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Chapter Text

He caught her in her Fade with her fingers caressing her hot, swollen cunt. Laying flat in the field, one leg up, both hands exploring, he shadowed her, his dark robes billowing as he looked down at her with the fine curiosity of a predator watching. His robes were open, his cock hard, wet with his excitement.

When she did not react or panic, he lifted her up easily. He caught her with his hand, smoothly stepping closer to her—she worried (hoped) for a moment that his cock would press against her but he shifted to her side, stroking her left arm, the anchored one, and he pressed his nose to the soft skin of her inner wrist and inhaled deeply.

Helplessly, she stared at him as he inhaled and exhaled against her skin. She could feel his breath through his nose, hear the hammering of her heart, feel the warmth of his skin. The sky pulsed with lightning in time with her own, the grass pressed flat beneath her feet in the open field. This was not the Fade she knew.

His voice was low, calm, soothing, and he asked, "Why do you summon me? And with such emotion?"

Ellana did not know how to respond, only shook her head as she saw his tongue dart from between his generous pink lips, dripping. He placed it upon her skin and licked and sucked until her knees felt weak and her cunt was on fire. Before she could stop herself there was a moan escaping her throat, a twitch of her fingers as she instinctively tried to pull her arm away to place it on herself—it would not work with it in his grasp.

He held loosely onto her arm, convinced the thing of its own accord to lay limp and helpless in the tangle of those long fingers. He pleaded his case as his lips and tongue moved along her wrist, to the palm of her hand where no anchor lay in her dreams, where he inhaled deeply again, nipping the meaty pad where her thumb connected. She turned towards him, pressed herself against his side, enraptured, captivated by the movements of his tongue and, without looking at her, he asked in that low tone, "Do we enjoy watching, lethallan?"

"We do," she breathed innocuously, curiosity mounting. "I wonder what type of instrument you would make of me," she finished, not wanting to dissuade him, wanting him to continue, to graze his teeth along her skin and rip her open in a crescendo.

"Any you desire," he replied, his tongue traveling between her fingers, licking, lapping, twisting around. "Perhaps I would make of you a lyre, to be plucked gently?" Her fingers curled against him and she breathed hard. "Perhaps a piano, where my fingers caress your own…" he enveloped the two fingers coated with her juices into his mouth, sucking them, covering them in his rabid drool.

The fingers of her right hand found their way to her swollen, aching clit—again she held her fingers close, placing pressure where she liked, but found herself resisting the urge to draw her circles on her form, not wanting to rouse herself from this dream. The threads of her consciousness, once they began slipping in, would be difficult to stop.

His hands squeezed around her arm tightly as if to ground her and it worked, though her fingers stayed still she did not dare move them, instead letting her rapid pulse beat into the tender flesh of her fingertips. He was done slurping her fingers and had moved to nuzzle his nose into the palm of her hand and down her arm, hands caressing where they fell, until his head was turned and he was looking down at her. His face was wiped clean and looked far less terrifying to Ellana, whose eyes traveled over his features, trying to determine the level of reality, how much was him (if any), and how much was it of her subconscious?

There they stood, Ellana with her hand cupping herself, Solas with his erection, holding on to her arm, them staring at each other. She could sense what he wanted in the Fade, see the thoughts behind his eyes which had cooled, no malice to be detected, only an appetite to devour her.

Plenty of times she had dreamed of fucking in the Fade, had made it happen, but never to this level of detail. Her conjured ideas, sex or no sex, knew what she knew, did not typically ask questions unless prompted, and did not feel like anything. The Fade dampened these things, its dream-like features often leaving her frustrated and angry upon waking—she could almost feel another's hot tongue on her own, the ghost-like imprint of hands, the nearness of satisfaction from being filled from the inside, but she could not evoke the full effect. Shortly after waking, more often than not, fear would settle in that she did not want that, she could not. She had suffered enough at the price of her pride and she did not want to face further rejection, isolation, by probing that someone may desire her.

This worry elicited a pain in her cunt, sharp and cutting, then dull and aching, unpleasant.

Solas spoke, his hand dropping from her arm to cup her breast and she allowed it, though her heart began to beat with panic instead of craving. "I can hear those thoughts, a bell ringing in the distance," he soothed. "I fear rejection, too."

Curious fingers roamed her breast, found her nipple beneath the thin tunic, circled it (like how she liked to circle her clit, tight and quick), drawing up the nipple beneath and he squeezed it, making her shudder as he played with her, her nerves shooting in pleasure, making her twitch slightly, gasping. The fear melted beneath his playing, replaced by her unfulfilled passion.

"I choose the piano," he whispered against the delicate flesh of her shoulder, letting his hand drop to her belly, to her hand frozen between her thighs. A small, "May I?" followed by her breathless yes and his fingers were over hers, sliding under, immediately slick and she heard, felt, the exhale of his breath as he traversed slightly lower to the delicate opening of her, where she was suddenly wildly aware she bled from each month, and she squeezed her thighs as she battled in her mind to protest or not.

Solas resigned from it, moving his tender fingers back to her clit and as he began those tight little circles (she could hear the wet squelch sound echoing), making her earth quake; he bit the supple skin of her shoulder.

His leg moved between hers and she straddled it willingly, her world tilting as his clever fingers moved and he placed his thumb upon her, skipping no beat as he continued his rhythm that paced her breathing—and he placed more pressure on her than she had ever been able to press upon herself. His other hand released hers and grabbed her backside, pulling her into him as he relentlessly built her up. His cock was between them and, unable to dissuade her curiosity, she grasped it, surprised at how real it felt—hot, swollen, hard despite the silky soft skin, and she was tantalized—for a brief moment she wondered how such a thing could fit inside her, where her roaming hands had been and where she was only able to fit two of her fingers, perhaps three if she tried, the girth of him would surely break her in half and—Elgar'nan willing, she wanted it to.

When her back arched and her toes curled, she looked up and saw what she did not want to see, right before her climax—the spools of consciousness were streaming into her dream and she gasped, the effort between having her pleasure or staying too much, and she was quickly ripped away from the Fade at the dilemma.

She found herself waking in a dark room, sweating and groaning, her body aching and wet and ready for whatever gift could be bestowed upon her.

Had she been in a tent, on the move, sharing with a male—even Cullen!—she would have spread her legs wide and invited them in so long as they could fill her up where she desired it most.

But she was not, she was in her dark corner room in Skyhold, alone, the dawn of light leaking through the shuttered window, the hustle and bustle of the courtyard below growing ever louder.

She did not care—her hands pulled her sleep pants down and she quickly went to work on herself, turning onto her side and squeezing her left hand between her thighs as she pressed her middle finger to herself, pressed as hard as she could to try and mimic Solas's strong hands, drawing a groan from her lips. Her other hand went up her tunic to play with her nipple, where she found the weight of her small breast comfortable in the palm of her hot hand, the nipple rising in response—so eager! she thought to herself.

Imagining Solas telling her about her eagerness, telling her what a good girl she was, made her bite her lip and moan loudly. Footsteps outside her room paused before beginning again and Ellana's wild thoughts split in two: one half thinking, who cares what they think of some feral Dalish elf pleasuring herself? and the other imagining Solas's hard cock in her hand, her squeezing, her trying to fit it inside her.

It was too much and she rolled onto her belly, flexing her thighs to put pressure on her clit, her hand pinned between her breast and the thin layer of furs on the floor, her face in her makeshift pillow as she grunted and humped her hand to bring herself to a quick climax that didn't leave her at all satisfied. Still she groaned and sagged, panting the hair out of her face, red and hot from her exertion.

She rolled over and looked at the ceiling, detangled her hands from herself and brought her left one up for inspection—some juices on her fingers, rapidly drying, more quickly than in the Fade where it had persisted, thick and viscous. The green mark slashed across her palm but she did not care, instead she focused on the fingertips and wondered. That curiosity prompted her to press them into her mouth to suck as Solas had—it tasted like nothing to her, which left her disappointed, dropping her hand and sighing heavily as she stared into a corner of her room. He had eddied his tongue over and between her fingers, a starving man feasting on a fine meal, and she found it to be less appetizing.

"Fenedhis," she sighed, the words quiet and meaningless in her space.

Chapter Text

Resist her. Resist her. Resist her.

Sweat dripped down the back of his head, the expanse of his shoulders and spine, down his thighs as he knelt down, hands clasped well away from his dick, hard and throbbing.

Ellana, soft deerskin whip in hand, her platform heels, spiked and loud against the linoleum of their cheap apartment kitchen (rented), lending such curves to her tattooed legs—she was naked, having stripped for him, the remains of her hot red underwear (darker red in the center, damp), just before him, within reach. He could grab them, bring them to his nose, inhale…

Resist her, resist her, resist her.

Would she speak to him? Circling him, the whip slipped not quite along his skin, just above it, the anticipation as she continued to circle him (her eyes dipped to his throbbing cock). Standing before him, cunt on display as she leaned back, stretched, she suddenly brought the whip down hard on her thigh (hard on the raccoon wielding a firearm), moaning through gritted teeth…

Drool spilled from his mouth. He gripped his hands in a white-knuckled grasp, not trusting himself as he looked at the red patch of hair she had trimmed into a heart.

Resist her resist her resist her

She knelt down, knees spread open—he saw the glistening opening of her peeking at him, teasing him. He could not look away. His cock twitched and she hummed, dragging the whip across the floor beside him, in front of him, picking up the bit of red lace with it, dangling it in front of him.

When she whistled, the whistle of "Come hither!" his hands snatched the panties from the air and dragged them to his nose where he inhaled and groaned at the same time, coming violently, his head thrown back and his body twitching (the veins in his neck stood out).

He'd covered her thighs and nearly to her breasts in three ropes of his hot cum. The rest of it pooled before him as he breathed heavily, gripping the lace in his palm as he looked at her and shook his head.

The smile on her face spoke volumes—she glanced down to see his cock was rising yet again. "Good boy, resisting so well," she whispered gleefully.