there was something wonderfully arousing about testing his restraint when he was in such a state. Unraveled, and struggling to maintain control; not lose himself too fast, as much as he yearned to. Though they had only spent the single night together, she was learning his tells – he was not shy with them – and so knew enough already to recognize when he neared his end.
As expected, it did not take much. For either of them.
Soon, she had him panting; softly moaning at the peak of every thrust. His nails digging crescents into the meat of her thighs. Tension built, coiling tight within her as she rode him. Her hips circling fast enough now that the tent filled with the wet, obscene, sounds of their bodies working together.
"Ellana," Solas breathed. Then, "Vhenan," his tone more insistent this time. "Ellana you— you must—" Another groan. His grip on her waist was so tight she could feel his hands trembling. His breath coming in shallow gasps as though he was suffocating. A few more turns of her hips and he was moaning aloud, moving against her in erratic jerks and thrusts as he struggled to keep up with her frantic pace.
His eyes snapped open. "Ellana!"
It wasn't a whisper this time, but a panicked warning that threatened to carry across the camp. And so, abruptly, she stilled. The sudden loss of sensation wrenching a choked cry from his throat. Relief, as much as disappointment. He pushed his head against the bedroll and closed his eyes. It took a moment, but he managed to regain his composure: slow his breathing and ease the tension in his hips.
He swallowed. "You must slow down," he pleaded, his voice little more than a strained whisper.
As she leaned down, she gave a slow, sensual rock of her hips. Purring her reply against his ear, "And why should I?"
"You are – mmn – making it very difficult." Though the words were chiding, he could not hide the way the corner of his mouth curled. He was enjoying this just as much as she was.
Another slow rock. One he returned with an upward thrust and a breathy sigh – a wonderfully pleased sound. She smiled, nipping at his ear. "I think I like making it difficult."
He laughed, weakly, "That is certainly— ah!" But whatever more he'd wished to say was lost in a gasp when she sat up again and resumed the cycling of her hips. Reveling in the way his hands tightened to near-fists against her sides as she steadily increased her pace. It took even less time this round to have him trembling again, his stomach taut and tight as he struggled to keep his tenuous control. Her body felt electric, heat pooling in her core as she moved. It would not take much more for her to reach her pleasure, but she wanted to see him shatter first.
His chest was slick with sweat where she braced her hand against him, and she used the position to lean back further, weaving and rocking until she heard the gulping breaths that told her he was close. He whispered her name again; more of a plea than warning – and the sound sent a thrill through her. A groan, as she felt the tight coil of heat within her begin to unravel.
He jerked. Warned, "If you don't stop..." and dug his nails into her skin. She sped up. "Ellana." He gasped, began to call her name another time, then cut himself off with a low, heavy groan and a sharp curse. "Fenedhis, t-tel'diana, ma sildeara'on—" Then all at once he tensed, his body curling off the bedroll. The hard pulse of his release tore her over the edge with him. Had her rocking, frantic and wild. Choked gasps filling the tent as they rode through the waves of pleasure together.
When the last of the lingering aftershocks had abated, she collapsed onto his chest. The sound of his heaving breaths was almost as loud as the thump of his pulse, racing against her ear. It warmed her.
"Your heart," she murmured, grinning, "is pounding."
His laughter followed her own, and, "Yes," he replied simply.
He drew a hand up and over his face, wiping roughly at his sweat-slick brow, before allowing his arm to drop, boneless, onto the ground above his head. Ellana tucked her face into his neck, brushing a feather-light kiss against his skin. Smiling, content, as she felt his pulse slowly return to a normal pace beneath the touch of her lips.
They lay, silent and spent, in the glow that a long-awaited release brought them. Minutes passed before Ellana spoke again. "You know," she began. Coy and playful. "If you were that wound up, you could have just asked."
To her surprise, he gave her side a quick pinch. She yelped, lifting her head off his chest to level him with a glare. He was grinning. "As I have said, a party camp is not the most appropriate place, and offers little in the way of discretion. We were fortunate not to have been overheard or interrupted. I was content to wait until Skyhold."
With a scoff, "Content is not how I'd put it," she informed, glib. "You were trembling."
He opened his mouth to retort, but the remark seemed to die on his tongue, and so he closed it instead, narrowing his eyes. "It has been some time," he admitted.
She smirked. "It's been a week."
"Since I have been intimate with someone," he clarified, pursing his lips.
"How long, then?" The question was a loaded one, but soft eyes and a raised brow were enough to tell him she was teasing.
A quiet, disapproving groan accompanied the decidedly unamused look he gave her. Regardless, he answered, "Many, many centuries."
"I suppose that could make one work up an appetite," she teased lightly.
"Hmm," he hummed in return. It was neither an admission nor a denial.
She shifted, releasing him with a gush that spread onto the bedroll beneath them. Neither had the mind to prepare, nor had they set camp anywhere near a source of clean water, and so were left without means to cleanse themselves. There were fresh cloths in Ellana's pack, a supply she kept both for washing and her blood moon, but those supplies currently lay by her tent across camp. And she was still blissfully nude, with no want to retrieve them. Not when Solas' arm was draped so lovingly about her shoulders.
They lay together in blessed quiet. Relaxed and content in each other's arms, enjoying the sated glow of their union. Beyond the camp, the forest's song of beasts and birds carried on the air, steadily lulling them toward sleep. The crackling of the dying fire offered little light anymore, and would soon need to be fed and stoked if it was to last into the dawn. It was only by the grace of sensitive Elven eyes that either could see in the dark of their – temporarily – shared tent.
It would be far too easy to stay this way. A warm, spent, tangle of limbs – tucked, naked beneath a blanket of furs and lying crooked on a single bedroll too small to hold a pair. Light fingers tracing patterns over sweat-licked skin, reveling in the simple intimacy of touch after too long without. A week of craving it, taking what they could in fleeting moments of privacy, and enduring the temptation of proximity the rest of the time. In spite of the inconvenience, and the risk, of having surrendered to passion while camped – they could not be bothered to care about the consequences. Not in this moment, at least, while they lay curled together. Light as air.
It was with a heavy sigh that Solas brought them back to reality. "As much as I would enjoy remaining this way, I imagine you are nearly due to end your watch."
A reply came, muffled, from his shoulder. "Probably," she admitted, though she made no indication to move.
The smile was evident in his voice as he continued, "Would you prefer the rude awakening we would no doubt receive from Sera if you had not returned to your tent come morning?"
"She's all out of lizards," replied Ellana pointedly.
A quiet chuckle shook his chest, and by extension, her head where it lay upon it. "I am certain she would find a suitable alternative."
She sighed heavily, replying, "You're probably right." His arm tightened around her, just a little, loath to let her go though both knew she could not stay. The next watch was due and she needed to alert Cole, and tend to the fire, before returning to her own tent.
Still, she allowed herself a final moment to enjoy the warmth of his body before she began to untangle herself from their embrace. She sat up, and reached for her clothes. But before she could retrieve them, there came a soft touch to her arm. Curious, she stilled, and looked to Solas for an explanation. "What is—" she began, but was soon silenced as he hooked both hands beneath her arms and pulled her down for a fierce kiss. One he quickly deepened with the insistence of his tongue between her parted lips.
The kiss was long, and slow; the heat between them tempered for now, but no less passionate. A hand slid along her side, and the warmth of his touch on her cooled skin made her shiver. When he pulled away, it was with a soft nip of her lower lip. And she smiled.
But for a second too long, he did not return it.
In his eyes, she saw the briefest flash of something vulnerable. Something anxious, and afraid – before it was safely tucked away, and the corner of his mouth finally lifted. A smile that did not quite reach his eyes. The look was all too familiar; one she had hoped not to see again. It dropped a heavy weight into her stomach. And he did not look at all surprised when her own smile faded. A sense of unease settling upon her.
Her voice was barely a whisper when she spoke again. A question she wished she did not have to ask. "There's more, isn't there?"
Silence was her answer.
I may post a 'deleted scene' from this in a new document come the next few days, so keep a lookout for it.
Updates? Prompts? Questions? Tumblr: .com
TRANSLATIONS:
Ar'da'laven, sil'ma, ar tel'matha. Isalathe ma'dun, ma'numin = My touch, my thoughts, they do not satisfy me. I need your body, your cries.
Ina'lan'ehn ma = You are so beautiful
asha' elvar'nas, ma elgar'isalathe = wicked woman, you are a desire demon
ma vhenan = my heart
Ar'harthan mar irlahna = I would hear your cries
Isalathe... elvar'el = I need... more
Fenedhis, tel'diana, ma sildeara'on = [cursing], don't stop, you feel so good