AN: This is what happens when one writes slow-burn fanfic and needs to get the tension out. Not super developed plot/characters but I hope you enjoy.
Modern College AU.
It was late in the evening when she knocked on the door to his sanctuary. No timid tap nor wary request for entrance, her fist pounded against the antique wood until the ancient thing swung open on its oiled hinges.
The room itself looked much like the man who called it his place of study. A cavernous space, it was crammed full of esoteric texts and enough reference material to put even the most prolific museum to shame. Notes on ancient dance custom were layered beneath equally meticulous observations of dining and hierarchical housing manifests, and all of them were written in the precise and undeniably masculine hand of the man who acting Department Head of Ancient Cultures.
Silent as a tomb, her presence in such a space might have been jarring had she not seemed so utterly one with the chaos that she found there. Still, it was not a perfect congruency, and despite her ease she was, in many ways, a contrast to this shrine of academic refinement. Intelligent though she was, there was no ounce of reserve, in the loud clothing she wore, the daring cut of her blouse and the tattoos that painted her from neck to wrist.
A rebel, a child of modernity. She bore the trappings of her age with the sort of reckless dedication of youth, a wild, hedonistic revel in oneself.
Had she been anyone else, those of the collegiate upper crust might have had something to say about her appearance in the office of the university's foremost experts on ancient culture. But she had arrived with the reputation of a prodigy, and the years since her arrival had only cemented that rumor as fact. Even those who might have objected to her at the onset had been forced to admit that if anyone was bright enough to succeed as department head, vacant after so many years, it would be her.
"Hey, professor?"
She poked her head into his office as she made her way around the space, already knowing he would not be behind his desk. Despite the light that shone in the dark, his desk remained acutely empty save for the memories of the night before.
It was hardly a surprise, but his absence there could only mean one thing. Grinning, she turned and headed towards the back door, a nondescript bit of metal and wood that hid the darkest of their secrets.
And this time she did not even bother to knock. Rather she drew the key from around her neck with the sort of smooth gesture borne of practice and a lifetime of being discreet.
"Professor?"
She waited until the door had closed behind her before she spoke again, and this time she got a response.
"I thought I told you, despite my age and undeniable wisdom, I am not a professor."
"Shit!" She jumped as she swore, whirling on her heel to stare him in the eye, "Don't do that! Didn't anyone tell you that sneaking around is not ok?"
It was a phrase she had said to him many times before, but it never ceased to amuse. Even now he smiled at the ferocious scowl on her face. It was rather like seeing a fluffy dog attempt to growl, all bluster and no bite.
"My apologies. I shall endeavor to avoid 'sneaking around.'" He did not sound the slightest bit sincere, and she rolled her eyes.
"Oh don't bother promising," She sighed, "We both know that's a load of bullshit."
His lips quirked into a smile, "Indeed."
And then, their greetings complete, he left her to stand at the far side of the paved walkway, hand dropping to the pocket of his worn tweed to fish out a lighter and blunt.
His clothing was something Lavellan had quickly gotten used to, some version of threadbare knit over an equally worn white button-up, all of it dressed up by an ancient tweed coat. But there was a fine-ness to the quality of his wardrobe, as if he had come from money or once made his wealth only to let such fortune fade.
Not that it mattered to her, if studying civilizations of the past had taught her anything, it was that wealth, despite its implication of power, was ultimately fleeting. But it, along with the countless other facets of his personality, seemed to leave her forever curious.
Just who was this man? This scholar who insisted he was no professor but who patiently taught those that sought such wisdom.
"I didn't know you smoked."
Following him to the edge of the patio, she snagged the small white cylinder in his hand with a frown. And yet, that too made sense, for the scent of it clung to the thick weave of his coats, his shirts, his skin.
She glanced at him, "Do you have another?"
When he shook his head in the negative she sighed again, "Liar."
"Smoking can kill you." He protested plucking the item from her grasp, lighting it and taking a long drag, "It's terribly unhealthy."
She looked at him blankly, "And that makes it ok for you but not for me? Rather hypocritical there, professor."
This time she used his title to needle, to watch as his expression shift into one of mild irritation. He took several inhales before tapping the ash from its tip, but not once did he offer it to her.
"Now, what was it you wanted to talk to me about, Lavellan?"
They both knew what it was that had driven her to seek him out, but if he wanted to play stupid then she was more than willing to play along.
"About what happened, last night..."
His face did not change, but she could see the tension in his shoulders, the hitch in his otherwise smooth smoke.
"I see." Troubled, his words were slow to arrive, "I…apologize. It should not have happened as it did."
The words surprised her, were not quite what she expected.
"But it should have happened?" She pressed.
He shrugged, shifted, could no longer quite make eye contact. "You deny that you enjoyed it?"
Of all the things he might have said, it was not this. And in her surprise she found humor.
"You're…shy?"
The thought was so intriguing, so tantalizing, that there was no helping the smile that bloomed on her lips, "Did I compromise your delicate sensibilities when I suggested your office?"
But if she had thought her teasing might make him flush and stutter, the sight of his lips twisting into a slow grin made her realize that she had misread him entirely. For the look her gave her was not one of flushed embarrassment, rather it was one of a wolf who looked at a rabbit and found it amusing. Hunger, desire, even when they had sought release with one another the look in his eyes had never equaled the fire that was there now.
"Believe me, an office desk is hardly the most adventurous place I've indulged."
"O-Oh?" She could feel heat climb upon her cheeks and was mortified to realize she was the one caught blushing.
His chuckle was the sort of dark thrum that jumped her heartbeat, made it pound in her ears. Flicking the cigarette to the ground, he strode toward her, intent clear in every fiber of his being.
"Indeed." Smiling, smirking, he advanced on her, "Would you like a demonstration?"
And though she squared her shoulders and braced for the searing press of his hand against the exposed skin of her hip, the feel of his mouth, she was not nearly as prepared as she might have thought.
There was no stopping the startled gasp that came when he flicked the top button of her blouse open, and with each subsequent button he ratcheted up the tension even further. Blazing a path with the heat of his lips, when he pulled back for a moment, her own hands dug in, dragging him back, lowering tellingly over his well formed behind as she rocked against him.
Even as he stepped her slowly backwards it seemed impossible to separate their bodies, their grasping hands making short work of zippers and the clothing in between. And when small moments of tenderness gave way to nips and bites of passion, there was no turning back from the inevitable.
"Solas." Lavellan felt herself arch, ache, when he finally sank into her, filling all those intimate spaces that had craved him most. Blistering heat and unthinkable softness, the contrast drove them onward, straining towards that invisible peak.
And when at last they found it, together, they did not separate immediately. Rather, amidst the sound of heavy breathing and tang of sweat they found some measure of peace.
Him, from a world he found so disappointing.
Her, from a world that judged her for everything but what she was on the inside.
"Forgive me." He said after a while, drawing back, slowly putting space between them, "That was inappropriate."
He reached out to gently smooth the hair he had mused with his hands.
"Inappropriate?" She raised one eyebrow, the piercing glittering as it caught the light. She grinned as she stepped forward, connecting with him once more as her hands rose to press against his chest. Reversing their position as she pushed him back against the wall and indulged in a tender nuzzle of his throat.
"My dear professor that may as well have been Victorian compared to what I want to do to you."
And as she rose up to capture his lips, the world dissolved into incoherent nonsense. For once, the world was all the better for it.