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shift-shaping · 1 month ago

Text

please don't stop

enaste invites solas to join her on the roof. it's going to be a cold night, you see.

rating: explicit

pairing: solavellan

warnings: 18+, solavellan

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first fic in this series

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Enaste curled on to her side, blankets wrapped around her like a cocoon, and tried again to will herself to sleep. The air on the roof smelled like the ocean and carried the quiet murmurs of distant gatherings. If she looked out past the overhang that protected her from potential rain, she could see the dense veil of stars strewn across the dark night sky. She'd even had the chance to bathe before crawling into bed. It was cool and soothing and exactly what she'd pictured when she first climbed the ladder from her room.

So if everything was so perfect, if she'd gone so long without sleep, why wouldn't it come to her?

The situation on the ground was tenuous at best. The city guard and the nobles they protected were actively hostile to any attempt Enaste or her allies made to clear the wells; they believed themselves at the precipice of a major elven rebellion, bolstered by the support of the elf-ruled Inquisition. Even the Chantry presence in the city was entirely unhelpful, dedicated as they were to permanent neutrality.

Blackwall believed they would call for backup, and Enaste sent for her own in anticipation. The nearest resupply outpost Cullen had set up for them could supply reinforcements, though in what numbers she was unsure. She also sent a crow to Skyhold updating her advisors on the situation, but any help from them would take days, at best, to arrive.

She did not want to involve her clan any more than she already had, and in a third letter she'd urged Deshanna to move them out of the area.

The lower classes of the city had been more understanding, especially after one of the more trusted dwarven merchants recognized the danger of the red lyrium. He'd said something about Kirkwall, and Bartrand, and with that alone she figured she owed Varric her gratitude upon their return. Whatever he'd been through had made their efforts to sway many of Wycome's residents to her side much easier.

So with three letters in flight and half the city preparing for battle against her and her allies, perhaps she should have expected sleep to evade her. Her thoughts swam like minnows in her head, and try as she might to slow them they kept slipping from her grasp.

What did not escape her was the painful reality of how poorly she'd handled everything. The Duke was dead, the blood mage had escaped, and her face burned where the infiltrator's arrow cut her. The wells were still poisoned with red lyrium. Her allies were exhausted and the most powerful people in the city wanted her dead. Even now she was hardly safe, protected only by the density of the alienage and the unwillingness of her enemies to enter it.

And how long would that unwillingness last? Bran wanted to prevent a purge, but she feared she'd only brought it on them faster.

Perhaps she should have stayed out of this, let Jester and Lady Volant handle this matter on their own. Since when had her presence really helped anything? The Anchor was useful, she supposed, but maybe Isabela had a point: perhaps they would all be better off if Enaste cut off her hand and left it on Cassandra's pillow.

She needed to relieve herself.

Once she'd untangled her legs from her blankets, she stood with a wince and opened the hatch back down to her room. She was careful not to make any excessive noise as she eased herself down the ladder; Solas was a heavy sleeper, but not so heavy he'd sleep through her falling on her ass.

He snorted as she slipped past him, but did not wake. There was a washroom attached to her tiny quarters with a chamberpot inside, a feature that would have been unthinkable to her less than a year ago but now, compared to Skyhold's more elaborate waste disposal, was downright rustic.

She must have taken longer than she thought, because when she re-entered the room Solas was sitting on the edge of the bed and looking up at the hatch.

"Oh, sorry," she said quietly. He looked at her, eyes shining an eerie violet in the dark. "I didn't mean to leave it open."

He shook his head. "No need to apologize. The fresh air is appreciated."

She stepped closer to him. "Are you feeling better?"

"Yes," his voice rasped, and she smirked as he cleared his throat. "And you? Have you been able to rest, Inquisitor?"

"No," she said bluntly. She looked up at the hatch. "There's too much going on."

He lowered his voice. "Are you comfortable?" His words were gentle, kind, and the compassion in them warmed her heart.

"Yes. It's nice, seeing the stars, smelling the ocean." She leaned against the ladder, standing directly in front of him. He watched her, meeting her eyes, and suddenly she was hyper-aware of how little her clothing left to the imagination: her shirt was lightweight and tight, and her leggings were essentially underwear. That she was wearing something so revealing hadn't occurred to her until now; being seen in her nightclothes had never bothered her until he was the one looking.

"I... Imagine that would be comforting," he said slowly. Her face and ears felt hot.

"You should see," she replied, a little too quickly. She looked at the hatch nervously. "The roof, I mean. It's nice."

She kept her eyes off him as he spoke, but the humor in his voice was obvious. "You did say that." Then he paused, and she didn't know what would happen if she looked at him but she wasn't brave enough to find out. The silence lingered heavy and thick and a chill raced across her skin. "I suppose I could... have a look."

She smiled, still determined not to look at him. Then she climbed the ladder up to the rooftop alcove she'd made into her bed. It was a very small space, just big enough for her nest of blankets, with a small strip of space beside it for her shoes.

"How did you bring the blankets up here?" Solas asked, sounding impressed.

She smirked. "You're a very heavy sleeper." She collapsed on to her makeshift bed, legs crossed, and yawned.

He scoffed. "Hardly that heavy."

He was wrong, but she was only teasing. She nodded to a mechanism on the side of the roof. "There are pulleys on a lot of the windows and rooftops here. Once you know which one is yours, it's easy to just pull things up."

"Clever," he said, but he was distracted. She finally looked at him again, just fast enough to catch him avert his gaze.

He'd been staring at her. She narrowed her eyes, saying nothing as he looked out over the rooftops and held his arms behind his back. Somewhere in the distance, she heard the sound of breaking glass and cackling laughter.

"You should stay up here with me," she said, finally, softly, and drew her knees to her chest. "It's warm enough now but... it'll be colder in the morning."

He closed his eyes for a moment, and even when he opened them he still wasn't looking at her. "Inquisitor..."

"You don't have to call me that, either," she corrected gently. "I don't... I don't want to be that with you." A small, sad smile tugged at his lips. "Please, Solas." She wanted him there, wanted his warmth beside her and his breath at her ear and his arm on her waist. She wanted to sleep knowing he was alive and safe beside her, that no one could hurt them because they were together. "Stay."

Then he finally looked at her, and exhaled slowly, and behind him the stars spread out like a map against the endless void. She offered him her hand, already so close she could almost touch him.

And he took it, his long fingers so strong around hers. He knelt, easing into the blankets, still holding her hand as he sat down beside her. He shifted, her hand sliding to his forearm. He looked at it, then at her face. He gently brushed her cheek with his knuckles, and time itself froze around her. Her eyes traced the hard cut of his jaw and the soft fullness of his mouth. Then he turned his hand to cup her cheek, fingers just barely gracing the edge of her bandages. He eased her close, and she shut her eyes.

He pressed a careful kiss to her hairline. His lips were warm, and soft, and even when he pulled away his presence lingered on her skin.

Her brows furrowed, her chest filled with a strange mixture of happiness and dissatisfaction. He pulled back, searching her face, and he must have picked up on her confusion. He chuckled softly, and the sound alone –rumbling deep in the minute space between them– scattered her thoughts. "You actually have to sleep, da'len."

"Or I could--"

"Sleep," he was teasing now, playful, as though she were an unruly apprentice, and that imagery wasn't helping her get to sleep any sooner.

"Will you meet me in the Fade? We could... continue our lessons." He laughed more openly now as he pulled back from her. It was such a beautiful, frustrating sound.

"If you have the stamina for it, I will meet you in the Fade." He shifted so he was lying down on his back, putting more distance between them. The bed was so small, how did he manage to be so far away? "If not, I will see you in the morning."

She sighed and gave up. Admittedly, she was tired, and just having him close made her more comfortable than when she was alone. Yet exhaustion didn't stop her gaze from wandering over his broad chest, from taking in his large, elegant hands, from wondering how they would feel if he–

"Enaste," he started, but she cut him off.

"Touch me."

A demand, a plea, two words that split the night around them. He inhaled sharply, staring up at the sky. "Please, just... please." She lay on her side, facing him.

He was quiet, and the playfulness in his expression disappeared. He shifted to his side. His shimmering eyes flicked to her face, taking her in. He shook his head slowly, as if in disbelief.

Then he reached up and traced a delicate line from her cheek to her shoulder. Her eyes widened and her body flushed with heat.

Suddenly he pushed her down into the blankets. Her breath caught in her throat and her eyes widened in shock. He leaned over her, the stars behind him, and for a moment she thought –was he scared?

"Please," she insisted. The weight of his hand on her shoulder set a fire in her core. "Please, Solas, I want you to touch me." She wrapped her hand around his wrist as he pinned her to the bed. He eased off, and in response she brought his hand down so that it cupped the curve of her breast. "I want you." Her nightclothes bore no padding –he was only a thin layer of fabric from her bare chest.

His free hand reached up to stroke her cheek, and it was so hot beneath his touch. She could see the conflict in his eyes, a turmoil she could not begin to interpret. Was this wrong of her? Was she too plain, too inexperienced, too desperate? Was she pressuring him into something he didn't want?

He leaned close and brought his lips to her neck and in his rolling, gentle tenor said: "you are so beautiful, Enaste."

The hand on her breast squeezed softly, and the thrill of his touch made her pulse pound. His teeth brushed the sensitive skin below her jaw and she shivered. She still held him by the wrist and felt the wiry muscles there tense as he palmed her full, heavy breast. His hand brushed across her hard nipple and she cried out –in need, in shock, in a bottomless hunger for more.

He paused, pulling away from her neck, and the concern in his eyes sent a wave of affection through her blood. "I'm, it's– don't stop," she sputtered, and his deep, rumbling chuckle made her feel like she was suddenly expected to survive without any bones.

"Ma nuvenin, da'len," he nearly growled the words into her skin. He grasped her breast again, its weight filling his hand, and a single stroke of his thumb across her nipple made her entire body shudder with pleasure. She bucked her hips involuntarily and a wet, desperate sound escaped her lips.

No one had ever touched her like this, except herself. That Solas was here, now, his hands toying with her breasts and brushing the skin of her neck with his soft lips was overwhelming, all-consuming. Then his teeth brushed against her ear and she briefly forgot who she was. She moaned, deep and low from somewhere base inside her. He teased her nipple between his fingers, over the fabric, making her squirm and gasp and push her chest towards him and the friction of her shirt on her skin only made it all stronger.

He pulled back from her neck, and her skin was damp where he'd marked it. He hovered over her, watching her pant and gasp beneath him. It took so little effort for him to make her weak. His hand lingered on her chest, his grip firm but not enough to hurt.

She reached up and cupped his cheek. His thumb trailed around her nipple, tantalizingly light. He leaned in to her, and she shifted to meet him.

Again he did not kiss her, and instead brought his teeth to the other side of her neck. She would have been disappointed were it not for the movement of his free hand: he stroked the bare skin of her lower stomach where her shirt had come up, and the feeling of his skin on hers was electrifying. He just barely touched her, the contact a ghost along her nerves.

Her eyes widened. The emptiness inside her cunt, the dampness she felt –he was so close, and her body was so sensitive, and she needed him to touch her. She grasped at the back of his head and pushed him into her neck, quickly, hungrily.

He groaned against her, sending shocks of pleasure across her skin. The sound reverberated through her body and sent a wave of slick between her legs. From their earliest battles together she'd wanted him, wanted to know how the hands that helped her off the ground could touch her, how the subtle music of his voice would feel against her ear, how the arms that so expertly wielded a staff could hold her.

His palm flattened against her stomach. She grasped his wrist, urging him into her leggings. He hesitated, halting as she pushed him.

"Don't stop, please don't stop," she breathed. "I want you, I need you, please don't stop." She let go of his wrist, and wrapped her arms around his back. "I want this. Solas, please."

He panted against her skin. His hesitation hung heavy in those scant millimeters between them. "Inquisitor..."

His use of her title made her heart drop. He couldn't do this, not now. "Don't go," she begged. She tried to hold him closer but he wouldn't budge. "Don't –don't leave me like this." His breath hitched against her. She gripped his shirt. "Please."

He pulled away. The force he had to use to untangle himself from her was like a knife in her heart. Her hands dropped away from him. "I am distracting you, Inquisitor. I'm sorry." He already sounded so far away in that cold night air.

It was more than that. She knew it. There was something about her that he couldn't bring himself to be with. She was too weak, too stupid, too ugly. If her magic was stronger, if she was smarter, if her decisions didn't hurt the people she was supposed to protect, if she was someone else–

But she wasn't. And she couldn't be.

"Fine," she said. He stood slowly, turning away from her. She stared off the edge of the roof, into the sky. "Go."

His presence lingered a moment longer, hovering in the space she'd made for herself. Then she heard the ladder creak, the hatch close, and he was gone.

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