Prompt: Their ebullient spirits were possibly a result of medication that was not over-the-counter.
"What on Thedas is in this?"
The ruby liquid burnt his throat as he swallowed huge, greedy gulps of it, numbing his tongue on the way down.
"Secret recipe, boss. Doubt you'd remember tomorrow anyhow."
Dorian just giggled and curled around the chair he'd fallen off, and Ellias eyed him with unconcealed amusement. Despite the other mage's bluster, he's got little experience in the real world, and absolutely no ability to hold his liquor. Bull, on the other hand, seemed entirely unaffected, and is downing flagons to every careful tumbler Ellias finishes. He is somewhere in the middle, he thinks, edges of the world slowly blurring to a pleasant hum, but not so far gone he is lying in the sand. Not yet, anyway. It's a pleasant way to spend the overbearing heat of the afternoon; they are stuck waiting for Inquisition forces to clear the bridge anyway, and the surrounding area has been entirely cleared of rifts.
Unsurprisingly, Solas had declined to join in, and withdrew to his – their – tent soon after the midday meal was finished. Something about wanting to finish his notes on an elven ruin they stumbled over a handful of days ago, though Ellias suspected he just wanted to find refuge in the Fade and escape their company from a while. For all they dressed it up with polite remarks, it is clear there is no love lost between Bull and Solas, and despite a number of overtures by Dorian, Solas remains unwilling to be friendly with the Tevinter mage. So far, the only one Ellias has seen him be more than civil with was Cole, as if people were not worth his friendship. One day, he decided, he would find out more about the man's past, and discover just what had made him so jaded.
No matter what he did, all Ellias seemed to earn was the elf's disapproval. Solas is happy enough to talk about the Fade, as if encouraging a slow pupil, but it rankles to know the mage still sees him as some clueless Dalish. After Haven, he had hoped that they were getting somewhere, but since installing himself in Skyhold, Solas has retreated into himself again. The only time he seems alive is when they are arguing over something or other, and Mythal help him, Ellias wants to see more of that fire. Used to getting what, and who, he wanted, Solas' continual disinterest makes him all the more determined to break that mask of civility and force him to react with feeling.
Ellias finished his cup and stood, only mildly disorientated. "I think I'm going to catch a nap while there's nothing around to fight."
Bull raised his tankard to his horns. "Kay, boss. I'll wake you if anything interesting happens." He smiled then, and gestured at Dorian, who was now snoring loudly. "Think he's likely to puke?"
"Maybe." He shrugged and slipped away, bare feet hot on the sand. The tent he shared with the other mage was mercifully cool in contrast, and he is thankful Solas took the time to set up cool wards before falling asleep. For a few moments, he just watches the other elf, tracing the steady rise and fall of his breathing in the dim light. Despite the heat, Solas was still fully dressed from ankle to neck, and Ellias wondered how the other man could sleep in so much leather.
Ellias, conversely, wasted no time in removing his clothes. He'd taken the majority of his armour off when they'd made camp, remaining in shirt and legging out of a mixture of propriety and desire not to make his sunburn any worse, but they are both slick with sweat now and clung to him uncomfortably. It is a relief to be naked and cool, though he doubted he would ever be entirely free of sand.
He stretched and let out a soft purr of contentment as his back popped back into place, before dropping down onto his cot, already missing the soft opulence of the huge Orlesian bed waiting for him at Skyhold. Turning onto his back, he pillowed his arms under his head as his eyes crept away to watch Solas again, wondering just where the mage has crept off to this time. Would there be anything interesting here to explore? He doubted that there had ever been much of a civilization here, though the scattered artifacts they had discovered suggested something had once lived here.
His thoughts moved to a conversation he'd overheard between Solas and Blackwall, when the warden had accused him of pursuing more intimate relationships with spirits. Sex, in the Fade? He'd never considered such a thing possible, especially with beings without a real body of their own. He supposed demons could seem real enough, so it was not entirely impossible, but the idea just seemed so unlikely. Solas had not denied it, which probably meant there was at least a little truth in it. The idea of it, of Solas finding pleasure in the Fade while his body lay right here, made his breath hitch, and one hand crept down his abdomen.
It was wrong, but it wasn't like Solas would ever find out. A dark thrill of taboo shuddered through him as he stroked himself to hardness, unable to resist wondering what Solas would say if he woke up. It amused him to think of the Fade mage seeking pleasure with spirits while Ellias found his on his own in the real world, and he pumped his fist faster as he imagined it was him in the Fade instead, that Solas was seeking pleasure with spirits wearing his face, that it was the other elf's mouth wrapped around his cock and not his own hand. Lost in the fantasy, it didn't take him long to find completion, coming hard on his stomach as he bit his lip to muffle the moan that tried to escape. He'd be sticky later, but for now, sated and tipsy, he didn't particularly care.
Caught in the afterglow of his orgasm, Ellias did not notice the eyes watching him with curious, predatory interest.