#I love solas but you gotta admit this is satisfying

[cherchezlafatfemme]

*breaks my thumb on the button*

[himluv]

Love Potion

Here’s the next oneshot in my Solavellan series, Inevitable. You can read from the beginning here.

Solas sat on the bench, his back to the wall, and watched Riallan laugh and smile at their companions. He rarely saw her so effusive, her cheeks pink with drink and her eyes bright with humor at something Dorian had just said. Solas hadn’t heard it over the din of the tavern and Maryden’s singing, but he gathered it was something salacious from the intensity of her blush.

The Herald’s Rest was not a place he spent much time. The few occasions he’d been there had been late in the evening to share a quiet drink with Varric when the dwarf refused to take no for an answer. He avoided the more boisterous hours, and their more boisterous friends, whenever possible.

Riallan frequently invited him to go down to the Herald’s Rest with her, to join her and her friends in a touch of debauchery and what they deemed relaxation. He always politely declined. But tonight she had specifically requested his presence.

“They think you don’t like them,” she’d said. He sat on the settee in her room, pretending to read a book while he actually watched her stretch after a sparring session with Cassandra. She was long-limbed and limber, flexible in ways he found all too enticing.

“That is not true,” he said. Even those with whom he frequently disagreed or even argued, Sera and Lady Vivienne for instance, he did not dislike. He even respected them.

Riallan winced at him from between her legs as she bent to touch her toes. “That might be worse,” she said.

“How so?” He closed the book, all pretense of his reading it gone.

“If you like them, but still won’t go out,” she shook her head, “that means you’re no fun.” Her voice was light, teasing him, but there was a hopefulness in it.

She really wanted him to go.

Her back was to him as she bent forward over her feet, her palms flat on the floor. She took deep, full breaths and closed her eyes, relishing the stretch. He crept up to her, and as she straightened his arms wrapped around her and pulled her flush against him.

“You think I’m no fun?” He let his fingers find her most ticklish places and was satisfied when she squirmed against him.

“I know you’re fun,” she said, breathless with restrained laughter. “They don’t.”

He tickled her more, her wriggling intensifying. “You really must stop listening to everything Dorian says, vhenan.”

“Come out with me tonight, and maybe I will.” Even breathless and laughing, the dare was clear in her voice.

He released her suddenly, and she turned to face him. “All right,” he said. He moved back to the sofa, took up his book, and resumed reading as if nothing had happened.

“All right?” She blinked at him. “You’ll go?”

He nodded once. “Perhaps it will even be fun.”

And now that he sat in the Herald’s Rest he had to admit he was having a good time. He was less a participant than an observer, which seemed to be all anyone expected of him. Solas was pleased with the arrangement; his more raucous days were long behind him.

“I have to say,” Varric said as he settled onto the bench beside Solas. “I’m glad to see you here, Chuckles. You gotta get out from behind those books every once in a while.”

Solas raised an eyebrow at him. “Surely, you, of all people, do not believe that.”

“I love a good story as much, shit, probably more than the next person,” he said. He took a drink from his tankard and sighed. “But you can’t live your whole life in someone else’s story.” He shook his head. “Trust me on that one.”

The gloom that settled on Varric’s shoulders was familiar to him. It mirrored his own guilt and grief, on the rare occasions he allowed himself to feel it these days. The difference was that Varric somehow managed to shake the dark thoughts and smile at him.

He was able to move on.

“But you’re here,” the dwarf said and clapped him on the shoulder.

Riallan laughed into her tankard, choking on ale hard enough that the whole table broke into an uproar of laughter. Solas watched, only mildly concerned, as Dorian patted her back. The Tevinter was more a mother hen than he would ever admit. Once he was satisfied Ria could still breathe, Solas returned his attention to Varric.

“You really care about her, don’t you?” There was a wary look in his eyes, but beneath that was something bright. Bright and hopeful.

Solas looked down into his mug, took a long drink in the hope that Varric would let this conversation go. All he really accomplished was ensuring a lightheaded, buzzy feeling behind his eyes.

“Have you told her?” Varric asked the question as if he thought Solas was a fool if he hadn’t.

He glanced around the table, but their friends were all enthralled by some tale Iron Bull was in the middle of telling. He and Varric had some privacy, at least as much as could ever be had in a bar.

“She knows,” he said and took another drink.

Varric scowled. “You think she knows, or you told her? There’s a difference.”

Solas returned the displeased look. Nosy dwarf. “I tell her every day.”

Varric sat back, blinking. “Damn. All right, then.” He ran a hand over his face. “And she feels the same?”

Solas shrugged one shoulder. “I believe so.”

“You believe so?”

He took another drink, and a small voice in his mind told him to slow down, but he needed something to do with his hands. This conversation was far from comfortable. “She has not expressly said so.”

“Oh,” Varric said. “Shit.” He took a drink and shook his head, scooting a little closer to Solas. “I mean, Chuckles, it’s obvious she likes you.”

Solas snorted. “I don’t need comforting, Varric. She will tell me in her own time, and in the interim I will gladly accept all she will give me.” The words came easier than he expected and he wondered how strong his ale really was.

“Oh.” He blinked, chuckled, and shook his head as a slow smile spread across his face. “Oh, you’ve got it bad, don’t you?”

Another drink, and then the mug was empty. He glared at Varric. “I would rather not speak of it.”

Varric rolled his eyes. “Who else are you going to talk to about it?”

“Why would I speak to anyone other than Ria about our relationship?”

Varric’s eyes went wide. “Ria? You call her Ria?”

Solas ran a hand over his face. “She prefers it,” he said.

“You’re telling me everything,” Varric said, pointing a finger at Solas as he stood. He snatched both tankards from the table. “I’ll be right back.”

He shook his head. “I don’t think I need--”

But the dwarf was already headed toward the bar, his step far too jaunty not to draw attention. Solas looked up to find Ria and Dorian looking at him. She gave him a sweet smile, free of any insecurity thanks to the ale. Dorian’s glance was openly curious, his mustache twitching as he considered Solas. Bronze skin had gone ruddy at the cheeks, mimicking the color of the wine in the glass he raised in salute.

Varric reappeared in that moment, setting a precariously full mug down in front of Solas. He raised it, not far, but enough for Dorian to see, and they both drank. It seemed the mages had come to a truce. Not that they were particularly at war, but Dorian took Ria’s well-being seriously, and he and Solas did not always see eye-to-eye.

“Are you and Sparkler playing nice?” Varric asked. “He has a protective streak.”

He took a drink of the ale, and this time it didn’t taste as strong. A bad sign. “He cares for her,” he said. “I can hardly begrudge him that.”

Varric’s smile widened. “Now, then,” he said, leaning forward onto the table. “Why don’t you start at the beginning?”

Solas sighed, shaking his head, but he couldn’t help but smile. He took another, deep drink to brace himself for this conversation.

It was going to be a long evening.

[himluv]

Love Potion

Day #11 of 14 Days of Dragon Age Lovers. We’re almost to the end y’all!

Solas sat on the bench, his back to the wall, and watched Riallan laugh and smile at their companions. He rarely saw her so effusive, her cheeks pink with drink and her eyes bright with humor at something Dorian had just said. Solas hadn’t heard it over the din of the tavern and Maryden’s singing, but he gathered it was something salacious from the intensity of her blush.

The Herald’s Rest was not a place he spent much time. The few occasions he’d been there had been late in the evening to share a quiet drink with Varric when the dwarf refused to take no for an answer. He avoided the more boisterous hours, and their more boisterous friends, whenever possible.

Riallan frequently invited him to go down to the Herald’s Rest with her, to join her and her friends in a touch of debauchery and what they deemed relaxation. He always politely declined. But tonight she had specifically requested his presence.

“They think you don’t like them,” she said. He sat on the settee in her room, pretending to read a book while he actually watched her stretch after a sparring session with Cassandra. She was long-limbed and limber, flexible in ways he found all too enticing.

“That is not true,” he said. Even those with whom he frequently disagreed or even argued, Sera and Lady Vivienne for instance, he did not dislike. He even respected them.

Riallan winced at him from between her legs as she bent to touch her toes. “That might be worse,” she said.

“How so?” He closed the book, all pretense of him reading it gone.

“If you like them, but still won’t go out,” she shook her head, “that means you’re no fun.” Her voice was light, teasing him, but there was a hopefulness in it.

She really wanted him to go.

Her back was to him as she bent forward over her feet, her palms flat on the floor. She took deep, full breaths and closed her eyes, relishing the stretch. He crept up to her, and as she straightened his arms wrapped around her and pulled her flush against him.

“You think I’m no fun?” He let his fingers find her most ticklish places and was satisfied when she squirmed against him.

“I know you’re fun,” she said, breathless with restrained laughter. “They don’t.”

He tickled her more, her wriggling intensifying. “You really must stop listening to everything Dorian says, vhenan.”

“Come out with me tonight, and maybe I will.” Even breathless and laughing, the dare was clear in voice.

He released her suddenly, and she turned to face him. “All right,” he said. He moved back to the sofa, took up his book, and resumed reading as if nothing had happened.

“All right?” She blinked at him. “You’ll go?”

He nodded once. “Perhaps it will even be fun.”

And now that he sat in the Herald’s Rest he had to admit he was having a good time. He was less a participant than an observer, which seemed to be all anyone expected of him. Solas was pleased with the arrangement; his more raucous days were long behind him.

“I have to say,” Varric said as he settled onto the bench beside Solas. “I’m glad to see you here, Chuckles. You gotta get out from behind those books every once in a while.”

Solas raised an eyebrow at him. “Surely, you, of all people, do not believe that.”

“I love a good story as much, shit, probably more than the next person,” he said. He took a drink from his tankard and sighed. “But you can’t live your whole life in someone else’s story.” He shook his head. “Trust me on that one.”

The gloom that settled on Varric’s shoulders was familiar to him. It mirrored his own guilt and grief, on the rare occasions he allowed himself to feel it these days. The difference was that Varric somehow managed to shake the dark thoughts and smile at him.

He was able to move on.

“But you’re here,” the dwarf said and clapped him on the shoulder.

Riallan laughed into her tankard, choking on ale hard enough that the whole table broke into an uproar of laughter. Solas watched, only mildly concerned, as Dorian patted her back. The Tevinter was more a mother hen than he would ever admit. Once he was satisfied Ria could still breathe, Solas returned his attention to Varric.

“You really care about her, don’t you?” There was a wary look in his eyes, but beneath that was something bright. It looked an awful lot like hope.

Solas looked down into his mug, took a long drink in the hope that Varric would let this conversation go. All he really accomplished was ensuring a lightheaded, buzzy feeling behind his eyes.

“Have you told her?” Varric asked the question as if he thought Solas was a fool if he hadn’t.

He glanced around the table, but their friends were all enthralled by some tale Iron Bull was in the middle of telling. He and Varric had some privacy, at least as much as could ever be had in a bar.

“She knows,” he said and took another drink.

Varric scowled. “You think she knows, or you told her? There’s a difference.”

Solas returned the displeased look. Nosy dwarf. “I tell her every day.”

Varric sat back, blinking. “Damn. All right, then.” He ran a hand over his face. “And she feels the same?”

Solas shrugged one shoulder. “I believe so.”

“You believe so?”

He took another drink, and a small voice in his mind told him to slow down, but he needed something to do with his hands. This conversation was far from comfortable. “She has not expressly said so.”

“Oh,” Varric said. “Shit.” He took a drink and shook his head, scooting a little closer to Solas. “I mean, Chuckles, it’s obvious she likes you.”

Solas snorted. “I don’t need comforting, Varric. She will tell me in her own time, and in the interim I will gladly accept all she will give me.” The words came easier than he expected and he wondered how strong his ale really was.

“Oh.” He blinked, chuckled, and shook his head as a slow smile spread across his face. “Oh, you’ve got it bad, don’t you?”

Another drink, and then the mug was empty. He glared at Varric. “I would rather not speak of it.”

Varric rolled his eyes. “Who else are you going to talk to about it?”

“Why would I speak to anyone other than Ria about our relationship?”

Varric’s eyes went wide. “Ria? You call her Ria?”

Solas ran a hand over his face. “She prefers it,” he said.

“You’re telling me everything,” Varric said, pointing a finger at Solas as he stood. He snatched both tankards from the table. “I’ll be right back.”

He shook his head. “I don’t think I need--”

But the dwarf was already headed toward the bar, his step far too jaunty not to draw attention. Solas looked up to find Ria and Dorian looking at him. She gave him a sweet smile, free of any insecurity thanks to the ale. Dorian’s glance was openly curious, his mustache twitching as he considered Solas. Bronze skin had gone ruddy at the cheeks, mimicking the color of the wine in the glass he raised in salute.

Varric reappeared in that moment, setting a precariously full mug down in front of him. He raised it, not far, but enough for Dorian to see, and they both drank. It seems the mages had come to a truce. Not that they were particularly at war, but Dorian took Ria’s well-being seriously, and he and Solas did not always see eye-to-eye.

“Are you and Sparkler playing nice?” Varric asked. “He has a protective streak.”

He took a drink of the ale, and this time it didn’t taste as strong. A bad sign. “He cares for her,” he said. “I can hardly begrudge him that.”

Varric’s smile widened. “Now, then,” he said, leaning forward onto the table. “Why don’t you start at the beginning?”

Solas sighed, shaking his head, but he couldn’t help but smile. He took another, deep drink to brace himself for this conversation.

It was going to be a long evening.