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Solas had no concept of how long he has been sitting there, perched in his great red chair in the Rotunda, scanning over a report about curious magical artifacts - that under normal circumstances would be incredibly comprehensive and enticing - for what seemed like the hundredth time, still not able to absorb even a word. He manages to transmit the appearance of concentrated serenity, both loose and firm in his posture, emitting the air of a solemn scholar, but inside, he felt all the anticipation and nervousness of a young schoolboy.
Every moment now, she would enter the Rotunda to seek him out. And he could never possibly be prepared enough for that encounter. But he had mulled over all the things he could say, decided on the ones he had to, and formulated the points he needed to deliver with absolute clarity - all hopefully without running the risk of hurting her.
He would be honest, but ambiguous, firm but tender, friendly but not, under any circumstances, encouraging. That was his strategy, and it was a solid and suitable one. Clear and well calculated.
In theory, anyway.
But all of his thoughts are swept away, carried by a violent current of engrossing affection, the moment she steps through the archway.
The smirk that bends her full lips and the flicker in her haze eyes do nothing to strengthen his resolve.
“Sleep well?” he finds himself asking and curses at the suggestive tone in his voice.
But the pleased, evocative expression on her face washes over his remorse as quick and absolute as a cold stream. Something stirs in him as he can’t help but delight in the fact that it was because of him that this utterly absorbing look graced her face. That it was he who had brought her this pleasure that was now reflected longingly in her features. The memory of her soft moans reverberates through him…
Stop!
He snipes internally at himself, and is quick to silence those inappropriate and entirely unhelpful thoughts.
Elgara has already started to approach him, her hips swinging gently from side to side. “Oh yes,” she avows in a low hum that makes the back of his neck tingle in electric waves. “I had the most enticing and incredibly … vivid dream,” she purrs, not breaking her stride.
He considers briefly if he should get up - it would make it decisively easier to put more distance between them - which would definitely be advisable. But he ultimately decides against it. Solas could not simply jump out of his chair without looking incredibly foolish, and she was now already too close to attempt anything else.
She leans against his desk. His eyes instinctively trace over her form before he can stop them.
She twirls strands of crimson hair between her thumb and index finger, and her face is glowing with an incredibly alluring attempt at feigned innocence.
“I hope your dreams were equally pleasant?” she asks.
He lets his smile answer for him. He can’t do much else without endangering the situation further.
She grins.
“I have never done anything quite like that before,” she admits, then leans in, close enough for him to be clouded in spices, and adds in a lower tone “On a number of levels.”
Her breath brushes against his skin. It sends shivers through him.
A small, unchecked laugh escapes him, ending in a small snort. The tips of his ears heat up. He quickly clears his throat.
Why had he spend such a vast amount of time mulling over his words, if he would not use them?
“I apologize,” he starts “the kiss was …impulsive and ill-considered and I should not have encouraged it.”
What a sloppy delivery.
She chuckles softly and leans back, slipping gracefully onto his desk, in one, nimble motion. “You say that now, but you’re the one that started with tongue.”
“I did no such thing!” he denies immediately, but can’t keep his face nor his voice from betraying him.
“Oh?” she says, arching her brow as she rests her head on one hand, arm propped up on her leg. “Does it not count if it’s only Fade tongue?” she inquires with a smirk and tilts her head.
The memory plays at his mind. He could still taste her, still recall the feel of her tongue as she drew him deeper…
“It has been a long time…” he says carefully. And how long it had been… “And things have always been … easier for me in the Fade.” It was true enough, he supposes. In a manner of speaking.
Her expression softens at his words, but it takes only moments for her teasing to return. “You know, confidence comes from practice,” she declares and shoots him a sly grin. “And you know me, always the noble, helpful soul.” There was a hunger to those tawny brown eyes. “I would definitely be willing to offer you my assistance,” she hums.
He breathes his chuckle. She wets her lips and he follows the motion for a moment, before averting his gaze.
“I am not certain this is the best idea,” he says and adds hesitantly “it… could lead to trouble.”
Oh it would definitely lead to trouble. Not that he could ever explain to her the full ramifications of that statement. He had already disclosed more than enough. Far more than was wise. But if she were made to understand that this was truly unwise, if she could simply accept his word for it, and then draw her own conclusion…
He stills. He feels her palm at his chin and resists the urge to lean into her impossibly smooth hand. But he doesn’t back away either. So she simply lingers there for a moment, then tightens her grip and gently guides him upwards, angling his head to meet her eyes.
Her expression is painfully earnest
“I’m willing to take that chance,” she says, her smile gentle as she lifts her brows “If you are.”
No, she could not possibly know what chance she was taking, and that the odds of success were almost nonexistent.
But…
She was free to make her own decisions. And if she knew it was ill-advised and was still truly willing to risk it, could he perhaps still… let her?
“I…” He sputters but then breaks off, retracting from the warmth of her hand and lure of her eyes. This was all going so fast and not at all in the direction he had envisioned. “Maybe,” he says, immediately followed by “Yes” and then quickly ads “If I could take a little time to think. There are… considerations.”
She giggles at his fumbling attempts to formulate a decision.
“Take all the time you need,” she says and slips from his desk. And then she presses a chaste, swift kiss on his forehead.
It takes an impossible amount of resolution on his part not to grab her, right then and there, and draw her into his chair.
He lets out a shuddering breath.
“Forgive me,” he starts and runs a hand along his temple “I am not often thrown by things that happen in dreams.” That earns him a redolent chuckle and Solas is quick to re-direct their conversation. “But I am reasonably certain we are awake now. And if you wish to discuss anything, I would enjoy talking.”
Any hint of coquettish teasing vanishes completely from her face then, and is once again replaced by her usual, lively yet nonchalant, nature.
Solas realizes, with self-berating irritation, that it makes her even more appealing.
“There really is something that I wanted your opinion on…” Elgara revels. She turns her head with an inviting smile and gestures towards the cream-colored couch.
Solas is keen to follow.
They talk, discussing the specializations of magic, and for the second time that day, Solas loses all concept of time.
In a way, it was similar to their usual conversations, it possessed the same ease and ardor, and
her duties were certain to bring it to a hasty, and all too soon end.
But in a lot of ways, it was decisively different. For one, he found himself incredibly conscious of her every move. Every simple touch seemed to leave a soft print behind. The sheer amount of attention he payed her body was truly alarming. His eyes absorbed the way her legs spread, the way she stretched when she arched her back, and the way she shook her head with vigorous enthusiasm either in confusion or amusement, crimson hair falling loosely around her dark frame.
And then there were some movements, that just brought a quiet, private, smile to his face.
Like the continuous flicking of her tongue, or the way her dimples twisted when she laughed and the way her hands so often drew elaborate pictures in harmony with her words, and rested on her lap in tight, agitated, knots when she was concentrating.
Sometimes his gaze lingered in those moments, and decisively longer than would be appropriate.
And all the while, a nagging voice persisted, a question that was impossible to shake.
Would allowing himself to love her truly be so bad?
He knew the answer, but for the first time, he found himself unwilling to accept it.