Tag: solavellan

Welcome to DWC!! How about “a kiss on a place of insecurity” for Elia and Solas <3

Thank you for the @dadrunkwriting prompt, love! ❤️ 

This little drabble is partly self-insert, and partly inspired by the Hands On The Table series by @apostatehobolife. I seriously love that art series so much and it makes me want to die in the best way. 

Read on AO3 instead, and for some extra notes about this chapter. 

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Solas became aware of her presence a moment before he heard her voice.

“You’re still working?”

Elia’s fingers drifted lightly across his shoulders, and he broke his gaze from his sketch to look up at her. “Yes,” he confirmed. “I will soon be finished.” He gently blew a smattering of black chalk dust from his drawing then looked up at her again, only to realize his eyes were stinging with fatigue.

“What time is it?” he asked.

She leaned her hip gently against his shoulder. “It’s past one. I was really stuck in a book until I realized you hadn’t come to bed yet.”

Solas yawned and rubbed his face. No wonder he was so tired. He gestured to his sketch. “There is not much left to do. Would you care to keep me company while I work?”

A beautiful smile lit her face. “Keep you awake, you mean?” she gently teased.

He smiled faintly in return, then slid his arm around her hip and pulled her down to sit in his lap. “You do have a special talent for capturing my attention,” he replied.

She chuckled as she settled into his lap. Solas settled his left arm loosely around her waist, then picked up his chalk and continued to draw.

“Planning your next fresco?” she asked quietly.

He murmured a soft affirmative. The fresco in question would capture Elia’s decision to ally with the Grey Wardens after the fiasco at Adamant Fortress. Solas still wasn’t entirely pleased with her choice, but he understood the cooperative spirit with which her decision had been made.

She shifted slightly on his lap and rested her hands gently on the edge of the desk. As he continued to sketch, he couldn’t help but find his attention drawn to her idly resting hands.

They were small hands, with slender fingers and neatly trimmed nails, marked with the occasional faint scar. They were humble hands, undecorated and plain, bearing no calluses of a warrior and no ink of a scholar. There was nothing particularly special about Elia’s hands, but for some reason, he found himself unable to stop looking at them.

Finally he put aside his sketch and pulled over a fresh sheet of parchment. Elia turned her head slightly to speak to him. “You’re starting a new sketch? Now?” she asked in surprise.

“It will be quick,” he promised. With quick, sure strokes of his chalk stylus, he began to draw her hands. He mapped out the edge of her wrist, the knuckle of her thumb, then the curved tip of the thumb itself.

“Oh – oh no, don’t draw my hands.” Suddenly the subjects of his sketch were taken away as Elia tucked them up against her chest. “They’re awful, you can’t draw my hands.”

He pulled away slightly to look at her in surprise. “Why not?”

She wrinkled her nose. “They’re all wrinkled and lined. The skin on my hands looks about fifty years older than the rest of my body.”

Solas gave a tiny snort of amusement. “You’ve hardly got the hands of an eighty-year-old, vhenan.”

“Well, they’re certainly not all smooth and sculpted like yours.” She ran her fingers over the back of his left hand, then interlaced her fingers with his. “Such handsome hands. Seriously, Solas, they’re as smooth as a teenager’s. What’s your secret?” she asked playfully.

Uthenera, he thought with a wry twist of melancholy. “Sheer good fortune, I assure you,” he said instead. “I have never put particular thought into my hands. Dorian would be a better bet for knowing some form of skincare routine.”

Elia laughed gently. “I bet he does. And probably a good one, too.”

Solas lifted her right hand and thoughtfully inspected it. Her hands certainly did not resemble an elder’s, but they weren’t anything special to look at either. And yet, he couldn’t help but find them captivating.

“Elia, I would like to draw your hands,” he said softly.

She groaned. “But why? They’re so ugly. They’d make a terrible piece of art.”

“Do you think that art is intended to depict beauty and nothing else?” he said. “No, vhenan. It is the act of making a moment immortal: of capturing a memory, a thought or a dream, and interpreting it for all to see. Everything is worth being captured in this way.”

She was silent for a long moment, and Solas idly toyed with her fingers until she sighed. “I see your point,” she admitted. “I just… I don’t know. I’ve always sort of hated what my hands look like.” She gave a self-deprecating little laugh.

He tilted her a chiding look. “You do not judge the value of anything else by appearance alone. Why should your own hands be different?”

He lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a careful kiss to her knuckles, then gazed seriously into her aquamarine eyes. “I assure you, these hands are perfect exactly as they are,” he said.

She stared back at him with her earnest jeweled gaze, then finally nodded. “All right,” she said, then untangled her fingers from his own and placed them gently on the desk.

Solas arranged her fingers carefully, replacing them in the pose they’d held before she’d moved them away. He then continued his careful sketch. As the shapes of her thumb and fingers appeared on his parchment, he mused about why her hands compelled him so.

They were simple hands, unadorned by jewelry and ungarnished by Dalish nail-paint, but they were the most special hands Solas had ever known. His lover’s hands held a strong and subtle magic, and this was something he admired. Her hands grasped his own with an open and easy affection, and this was something he cherished. In the privacy of her quarters, her fingers traced across his skin with a torrid kind of tenderness that he hadn’t felt in thousands of years. Her hands reached inside the cavern of his chest, sinking deep where he hadn’t thought anyone from this world could ever sink. Her hands sought and cradled his bruised and bitter heart, and slowly wiped away the shroud of ancient dust that choked him still.

This – all of this, every trait and act of her small and slender fingers: this was what made her hands so mesmerizing.

Soon, the sketch was complete. Solas lifted the parchment and tapped off the excess chalk dust, then settled back in his chair with a satisfied sigh. “For you,” he said softly.

She carefully lifted the parchment, and Solas watched affectionately as she lightly traced the outline of her own fingers. “This… Solas, it’s so… it’s beautiful,” she whispered.

“You made it beautiful,” he told her.

It was all in her hands. They were exquisite beyond compare, and Solas would love them forever.

three word prompt 15 for solas/elia, fluffy if possible :) thank you <3

pikapeppa:

Perfect timing for this prompt – thank you @bronzeagelove! I just finished reading a soul-crushing Solavellan fic for the second time and am utterly destroyed, so some nice fluffy Solavellan is a soothing balm to my soul…😉

The prompt: grace, dark, holding.

Read on AO3 instead.

Elia leans her elbows on the balcony and sighs.

“Is something wrong?” Solas’s quiet voice floats out from her bedroom, followed by the man himself. His barefooted steps are silent as he comes to lean against the balcony at her side.

She smiles up at him. “Quite the contrary, actually. I was just listening to the music.” She nods her head vaguely in the direction of Skyhold’s grounds. “Someone is playing… something. It doesn’t quite sound like a lute…”

Solas cocks his head to listen to the delicate serenade, and Elia watches the thoughtful creasing of his brow. Then he shifts his weight and folds his arms. “Lyre, if I am not mistaken. It is a lovely duet.”

Elia gazes at his handsome profile with a rush of affection. He always seems to have an answer, even for her unasked questions, and he rarely requires more than a few seconds to pluck the information she requests from the depths of his mind. She wonders what it must be like to have such an excellent memory.

Eventually he meets her gaze, and his expression softens. “What are you thinking?”

She shakes her head. “Nothing much,” she says, not wanting to gush all over him like the hopelessly besotted woman that she is. She leans affectionately against him instead. “Just that this is nice. The quiet, the music… it’s so peaceful.”  She closes her eyes and smiles, savouring the fine sound of the lyre duet as it slides through the darkness of the night. “It sounds like… raindrops tinkling against metal, but fuller. Or maybe… like pearls falling against a mirror, but less strident.” She sighs, frustrated by her inability to properly put the sound into words. “That distinct resonant plucking… I just really like stringed instruments.”

She sighs again and opens her eyes only to find Solas staring at her with such warmth that her breath catches in her throat. Without breaking her gaze, he steps back from the balcony and extends a hand to her. “Come, vhenan,” he says softly. “Dance with me.”

Keep reading

A stupid modern AU love triangle: Lavellan/Solas/Blackwall

So I came up with this modern AU idea a while ago, thanks in part to @hellarcanine and inspired in part by my undying devotion to Message Sent, but I haven’t expanded on it because I couldn’t figure out the plot or who I wanted Lavellan to end up with. Blackwall or Solas?? I love them both?? And then I was going to put Abelas in it too and I just had to give up because I HAVE PROBLEMS OK

I wrote this one tiny snippet of the fic and I probably won’t write anymore, but what better time to share it than for @dadrunkwriting Friday?

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Second swimsuit, got it… light cardi… fenedhis, where’s that green one I like for the summer?

Ellana flicked through the hangers in her closet once more, her frustration rising as she failed to find the mint-green cardigan in question. Finally her eyes dropped to the floor of the closet.

There, she thought with annoyance; the cardigan lay in a crumpled heap on top of the myriad boxes and purses at the bottom of her closet. She grabbed it and backed out of the closet, then realized with a jolt what she was holding.

It was definitely a cardigan, but it wasn’t hers.

Ellana stared at the garment in her hand for a long moment. Then she dropped the cardigan on the bed and picked up her phone.

She held the phone in her hands for a few seconds, then put it down and continued her packing. Sunscreen and elfroot after-sun lotion went into a plastic bag and then into her carry-on; spare phone charger, a favourite dog-eared novel for the beach, beaded sandals for the evening: she tucked it all snugly into her bag, but she wasn’t focused on her packing anymore. The men’s cardigan on her bed kept drawing her unwilling attention, like a car accident on the freeway.

Finally she was packed, the small suitcase filled with everything except the stuff she’d need for the morning. There was no excuse not to text him.

She picked up her phone and swiped into her messages.

–Ellana 20:34–
Hey, I found one of your cardigans in my closet. I’ll bring it to the clinic when we get back from the Arbor Wilds

She tossed the phone down on the bed and went to the kitchen to make some tea. When she came back and casually checked her phone, his reply was there.

–Solas 20:35–
You can bring it with you. I am coming on the trip as well.

She stared at the screen in disbelief. Solas was coming on the work holiday? Ellana had assumed he wouldn’t come; he only reluctantly joined in with social events at work, and even less so since he’d broken up with her. He’d always been too busy with his research and his writing to go travelling with her when they were together, and suddenly he was coming on this vacation with all their colleagues?

He only sees patients at the clinic one day a week, she thought petulantly. He barely counts as staff. Frankly, Ellana was kind of surprised Leliana was willing to pay for him to come along.

She sat on the bed and mindlessly sipped her tea, then tapped out a reply.

–Ellana 20:38–
I didn’t know you were coming? I thought you had to teach

–Solas 20:39–
Josephine was quite insistent. And I must use some of my vacation days before I lose them.

Ellana snorted a bitter little laugh. Of course he had too many vacation days in his bank. The damned man never took a day off.

She idly swiped through her apps and sorted some emails, then returned to her messages again.

–Ellana 20:42–
Ok well I’ll see you at the airport then

She nibbled the inside of her cheek as she watched her screen, but when the three little dots didn’t appear, she put her phone aside and went to go fold her laundry.

A few minutes in, she heard the text chime of her phone. She hurried back to her room and picked it up, but the message wasn’t from Solas.

–Thom 20:50–
hey you – just confirming, pick up at 6:30am tmr?

She smiled fondly. Thom had asked her this already when he’d swung by her office on his way out of the clinic. The burly physiotherapist had started at Leliana’s clinic shortly after Ellana had accepted the clinical psychologist position, and they’d instantly become friends. So she knew Thom well enough to know he was just looking for an excuse to message her.

She quickly sent him a reply.

–Ellana 20:50–
Yes, that’s perfect – no change since you asked me four hours ago 😉

She bit her lip to quell her grin as she watched the three little dots immediately appear. A moment later, Blackwall’s reply popped up.

–Thom 20:50–
right – ok – see you in the morning then mlady 🙂

She chuckled, then sent him off one last message.

–Ellana 20:51–
Goodnight xo

She grinned as she imagined the reddening of his cheeks beneath his beard, then stretched her arms idly as she stood to go finish the laundry. But as she moved back toward the living room, her phone chimed again.

She glanced at the screen, and her amusement faded back into a faint buzz of anxiety.

–Solas 20:51–
Goodnight, Ellana.

Her heart squeezed at the flatness of his words. They were so cold and final-looking. Then she berated herself for caring. She and Solas weren’t together anymore; they were just colleagues now. He didn’t owe her any kind of warm words at night. Besides, she was dating Thom now.  

But Solas’s previous night-time greetings floated up from the back of her mind, freed from the place where she tried to squash her memories of him. Pleasant dreams, he always used to say. It was how he’d sign off at the end of their late-night phone calls, back in the early days. It was what he’d whisper to her every night as they fell asleep, his chest pressed against her naked back.

She shoved the memory away, replacing it instead with the thought of Thom’s warm smile. She returned to the living room and went back to folding her laundry, her mind pleasantly occupied with the thought of Thom’s big strong hands on her waist and the endearing tickle of his beard when he kissed her on the cheek.

Later that night, as she turned off the TV and went to take her shower, she picked up her phone and glanced at the screen. There was a message there, one she must have missed from earlier that night.

Her stomach flip-flopped as she read it.

–Solas 20:51–
Pleasant dreams.

Happy Friday! For DWC, how about 16. ‘Fill, Wanted, Trouble’ with some of that Solavellan goodness??

Ooh yes what an excellent prompt for @dadrunkwriting ! Thanks!

I doubled up and filled a Fictober 2018 prompt as well – this dialogue line: “Take what you need.”

Read on AO3 instead. Smut warning. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

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When a person’s life spans thousands of years, is memory a blessing or a curse?

Solas considers himself a being with a particularly good memory. Some elves who began as spirits would forget over time what it was to be a spirit, but Solas never had. Epitomizing a singular virtue had a certain simplicity that he sometimes misses. He knows he sometimes acts as though spirits have all the answers, but the truth is more complex; for some spirits, answers and solutions are not their concern.

This is a simplicity he sometimes longs for so badly that it hurts.

Alas, Solas’s memory is very clear about the grim but necessary path he has to walk. What did surprise him, though, was the eventual realization that there was one significant thing he had forgotten.

He’d forgotten what it was to feel wanted.

Leading a rebellion was a solitary role. Centuries of being reviled as the Dread Wolf, being ridiculed by those he had once called friends, being rejected by those too afraid or indifferent to stand for what was right… It would have crushed Fen’Harel’s resolve if not for the walls he’d constructed around himself to keep the doubts at bay.

Unfortunately, not even the sturdiest of walls could repel the chilling creep of loneliness.

But now, Solas is not alone. Now, he travels across Thedas as part of a pack. Now he is consulted – even respected? – for his expertise in matters of magic and the Fade.

Now, he spends every night curled in Elia Lavellan’s unequivocally welcoming embrace.

Solas loves Elia for so many reasons. He loves her gentle manner and her sharp mind. He loves her slow and careful thoughtfulness, and he loves the speed with which she casts her spells, the crackling energy of her magic as it flees her fingertips. But her most seductive trait, the trait that lures him more than anything else, is her open-armed acceptance. Elia doesn’t want anything from him. She just wants… him.

Solas knows he shouldn’t have encouraged her unequivocal love. He will only disappoint her. But the joy in her face when she looks at him is more than his ancient heart can resist. He’s allowed himself to be engulfed by the tidal wave of her affection, but he has no doubts that this is going to lead to trouble.

He hadn’t anticipated that he would encourage this particular kind of trouble, however.

She moans softly, and he hushes her with a thumb on her lips. “Quietly, vhenan.”

“I know,” she gasps, then moans again, and Solas smiles fondly. He presses his lips to her cheekbone. “You must be quiet, or else we’ll have to stop,” he whispers.

He braces one palm on the cool stone of the castle’s wall behind her head. Meanwhile, his other hand continues its delicate dance between her legs. They’re in the garden pagoda, a most conspicuous location indeed, but at this hour of night, the only people awake are the guards on the ramparts. And the only way the guards will spot them is if they call attention to themselves.

Hence this little game of silence.

Solas’s finger is cocooned in Elia’s slippery heat. He touches her with a torturous tenderness, his finger stroking her swollen little pearl with long, slow caresses.

Elia presses her hips toward his hand. “Remind me why we can’t just cast a fade cloak?” she asks, her voice soft but strained.

He presses his lips to her ear. “Where would be the fun in that?” he whispers, then trails his lips along the tendon in her neck.

“You’re terrible,” she whimpers, and Solas chuckles before silencing her with a kiss. Her fingers rise to dig into the back of his neck, her hips thrusting eagerly toward his teasing caress, and with every urgent movement of her hips, his own urgency rises in tandem, thrumming through his limbs and lifting his cock to full attention.

Her tongue tangles with his own, her teeth a punishing little nip on his lower lip, and Solas gasps quietly against her lips. This impatience, this rush, it’s another thing he’d forgotten – a callback to his youth, to a time when his body was new and strange and so full of feeling that he needed to expel it all at once. But Solas knows his body now, and despite the clamour of lust that rises like lava in his belly, he can hold his patience for her.

He crowds her firmly back against the wall and savours the desperate little mewl that trembles from her throat. “Take what you need, Elia,” he murmurs. “Hold back nothing but the volume of your voice.”

She releases a soft and breathy little laugh. “You,” she pants, “are such a smooth talker.”

Solas hums with satisfaction against the juncture of her neck and shoulder. The thrusting of her hips is hard but sinuous, a hungry undulation that brings his finger more firmly against her clit. He continues to stroke her fervently, his finger slipping down along the heated length of her folds, then back up to swirl around that exquisite little bud.

Her eyes are tightly shut, and Solas can see the rising of her rapture in the tilting of her eyebrows. He slips a second finger into her smalls to join the first, his stroking fingers framing her clit with a sweet relentless pressure.

Elia presses her lips together hard, but a sharp moan of pleasure and distress escapes her nonetheless, and Solas brushes her cheekbone with his nose. “Hush, vhenan. Quietly,” he reminds her.

“I can’t,” she blurts, her voice tight with desperation. “Solas, please, I can’t-”

Her voice is as sharp as the edge of a knife. Solas swiftly raises one hand to her mouth, his fingers gently curving over her lips, and Elia’s reaction is instantaneous: as soon as his hand muffles her, she arches her back viciously and releases a high-pitched keen of pleasure into his palm.

She writhes between his body and the wall, her own hand rising to press his hand more firmly against her lips, and Solas fights to control the harshness of his breathing as his lover’s cry of bliss fills his palm. Once her trembling body starts to still, he gently lifts his hand from her face.

“Come, Inquisitor,” he whispers. “Let us go upstairs.” Elia’s rapture is like the breaking of a ward, and if Solas doesn’t whisk her away to a private place soon, he may forget why he should.

Elia pants against his lips. Then she reaches down and tugs his hands from her trousers. She lifts his hand to her mouth, then carefully sucks her own juices from his fingers.

A dragon’s roar of desire rushes from his scalp clear down to his toes, and his cock pulses toward her like a magnet. He’s lightheaded with lust, breathless with it, helpless to do anything but stare at the plumpness of her lips around her fingers, imagining her lips wrapping around something infinitely more enjoyable…

She smiles slowly at him, and through the blood pounding in his ears, he hears her whispered taunt. “Upstairs?” she asks. “Where would be the fun in that?”

Her smile is devilish and her aquamarine eyes are glowing with intent, and Solas’s besotted heart thrums madly in his chest.

This is trouble, he thinks. But the burning affection in his Dalish lover’s eyes is the most tempting kind of trouble he can imagine.

Fictober 2018, Day 1: Solas/Elia Lavellan

pikapeppa:

Prompt fill for Day 1 of Fictober 2018! The prompt: “Can you feel this?”

Fandom – Dragon Age: Inquisition
Pairing – Solas x female Lavellan
Rating – Explicit

Read on AO3 instead.

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Solas tilts his head forward and releases a heavy sigh.

Elia’s hands grow still on his shoulders. “Are you all right? I’m not going too hard, am I?”

“No, not at all,” he reassures. “It is… perfect, actually. No need to stop.”

Her soft chuckle floats into the air, and her hands resume their kneading. “It’s all your late-night reading. You’re giving yourself a crooked neck,” she chides.

He smiles as her thumbs press a firm line from the base of his skull along his shoulders. “You are probably correct,” he admits. “But pain is a small price to pay for knowledge.”

She chuckles again. “You are such an intractable academic,” she teases. She drops a light kiss on his neck, the runs the heels of her hands along the sides of his spine.

Solas groans happily as her palms press into the knots in his back. “You’re enabling my intractable academia with this massage,” he says. “I should continue reading late if this will be my reward.”

He huffs a little laugh as Elia pokes him in the side. “Do you want me to continue or not?” she demands, but he can hear the laughter in her voice.

“I apologize, Inquisitor,” he says. “Please, by all means, continue.” His tone is teasing, and Elia pokes him once more before resuming her careful kneading of his skin.

Keep reading

Fictober 2018, Day 1: Solas/Elia Lavellan

Prompt fill for Day 1 of Fictober 2018! The prompt: “Can you feel this?”

Fandom – Dragon Age: Inquisition
Pairing – Solas x female Lavellan
Rating – Explicit

Read on AO3 instead.

******************

Solas tilts his head forward and releases a heavy sigh.

Elia’s hands grow still on his shoulders. “Are you all right? I’m not going too hard, am I?”

“No, not at all,” he reassures. “It is… perfect, actually. No need to stop.”

Her soft chuckle floats into the air, and her hands resume their kneading. “It’s all your late-night reading. You’re giving yourself a crooked neck,” she chides.

He smiles as her thumbs press a firm line from the base of his skull along his shoulders. “You are probably correct,” he admits. “But pain is a small price to pay for knowledge.”

She chuckles again. “You are such an intractable academic,” she teases. She drops a light kiss on his neck, the runs the heels of her hands along the sides of his spine.

Solas groans happily as her palms press into the knots in his back. “You’re enabling my intractable academia with this massage,” he says. “I should continue reading late if this will be my reward.”

He huffs a little laugh as Elia pokes him in the side. “Do you want me to continue or not?” she demands, but he can hear the laughter in her voice.

“I apologize, Inquisitor,” he says. “Please, by all means, continue.” His tone is teasing, and Elia pokes him once more before resuming her careful kneading of his skin.

Solas sighs with satisfaction and adjusts his seat at the edge of the bed. His Dalish lover is kneeling on the bed behind him, and the feel of her knees against the back of his hips is an enjoyable pressure in itself. The nighttime silence of her bedroom is a peaceful lull, and he closes his eyes to savour the gentle working of her hands.

Her touch really is perfect. Her fingers and her palms work in tandem, rolling against his knotted muscles and smoothing carefully along his shoulder blades. Solas breathes slow and deep, savouring the tension leaching away as her hands travel across his skin. With every pass of her palms, his glowing sense of wellbeing rises. It’s an almost palpable feeling – a sense of comfort, of contentment and calm and love. It’s a lovely feeling, so tangible that it’s almost got a colour: a light aquamarine blue…

Suddenly he realizes what it is that he feels.

It’s her. It’s Elia.

At that moment, her whisper drifts into his ear. “Can you feel this?”

“Yes,” he breathes.

Her lips trace along the back of his neck. “You’re always using your magic on me,” she murmurs with a lilt of innuendo in her voice. “I thought I could try returning the favour.”

“I – yes…” he stammers, unable to find a more articulate reply. Now that he’s recognized her magical touch, he’s astounded by the sheer subtlety of it. Solas is familiar with his lover’s magical signature, but the amount of control – and magical talent – that she’s exerting in order to have such a careful effect…

He swallows hard. His sense of warm contentment remains, but it’s joined by another feeling, one that’s considerably more restless and hot.

He shifts slightly on the edge of the bed and widens his legs to accommodate the stirring in his breeches. Of course, Elia notices. “You like it, then?” she whispers against his shoulder.

“Unequivocally,” he rasps, and he feels her smile on his back.

“Good,” she says. Her left palm continues to slide firmly along the length of his back, but her right hand is on the move, sliding around his waist, across his midriff, into his loose breeches…

Her turquoise magical touch trails in the wake of her hand, like a flow of affection and well-being made real. When her magic wraps around the rod of his manhood along with her fingers, he groans with pleasure and longing.

“Elia,” he begs. He reaches behind himself to find her caressing left hand, then takes her hand and guides it up and away from his back.

She takes his cue and snakes her left arm around his neck in a firm embrace, and Solas leans back into the solidity of her bare chest. Her hand is smoothing along the length of his shaft, a sweet firm stroke made smooth by her magic, and Solas pumps his hips pleadingly toward her fist. Elia hugs him from behind, her arm around his neck and her lips on his temple, and he clutches her left arm close, presses his face against her lips, lifts his hips toward her diligently stroking hand.

He’s utterly ensnared. This lovely Dalish mage has captured him, trapped him with her sweet and subtle magic and her gentle hands and her unequivocal love. He didn’t plan on this, didn’t plan on finding a person in this world who would see him and who would help him see in return, and his fortune in finding her now…

His breathing his harsh and deep, as deep as the pool of bliss that’s rising between his legs, and when his roiling climax finally peaks, the bitter reality of his shining fortune crashes over him in a rush that is both exquisite and excruciating at once.

He arches his neck and releases a rapturous groan. “Elia,” he gasps.

She steals his tremulous gasp with a kiss, and Solas threads his fingers into her short raven hair until she pulls away. “Was that good?” she murmurs.

“Ar lath ma,” he blurts gracelessly, and Elia grins. “I’ll take that as a yes,” she whispers, then graces him with another delicious kiss.

He fervently returns her kiss, pouring every scrap of his adoration into the fullness of her lips and the line of her tongue. The love that binds them is both a blessing and a terrible curse, but in moments like this, Solas permits himself a small slice of selfishness.

In moments like this, enfolded in the safety of his lover’s arms and wrapped in the heat of her acceptance, Solas permits himself to forget.

**************

Read more of Elia and Solas here on AO3.

for dadrunkwriting Twist, Night, Habit with solas and elia? <3

Thank you for this @dadrunkwriting prompt! I actually love this prompt?? Thank you for requesting it!

Read on AO3 instead. NSFW.

**************

“Hmmm… Elvyr’el uralas’jul, min jul. elvyr’el min.”

Elia jolts as Solas’s hand slides around her ribs and up over her breast. It’s pitch-dark in the bedroom, clearly still the deepest part of the night.

“Mm?” she mumbles, mostly asleep.

He slowly shifts closer and molds his naked body against her back. His lips braise her shoulder blade, slow and firm. His thumb drifts across her nipple, and she inhales slowly as the tender peak rises to attention at his touch.

“Elvyr’el. Vhallal’el,” he mutters. “Lana esh’ala dera sulrahn tundra es’var sael ventar’en tor elgar’vhenan.”

Elia smiles sleepily, but doesn’t bother to open her eyes. Clearly he’s dreaming. She can barely decipher his words, and part of her wants to ask him what he’s dreaming about, but the main part of her mind is still buried in a languorous layer of sleep.

His teeth against her neck, now. A sweet and gentle bite, not at all painful, like he’s simply testing the texture of her skin.

Then his hips pump against her bottom, riding the steely rod of his late-night wood against the cleft of her bottom.

Elia sighs with a soporific contentment as Solas slowly rubs himself against her. She and Solas are usually reserved in their affection during the day, but his barriers seem to drop late at night. He has a habit of entangling himself with her in his sleep, and Elia has forgotten what it’s like to sleep without the beloved stroke of her lover’s hands.

Not that she’s complaining at all. Sometimes the press of his body becomes something more sensual, and sometimes it doesn’t, but either way, the result is the same: she’s wrapped in the tight embrace of his affection, and it’s more comforting than the warmest down duvet.

This probably won’t become more than grinding tonight, though. The pillows are so cozy, and his naked body is so nice and warm, and she really is quite perfectly comfortable; Solas can keep touching her if he likes, she doesn’t mind, she’s just going to drop off again…

Solas’s hand abandons her breast to reach between his legs and adjust himself, and Elia’s lips part on an involuntary little gasp as his cock slides between her legs.

He squeezes her breast again, then nips her shoulder blade a bit more firmly. “Tundrast. Himash elvar, ar eolasa.”

The customary smoothness of his voice is rough with sleep, and the slightly feral sound of it begins to wake her just as surely as his cock between her legs. He slides against the apex of her thighs, teasing her through the silk of her smalls, and Elia arches her spine and presses her bottom back against his groin.

Solas releases a breathy groan. His hand slides down to her belly, then his arm bands around her waist in a hard embrace. His cock is riding hard between her legs, and Elia can hear her own breathing growing harsh as she thrusts back against him.

Suddenly she finds herself flat on her back. His authoritative hand is on her hip, and his lips travel from her hipbone to her navel, sliding lower, his hot breath ghosting over the wetness she knows is pooling between her legs, and Elia twists her hips toward his face with a tremulous gasp. “Solas,” she mewls.

“Yes, Inquisitor?” he purrs in the common tongue.

She finally opens her eyes, but she can just barely make out the silhouette of his pointed ear in the pitch-black night. “So now you’re aware of what you’re doing, are you?” she says breathlessly.

“I am never unaware of what I do in the Fade,” he murmurs. He lowers his face and drops another kiss between her legs.

A breathtaking rush of lust ripples up through her abdomen, and she lifts her hips toward his face. “You’re not in the Fade now, my love,” she pants.

Solas rises to his knees, then shifts between her legs. His fingers slide under the hem of her smallclothes, and his voice slides over her desire-drugged mind. “Here in this bed with you, the feeling is the same,” he replies. “It is like the darkest and most peaceful corners of the Fade, where paths trail untouched into the deepest edges of memory.” He peels her smallclothes away, then leans forward and lowers his lips to her belly.

Elia trembles as he whispers a quiet word against her skin. A moment later, a tiny shiver of green light appears at the meeting point of her body and his mouth. He sweeps his fingers over the mote of light, then gently releases it to the air.

The tiny pinprick of light floats gently above them, a faint wavering shiver of illumination that allows Elia to see the half-smile on his handsome face. Without another word of warning, he delves his tongue into her wetness.

Elia cries out in surprise and arches shamelessly toward his face. He feasts with a single-minded focus, his tongue lapping firmly at her swollen little nub while his lips stroke her tender folds in a gentle caress. She tries to grind toward him, to lift her hips closer to his mouth, but his hands hold her firm, forcing her to take only what he gives.

She clenches her fists in the pillow and arches her spine, feels the ebb and flow of his tongue as it slicks across her swollen bud and down along the length of her folds, and all at once her rapture spills over her. It’s thrumming through her, pouring from the power of his tongue through the apex of her thighs and out through her limbs and rendering her blind.

She shudders and jolts helplessly against the bed. “Solas,” she sobs. “Solas, please…”

Suddenly he’s behind her again, his hand pushing her firmly onto her side and his cock riding fast and hard between her thighs. She’s slick for him, hopelessly and utterly wet for him, and she mewls with distress as he teases her folds with his steely length.

He angles his lips low, and she twists her bottom toward him, and – yes, gods and spirits and demons yes – he’s inside of her, pushing in and filling her so deeply she can almost feel the pleasure of him resonating in her throat. She bucks back against him, wanton and wild and no longer remotely tired, and all she wants is more more more please Solas more–

He pries her legs apart, lifting her upper leg and hooking her ankle behind his knee, and the spreading of her legs only drives her lust even higher. She’s spread wide for him, exposed and open and vulnerable, but Solas’s arm is firm around her waist, and his beautiful lips are panting their pleasure against her neck.

This, Elia realizes, is how it’s always been with him: she’s open wide, offering him her heart and her body and whatever spirit must live inside. Solas takes what she offers, and he cradles it so carefully in his strong and slender fingers, and the love he gives in return is nothing short of bliss.

Yes, she thinks, it’s bliss; that’s the feeling of his cock driving hard and deep along the deepest parts of her, his hand sliding carefully across her curves, the whimper of pleasure that bleeds from his tongue into his teeth as he bites her shoulder in his release.

In the sweetness of their afterglow, he carefully unhooks her leg from over his own, and Elia sighs happily as she languishes in his arms. She savours his breath against her neck and the tightness of his embrace, and before she can move to rise and clean herself up, sleep begins to creep back in.

It weighs on her eyelids and coaxes her heart to a slow and steady beat. In the last moment right before the Fade snatches her away, she feels his kiss against her neck and his voice against her ear.

“On nydha, vhenan. I will meet you there.”

She smiles sleepily as the dreamy darkness takes her. I know you will, she thinks. She can always count on him to meet her in the Fade.

***************

Elvhen phrases, courtesy of @fenxshiral: 

Elvyr’el uralas’jul, min jul. elvyr’el min.=  The softer linen, this one. It’s softer here.

Elvyr’el. Vhallal’el. Lana esh’ala dera sulrahn tundra es’var sael ventar’en tor elgar’vhenan. = Softer. More welcoming. Let them touch something gentle for their first steps from the Fade.

Tundrast. Himash elvar, ar eolasa. = Gently. The transition is hard, I know.

On nydha: good night.