#i have to note: josie didn't order the tunics bc she knew solas and 'dysia were fucking asfhdadgds

[roseategales]

VORACITY — ONE-SHOT.

fic rating: explicit. | categories: fluff, hurt/comfort, smut. | pairing: solavellan. | content warnings: biting and scratching as kinks, discussions of dubious consent. | word count: 2.3K. | alternate link: ao3.

author’s note: the smut in this fic mostly functions in the background and in dialogue, but, although it’s described in detail, is not the focal point. the fic was written to focus mainly on the discussion of motivation, consent, aftercare, and the dynamic between solas and my lavellan, who are in an established and loving relationship by the point that this fic happens in. thank you to @thebookworm0001 and @jarakrisafis for beta’ing. <3

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“I can heal these.”

Cooled with a spell at the ready, Solas’ fingertips hover over her hip, where an imprint of his earlier grip on her is darkening to bruises. It’s not the only wine-red patch. There’s a counterpart on her other side; and an irregular trail of marks in the shape of his mouth, starting from her throat, wandering down to her breasts, and ending below her ribs. In the morning, their contrast on her skin will be deeper, and will appear harsher than they are in daylight’s emphasis. She’ll have to be grateful Josephine ordered so many high-collared tunics for her in spite of her protests. Secretly. Or her Chief Ambassador may fuss even more. But Eludysia doesn’t think those things warrant her worries. Nor should they warrant Solas’. Easily concealed displays of a night enjoyed with her dearly missed lover? Hardly worth the trouble, when their lives are full of worries as things are.

“So can I,” she reminds him. She curls closer to his side. “Leave it. I don’t mind them,” she says. If anything, they serve as a reminder that there are some things of Eludysia she can keep guarded. For her love. For herself. Apart from Herald and Inquisitor.

Solas hesitates for a moment, the line of his mouth severe, eyes searching hers in the shadows cast by the dim firelight. “Ma nuvenin,” he says eventually, when she voices nothing more. The spell is returned to the streams of the Fade, and he arranges the quilt to cover her body and his.

She should know him better by now, however. The way she’s learning to know the lean grace of his form, the sharp angles of his features, the specific timbre of his voice. His acquiescence to her is conflict with himself. She has her dismaying confirmation as he lays back down to face her and brush her hair behind her ear, without a kiss to her forehead or her lips. Without holding her. He tries a smile, but it’s as withdrawn as he is. Like he doesn’t dare to allow himself her closeness, his mind lost to rumination.

There’s something behind his offers to clean her up and heal her love bites.

“You’re upset,” she says, as both a statement and a question.

“Do I appear to be?” Solas asks. It’s tempting to interpret his lilt and raised brow as amused surprise, and not concern. A simple yes or no would’ve made it easier to pursue the subject. She wouldn’t feel like she’s walking on a thin line, caught between potentially overstepping his boundaries again or never knowing the reason for his reservation with her.

Her desire to know wins.

“You do appear to be,” she tells him. “You’re distancing yourself and dodging my question.”

“I do not wish to concern you, vhenan. Moreover, you must be tired after your journey from Ferelden, and I have stolen enough of your time and energy. You should sleep.�� He winds his arm around her, palm flat on her spine. His thumb strokes her skin. If the gesture is meant to soothe her, it has the opposite effect.

“I’ll toss and turn the whole night if you won’t tell me what’s wrong.”

Eludysia is aware of the manipulative undertone to her words. Though she is being truthful and her intentions are genuine, she could have let this go. Didn’t he say he would work on trusting her? She could have admitted that she is tired, and asked if he would discuss things with her in the morning. She could have asked if he’d help her sleep with a spell. Left him to mull things over on his own in the Fade. Perhaps he’d feel better if she did. But then, she doesn’t feel it’s a good idea to leave the conversation here. It is just as likely that he’d continue to avoid the subject and she would be no closer to the explanation for his mood’s sudden shift. She was so happy to be able to see him and be held by him again. She counted down the days, ached to have him all over her at night. Her hand and mere recollections of him between her legs brought poor relief. She thought he ached similarly and was equally thrilled for her return. Now...

Solas removes his arm from her. He rubs his face, as though he was the one who’d spent a week in talks with the Ferelden crown and nobility on a mutual effort to expunge the Venatori. For a moment, she braces herself for him to evade her or leave again. She wouldn’t blame him. But he doesn’t. When he drops his hand, his expression is as composed as a still pool.

“All right,” he says quietly. “I fear I should not have taken you in the manner I did. I was reckless. Unthinking. I could’ve caused you worse harm.” He places two fingers under the mark at her throat, examining her. As if he waits for her to flinch away from him. She remains at his side, her breathing steady. “My actions were regrettable. I apologise.”

“You apologise,” she repeats, incredulous. Reckless. Unthinking. Harm. She turns each word, each meaning over. Tries to frame tonight’s sex in the light of them. She can see how reckless could be applicable. But unthinking? Harm? And if his actions were regrettable, what would he call hers? Who initiated what past the first kiss is a bit difficult to distinguish. Neither of them could get their clothes off quick enough, neither seemed like they could bear another second without the other’s touch. But this much is clear: She was exhilarated by the voracity of Solas’ desire. She encouraged every move he made. Fenhedhis, his back must’ve stung from her nails sinking into his flesh. He had murmured, “abelas,” when she gasped at how hard he bit her throat, and she bid him to do it harder.

He’d paused, looked up at her. His pupils were dilated, eyes dark as the Void. Did they dance in the firelight or did she imagine it? ���Are you certain?” He asked.

She couldn’t help but arch into him. “Yes! Please!”

Eludysia’s worry heightens into alarm.

“Solas…” She says slowly, fearing where she next treads. “Was the sex tonight pleasurable for you?”

His brows crease. “That is besides the point.”

“No, it isn’t.” She winces. Her pitch is higher, shakier than she intended it to be.

He falls silent. A shadow passes over his face. “It… was. Yes.”

She has little cause to assume he’s lying. In all the time she has known him, Solas has proven to highly value truth and deplore falsehoods. He has and will avoid and obfuscate if he sees fit. Mostly out of caution. But he would never lie. Still, she wants to be certain. “Every second of it?”

“I would not have gone as far as I did if it were otherwise,” he says.

“Then why are you apologising? If it was pleasurable for both of us, I don’t see a problem.”

“What is pleasurable and what is beneficial is not mutually exclusive, vhenan.” Though he is gentle as he explains, he points the differentiation out as if it’s obvious. “We have not been apart for quite some time, and your trip to Ferelden was the first since we started having sex. It was like starving in the winter after eating of a summer harvest. We were driven by need and desire. That combination can be overpowering for anyone, making them desperate to be satisfied. I wanted nothing more than to have you, to make you cry out and come apart trembling in my hands as I slaked my lust.” He cards his fingers through her hair. Somehow, his touch underlines his description of what transpired, intimate yet distant. She’d wonder at how paradoxical he can be if she wasn’t familiar with his idiosyncrasies.

He continues, “I knew I had you riled. I asked for your consent not purely for your sake, but to permit myself indulgence. Even if you were not hurt or did not feel mistreated in the moment… I would never want a chance of that happening.” His eyes flit past her, like he sees something she can’t. A scene where she’s pushing him away, covered in bruises, feeling used, her trust broken? It vanishes as soon as it appears, and his gaze settles back onto her face. “Certainly not in bed.”

She considers what he has said. Her cheeks burn and her eyes sting. She catches his hand mid-stroke in her hair, and brings it to her lips, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to his knuckles. Then she props up her pillow and sits, arranging and clutching the quilt tightly around her body. Solas watches her, questioning. As she cannot conceal the marks at her throat and the tops of her breasts from his view, she hopes her hair and the shadows fall in the appropriate places.

“Vhenan?” He probes.

Eludysia Adhlea Lavellan, you are a fool. Desiring is easy. Asking for explanations is easy. Receiving and examining them, and giving your own in turn—that’s the hard part.

“You’re the first person to care so much for me,” she says. A lump forms in her throat. She swallows, and glances at the sparks rising off the flames. Takes a breath to compose herself. “Growing up Dalish, sex was taught to me as a matter of practicality. We were given lessons on our bodies, taught how to protect ourselves, instructed through common knowledge and preserved texts and folktales, with the expectation of marriage and raising children one day. I’ve told you about my youth, so you know I was… Rather curious and rebellious.”

“As you’re still inclined to be.”

Solas’ wry note earns a nervous laugh from her. “You have a point. Well, I didn’t live in a village. I didn’t have a house with four walls and various rooms, let alone a castle, or stay anywhere long enough to figure out where there were good hiding spots. If I found someone to my liking, we had to be quick and discreet. That often meant we were rough. I’ve been bitten, swatted, I’ve had my hair pulled, and I’ve done the same to others—and there wasn’t time to embrace or curl up together or talk in bed like this.” Not even with Dhea. The thought is tinged with some regret. Not for what could have been. For what was. They were never right as a couple, but a few of the memories they made together might have been happier, had less insecurity and shame. Before Solas, she had no idea that sex could be so tender, so achingly sweet. She didn’t know someone could draw six, seven orgasms a night from her with the softest of touches. Nor what it would be like to be taken care of and then fall asleep in his arms afterwards. Being with him, in Skyhold and on their travels, has been a privilege she never envisioned for herself.

“I’m not telling you any of this to upset you further,” she hastens to add as his eyes widen. “But for you to understand: I like rough sex. I wouldn’t have sought it out or encouraged you if I didn’t. My only worry…” She swallows again. “Is that I’m mistreating you.”

He sits upright in an instant, closing the gap between them. “No, no. Nothing of the sort, vhenan.”

“You’ve done nothing but give into me, disregarding your own discomfort the entire night.”

“Would I not speak plainly if you had wronged me? My discomfort was caused by my guilt towards you. The actions I took were to assuage it.” He shakes his head at her. “You underestimate the extent of my selfishness.”

“Well, it’s not like I haven’t been selfish either.” Isn’t that how they ended up here? Mutual selfishness? She reaches for him with her free hand. He takes it, and she smiles faintly at their fingers interlacing together. “Heal the bruises if you like. I won’t complain.”

He hums, gently pushing her hair off her shoulders and lowering the quilt to her thighs. His fingers brush the edge of the mark at her throat. She tilts her chin up and straightens her posture for him. But he pauses. “First, answer this for me: Is there a reason you refused initially? You were fine with me fetching the cloth and wiping you.”

She shrugs. “Outside of this room, I’m the Herald and Inquisitor. People don’t see me. Not truly. They see whatever gives them faith, hope, or fear. You don’t. When I’m with you, I remember I’m more.” Gods, she sounds like Cole. Her nose scrunches. “I suppose the love bites and bruises just make that notion more tangible, odd as it sounds aloud.”

“On the contrary, it sounds like you’re clinging to your personhood however you can.”

Of course Solas would be the one to understand.

Eludysia cups his cheek and leans against his forehead. Her smile widens as his hand slides around the nape of her neck. “Maybe I don’t need them. Maybe it’s enough that you’re by my side.”

He chuckles, brushing his lips to hers. “I will be glad to remind you of the woman you are as often as you wish,” he murmurs.

Heat pangs in her belly at his words’ suggestiveness. “Good. Because if you’re up for another round…”

He pulls away, expression darkening. She opens her mouth to speak but all that comes out is a squeal as she is suddenly on her back, the mattress bouncing underneath, his body atop hers.

“It’ll be easier to heal everything with a single spell later,” he explains before she can ask. He pins her wrists above her head. She feels his cock hardening at her thigh. “Is this all right?”

She laughs, leaning up to drag her teeth over his lower lip. “Perfect,” she says.

The grin he gives is wolfish.