Dearest vhenan @hellarcanine,

I did a bad thing. I wrote a LONG thing. It’s definitely more than the 1000 word limit. I AM SO SORRY. Solas is a Fade nerd and Lavellan is hot for teacher and oh fuck my life. 

Read here on AO3 instead. (It’s a longer one.)

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Solas slips his bookmark in place and yawns.

Elia looks up from the pile of letters that she promised Josephine she would sign by tomorrow morning. “Are you going to sleep?” she asks.

He stretches his arms languorously before idly scratching his bare chest. “No, not yet,” he replies. “I’m simply going to rest my eyes for a moment.” He slides his book from his lap onto the bed, then settles down and closes his eyes.

The peaceful silence of their nighttime activities resumes, and Elia’s thoughts drift as she mindlessly scribbles signature after signature. I should get a stamp, she thinks vaguely. She’s surprised Josie hasn’t already thought of it; maybe the Orlesian nobles would think her rude if she didn’t hand-sign every single note.

Less than five minutes later, Solas inhales deeply through his nose and opens his eyes. He picks up his book again, and Elia studies the slightly preoccupied look on his face. “Did you visit the Fade?”

He smiles. “I do not slip into the Fade every time I close my eyes, you know.”

She shoots him a chiding look. “I know that,” she says in exasperation, and he smiles more broadly. “But you did, didn’t you?”

He chuckles softly and puts his book aside. “I did, yes.”

“What did you see?”

He beckons her close with an outstretched hand, and Elia happily abandons her paperwork to join him in bed. She slides into his embrace and snuggles up to his chest as he begins to speak. “I went to the place where my spirit friend used to be. Gentle wisps were floating there, fragile and formless still. They do not yet know what shape they will take.”

He leans his head back against the headboard and closes his eyes before speaking again. “I bade them retreat deeper into the Fade. To shelter in places that most mages cannot go. I do not wish to see more spirits harmed in the wake of the Breach.”

His voice is soft and melancholy, and Elia knows he’s thinking of Wisdom’s end in the Exalted Plains. She nuzzles his neck gently in comfort. “It was kind of you to warn them,” she murmurs.

She admires the curl of his lips as he smiles, then idly strokes the dimple in his chin. “How did you manage to do so much in such a short time in the Fade?” she asks. “You were only gone for a few minutes. When I dream, it feels like I wander for hours without getting to a destination, if ever I had a true destination in mind. And if I do have a goal in my dream, I’m just… not able to reach it. I shift from scene to scene, or person to person, and I never quite meet the goal. Or… or maybe I do, but by then I’ve… forgotten what the goal was, so I can’t know for sure.”

Her musing is as vague and unfocused as her dreams tend to be, but she knows Solas won’t mind; indeed, he’s listening attentively, and there’s a certain tenderness in his clear grey eyes that makes her feel very young.

He brushes an errant strand of hair from her forehead, and his affectionate gesture prompts her to ask a bolder question. “How did you take me to Haven in that first dream when we… when…”

She falters shyly, and he smiles at her. “When you kissed me?” he prompts.

His tone is soft and playful, and Elia ignores the heat spreading across her cheeks as she lifts her chin to face him. “And you kissed me back,” she retorts.

He laughs again. “So I did.” He smiles fondly at her, his eyebrows lifted expectantly, and Elia returns to her question.

“That time when you took us to Haven. It was… it was so real, Solas. How did you do that? I didn’t even realize I was asleep. I don’t even remember coming up to bed. How did you control that dream so seamlessly?”

He shifts slightly, then sits up straighter against the headboard. “It is a rare skill,” he says. “Few mages can master the art of dreamwalking. You must be conscious of your unconsciousness. You must mold the environment without exerting control.” He hesitates for a moment. “It can be deceptive,” he finally says. “The unfamiliar can be fooled into thinking it is real, as you did with Haven. It… can be dangerous, vhenan.”

Elia studies him curiously. He looks as composed as usual, at least to the untrained eye, but Elia’s infatuated gaze is well-versed in the ways of her mysterious lover. She watches as he idly runs his thumb along the edges of his book, and she notices how he doesn’t quite meet her eye.

“I would like to learn,” she says, quietly but firmly.

His thumb pauses at the corner of his book, and he lifts his eyes to hers. “Why?” he asks.

He sounds genuinely curious, but Elia is more interested in the caution that’s entered his eyes. She pushes herself to her knees, then slowly straddles his hips. “What’s wrong, you don’t want me to control your dreams? Afraid of where I might take you?” she teases, hoping to soften his fears with a touch of humour.

He circles her waist with his hands and smiles, but the worried creases on his forehead remain, and there’s nothing for it but to ask again. “Please, Solas. I’m simply interested,” she says. “I’ve never met a Dreamer before. You’ve shown the value of extracting experiences from the Fade. I’d love to be able to do the same.”

He drops his gaze pensively, and Elia waits patiently for his response. His expression is very serious when he finally meets her eye. “I will teach you a safer method of dreamwalking,” he says. “Not unlike a lucid dream. You will not have as much control over the environment, but you will be able to control yourself. You will be less likely to mistake this reality for the dream.”

She frowns and strokes his jawline. “I’ve felt the difference now,” she says. “I won’t mistake the two again. You don’t need to shield me.”

His expression softens, his eyebrows lifting as he slides his palms along her hips. “I know, vhenan,” he says gently. “I know your strength. I admit that it is my own fear standing in your way. Will you indulge me in this? For now?”

She studies his pleading expression for a moment. She’s still not sure what he’s so afraid of, but it seems a compromise is the order of the day. “All right,” she says. “Teach me the the basic version. Advanced studies will come later.” She shoots him a slightly challenging look, and he graces her with a half-smile in return.

She slides off of his lap to kneel attentively beside him, and he crosses his legs calmly as he begins the lesson. “As I said, the state you must adopt is akin to a lucid dream,” he says. “From there, it’s-”

“How do I that?” Elia interrupts.

Solas pauses, and Elia is surprised at how surprised he appears to be. “You… have you never had a lucid dream?” he says faintly.

She tilts her head. “Is that so unusual?”

He doesn’t speak for a moment, and Elia gets the sense that he’s chewing his tongue. Finally he takes a breath. “I am not sure how to explain this, then,” he says.

“Try,” she urges.

Solas slowly runs a hand over his scalp before speaking again. “It is the moment before you wake,” he explains. “That slow and quiet instant where your mind spans both realms at once. You know you are asleep, but you cannot acknowledge it fully. To look it in the face is to lose the dream entirely.” He closes his eyes and tilts his head back against the pillows, then inhales slowly before speaking again. “It is the act of holding a balance in your mind. Of floating on the surface of a dream without forcing yourself deeper. Trying to sink deeper into sleep will only pull you out.”

Elia stares at him, nonplussed. “That sounds complicated.”

He murmurs a distracted acknowledgement, then runs a hand over his scalp again. “If I could find an analogy…” He falls silent, his hand coming to rest on his forehead, then he slowly lifts his head from the pillows and meets her gaze.

She’s instantly diverted from her confusion by the look on his face. His eyes are piercing, steel-grey and sharper than Cole’s favourite dagger, and the sudden intensity of his gaze punches the air from her lungs.

He tilts his chin down slightly and slides his heated stare along the length of her kneeling form. “I have thought of a way to show you what I mean,” he informs her matter-of-factly. “One I am sure you’ll understand. Would you have me teach you?”

His scorching gaze is a plume writing heat across the length of her body, and a swelling of warmth takes root between her legs. She inhales shakily and tries to match his composure, but it’s growing near impossible as he continues to stare into her eyes. One look, a mere look from her lover, and she’s already wet.

She swallows hard before replying. Maybe she’s reading too much into this. His voice is as smooth and calm as ever, after all; perhaps he doesn’t have something erotic in mind. “Yes please,” she says, fighting hard to control her voice. “I want to understand.”

He smiles faintly and slides off the bed to his feet. “Then take off your clothes.”

A spike of delight jolts through her belly. It’s a simple command delivered in his mild-mannered voice, and she’s instantly compelled to follow.

She pulls her cotton shift over her head without a second’s hesitation. She shimmies off her smallclothes and tosses them aside, and Solas nods in satisfaction before holding out his hand. “Come,” he says.

Yes please, her cheeky mind chirps as she admires the glow of his hard and half-naked body in the candlelight. His chin is raised slightly and his posture more proud than usual. There’s something ever-so-slightly arrogant about the way he’s holding himself, and Mythal save her, but his unusually cocksure stance only makes her want him more.

She takes his hand as she slides to her feet, and he positions her in front of him. She waits in happy suspense as he studies her naked body from collarbones to calves, then lifts his eyes back to her face.

They’re silver pools of molten heat, and they rip a needy exhale from her lungs. He places one palm flat on her belly. “Close your eyes,” he murmurs.

She instinctively follows his command; her eyes wanted to fall shut anyway, to focus on the heated weight of his hand on her skin. The placement of his hand is careful and deliberate: his thumb rests just below her sternum, his little finger stretching below her navel, and it’s just close enough to her sweet spots to make her shift restlessly with uncomfortable want.

She feels the shifting of his weight as he steps closer, then the warmth of his words as he murmurs in her ear. “The balance you need for a lucid dream is like standing on the precipice of climax,” he tells her. “The pleasure rises inside of you, but you must hold it back if you wish to truly enjoy it. It is a heightened state of torturous ecstasy.”

Torturous ecstasy is right; his tone is so controlled, both musing and factual in one, and she would almost think he is speaking of the weather if not for the desperate thrumming of hunger pounding through her veins.

He continues to speak, apparently oblivious to her rising desperation. “The climax may feel near impossible to control. If you push too hard to reach it, it will escape you. If you ignore it, it will fade away. You must dance at the very edge of your own desire. That delicate balance is what a lucid dream is like.”

“So you want me to learn lucid dreaming by withholding orgasms?” she asks in a strained voice.

“Exactly,” he replies in satisfaction. “But it will not be I who withholds your orgasms. You will do that yourself.”

She opens her eyes to stare at him in dismay. “What?” she whimpers.

“Close your eyes,” he says firmly, and he waits for her to obey his command before continuing. “You will control how I touch you,” he explains. “When you feel you are about to come, you will tell me to stop. Then we will repeat. You will not come until I decide you are ready.”

“And when will that be?” Elia retorts. Her voice is sharp, she knows, but her arousal is such that she’s feeling irate already.

“When you have learned this lesson, vhenan,” he whispers. There’s a distinct thread of laughter in his voice now, and Elia growls faintly at his amusement.

He slides his hand lower, his fingers curving to press lightly against her cleft, and Elia mewls with distress, her ire forgotten in the wake of his teasing touch. She jerks her hips toward his fingers. “Please,” she whimpers.

A cascade of goosebumps spill down her spine when he presses his lips to her ear. “Slowly,” he murmurs. “Let the sensation come to you. Do not chase it. Breathe and focus. Feel my hand between your legs.”

Her fingernails bite into her palms as she clenches her fist, but she does her best to obey. His fingers are warm and firm, slightly curved to fit against her mound. He presses his fingers slowly against her flesh, and she inhales deeply as her feminine folds press against her eagerly swollen clit.

He lessens the pressure of his hand and she exhales, then breathes in again as his fingers push close against the apex of her thighs. Her impatience is thrumming beneath her skin, a shrill demand to thrust against his hand and take the pleasure that dances just within her reach. But Solas is so damned disciplined. If he can be this cool and composed, then so can she.

His fingers undulate against her in time with her breath, and she starts to rock her hips against his hand in a slow and soothing rhythm. The thrumming desperation eases with every inhale, replaced with a dark and dreamy desire that is both calmer and stronger at once.

His lips graze her cheekbone. “Good,” he whispers.

He slips one finger deeper to slide between her folds, and Elia arches languorously as he gently strokes her clit. The darkness of her pleasure is sparking, like flickers of lightning through a thundercloud, and Elia continues to breathe, collecting more strands of pleasure with every inhale.

The thundercloud builds, the lightning flickering more brightly in her core with every gentle stroke of his finger. Her breathing is heavier now, a slow gasping through her parted lips, and Elia knows she’s close; her eyelids are tight, her fists clenched, her rocking hips jerky as the climax rises and roils…  

“Stop,” she gasps.

Solas immediately pulls his fingers away, and Elia moans in unabashed frustration as her orgasm collapses, sinking back into her limbs and leaving her absolutely agitated with arousal. She sits heavily on the edge of the bed and squeezes her thighs together, and a jolt of pleasure zips from the apex of her thighs up to her throat.

Solas firmly pushes her legs apart. “Do not cheat, vhenan. You are doing extremely well so far.”

His voice is perfectly bland and perfectly mischievous. She opens her eyes and stares at him with a combination of desperation and deep exasperation. He looks so damned sly, and Elia is of half a mind to curse him, but she somehow bites her tongue.

Finally she lets out a breathless laugh. “What’s next, ghi’lin?”

He huffs in amusement at her mocking formality, then jerks his chin at the bed. “Kneel on the bed and close your eyes.”

She obeys without a second thought. A moment later, the weight of the bed shifts as he crawls onto the mattress.

His parted thighs cradle her hips as he kneels behind her, and she leans languidly into the heat of his hard bare chest. Then her simmering desire bursts into boil when he slips his left hand around her throat.

A needy whimper escapes her lips before she can clamp them shut, and Solas chuckles against her skin. He caresses the tendon in her neck as he whispers against her ear. “We go again, vhenan. You will tell me when to stop.”

“Yes,” she breathes, and his right hand slides down to cup her pussy. Her pleasure is closer this time, gathered and coiled on the edge of her perception just as he described, and it’s harder for her to hold herself back this time.

The tip of his finger pets her clit with painstaking precision, and she digs her nails into his thigh as she savours his touch. Breathing in, then breathing out, she tries to control the pleasure, to keep it under wraps, but it reaches for her with insidious tendrils-

“Stop,” she cries, and it’s almost too late. Her hovering orgasm melts away but leaves a burning ache in its place, and she collapses back against Solas’s chest with a breathless sob.

He nips her neck with his teeth, and Elia sobs again with utter frustration. “Please,” she whines. “Please, please Solas, please…” She trails off with an inarticulate moan and clenches her nails against his leg again. Her begging might be a mistake, a sign that she’s not disciplined enough to earn an orgasm at his hands, but she’s so keyed up that she thinks she might scream.

He lightly strokes her throat with his fingers, then presses his lips to her ear. “Your focus is excellent,” he purrs. “Once more. Lie down and spread your legs.”

She whimpers with desire and dismay, but obeys his instruction and lies back against the pillows. He lowers himself to his hands and knees between her legs, and as he lowers his face to the juncture of her thighs, she deliriously admires how predatory he looks: the rippling of his lean muscled arms, the looming of his shoulders as he sinks low over her pussy looking for all the world like a wild animal about to feast…

His tongue slides between her slick folds, and Elia cries out in desperation. Her fists twist in the bedsheets, her fingers clenching tight until it’s painful. Solas lavishes her swollen bud with a plethora of thorough kisses, his lips and tongue working her into a frenzy of unbearable lust. She tries to focus on the tension in her hands instead of the inevitable rushing of her rapture, but the thwarted pleasure in her loins is too heavy a weight to ignore.

Her thoughts are thrashing chaos, like fish in a barrel. Oh please oh no oh fenedhis – she can’t give in, she can’t fall over the edge, if she falls over the edge he’ll never give himself to her-

“Stop!” she screams.

Solas doesn’t stop.

And with a surge of triumph, Elia realizes she’s succeeded at his lesson.

Solas grips her thighs and delves his tongue deeper, and Elia explodes with ecstasy as her long-awaited orgasm finally breaks. Light and heat and sheer sensation flood through her like dawn washing across the sky, and she arches shamelessly into his mouth.

He laps at her pussy until she flops bonelessly down against the mattress, then sits back on his heels and roughly wipes his mouth on his arm. He tugs roughly at the laces of his breeches as he stares imperiously down at her supine form.

“Are you ready for me?” he demands, and Elia lifts her hips eagerly from the bed. “Yes!” she cries.

Solas shoves his breeches off, then surges over her and grasps the back of her neck in one hand. He takes her mouth in a ravenous kiss as his cock slides home inside of her, and she releases her scream of pleasure to the heat of his mouth.

He was gentle with his fingers and careful with his tongue, the epitome of control and precision, and Elia forced herself to be just as controlled. But Solas is anything but disciplined now. His hips slam against her own in a rough and steady rhythm, his fingers tight in her hair and his breath hot and desperate against her neck. He trails his lips over her collarbone and bites her nipple, and Elia cries out and drags her nails along his back, drawing a gasp of pain from his throat.

His dominance is driving this joining, pulling her desperation ever higher, and she bucks wildly beneath him, uncaring about the sweat trickling along her forehead and along the tip of his nose. He bares his teeth, bestial and focused as he fucks her hard. A few blissful minutes later, he groans and bites her breast once more as he comes, and Elia scrapes her nails across his shoulders and enjoys the resultant rippling shudder across his skin.

He breathes hard against her neck as he recovers from his release. “You,” he gasps, “are exquisite.”

“So are you,” she breathes. She’s panting herself as she languishes beneath his hard lean body. Her eyes are closed, the shadows of lights still popping behind her eyelids from the ferocity of their fucking. As her breathing gradually slows, she muses on the nature of these popping lights, and how they almost look like rain against a stained glass window. Or perhaps like flakes of snow floating through the air. Like the snow that drifted over the battlements when they first arrived at Skyhold.

She blinks slowly, then admires the battlements with lazy appreciation. “I do love this castle, you know,” she says. “But there’s still so much work to do.”

She looks over her shoulder and smiles at Solas, who approaches with his hands clasped behind his back. “There is,” he agrees. “Where would you start?”

“Here,” Elia says, and she spreads her arms to encompass the garden. She looks happily at the cracking pagoda and the overgrown well, then narrows her eyes suspiciously.  

As soon as she realizes where they are, it starts to fade. Just before she wakes, Solas’s voice is in her ear, both close and far away at once. “You did it, vhenan,” he whispers. “You are controlling this. This is the dream.”

She inhales slowly and opens her eyes to find him smiling down at her, his granite eyes glowing with pride. He takes her lips in a slow and tender kiss, and Elia happily wraps her arms around his neck. Solas is an excellent teacher, but for the first time since she’s known him, he’s wrong.

This is the dream. Here in this bed with her lover stretched above her, wrapped in the safety of his adoring arms: this is the dream.

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(Elvhen terms, thanks to @fenxshiral: ghi’lin = teacher)