goethbeforethefall | Inbox // IC Communication

I don't think these two people actually like each other

Solas is pulled from his own book with a sensation not unlike being wakened unexpectedly from a pleasant dream. It was a golden afternoon, a deeply soothing peace he had come to rely on, and a needed balm after the grim, frantic work of the past few weeks. Their home was largely intact, and both of them alive and now uninjured...

Every day he found himself heaped with baffling good fortune, all undeserving.

And then Beleth is in his lap; he has just enough time to rescue his book from being crushed. It is in him to be annoyed, but despite the startled edge of emotion, she is here, alive and warm and in his arms... and her words are a pool of cool and shadowed depths on an over-hot day.

"I thank you for the sentiment," He says, accepting it with bare honesty. Solas' arms come up automatically, to balance and hold her. The slim strength of Beleth's waist is always a temptation to the hands, "I like you as well. Even if things were not as they are between us, I would love you, as dear a friend to my heart as any has ever been. Greater, perhaps, for being more true."

Not everyone can bear up loyally under the pressures she has been subjected to, after all. And yet, she always has. Not for the first time, Solas wonders idly what she might have been, were she born a spirit and not an elf of waking flesh. Loyalty? Steadfastness? Strength? Grace-under-pressure? Something rare, he is sure, and powerful.

"Yet I am glad, that that is not so. You are beautiful, graceful, and strong; I would grieve to never have caught your interest, in some other life."

She grins at that -- how can she not? Solas' words are, as ever, sweet and loving, warming her and brightening the day, like the gentle brush of the sun. Her arms go around his neck, leaning in to give his cheek a chaste kiss.

"I feel the same -- it would be so embarrassing to have an unrequited crush on you. I was bad enough when I wasn't sure of your feelings, mooning after you like a puppy." Then she laughs, shaking her head, and giving him another kiss, then another. "But either way, you would have captured my interest. How can you not, when you are so interesting?"

That had been what caught her eye, at first. Never had she met a man like him, and she knew that she never would again. No other such man existed.

"I'm glad you'd be my friend, though. I'm gladder still I can do this." And then a much less chaste kiss on the lips. A thing she had spent much time wanting, and so little time able. But now she has time to catch up

"When was this?" Solas laughs, closing his eyes to submit, as always, to her ministrations, "The young woman I remember was bold, declaring her interest in no uncertain terms. Vowing to protect me with her life, even though she had as of yet no power to make good on any such promise. She kissed me before I ever dared to so much as hold her hand."

But then she is kissing him properly, and Solas abandons dignity, surging, stretching, trying to prolong the contact. The angle is all wrong for control— she has all the leverage, and the power. Though he be the taller of the two, it is Beleth who controls this moment: all he can do is tilt back his head in a mute plea for more.

Oh, oh, this woman! She will be the death of him. What joy, to die thus— and to live.

"Vhenan," He whispers, husky and broken, when she allows him the privilege, "Emma lath. Please."

"It happened when you weren't looking." She answers, as prim and proper as you please, to hide her embarrassment at being called out for her boldness -- even if it was true. And even if Solas quite liked it. "Ask Dorian. He had to put up with me gazing down at you often enough."

But oh, she does like this. Likes the way his lips follow hers, the way he openly desires the contact. She hadn't meant to get too into this, but how can she deny him anything, especially when it was so enjoyable for her?

And perhaps she's not beating the boldness allegations any time soon, because it only takes a little adjustment for her to turn and face him, straddling his hips, and now she's in the perfect position to continue.

"Yes, my heart?" And she's peppering his face with kisses again, making sure his lips receive their due attention as well. "If you want something, you need only ask, you know."

"I..."

He wants... He wants this. This moment, just like this. His hands on her hips, crude mirror to a dancer's stance. He wants her weight over his thighs, her laughing mouth slanted over his own, and the tender press of her body against his, flush from belly to breasts. Her arms cradling his face, so near.

He wants this. This for a thousand years would not be enough. He wants her to stay, to stay with him always. To never have to fear the day, inevitable and swiftly approaching, when she would be gone. When he would never again say her name, except to speak of the past.

"I wish for you to stay," He admits, helplessly, "I have run from you. I have... destroyed much, and all my plans come apart. I want to save you. I want you to stay. Even if you never loved me, Vhenan'ara, ma arla'ema. When I am here, like this with you... I am home."

His words draw her face away from his, so that she might examine him closer. Her expression is open, easy to read: and it is full of love. Soft, inexorable devotion and affection. It is easy for her to wear a smile like an Orlesian's mask, but for Solas, her joy in him and in his presence are all too transparent.

Her fingers rise to his face, gently tracing each dip and rise on his skin, each wrinkle of worry, his proud, strong nose, his soft lips, too often turned in a frown. She traces him like she wants to memorize the feel, like she wishes to recall every inch of him by touch alone. Only when she is satisfied do her hands move to cup his jaw, thumbs gently brushing his cheeks.

"I have no gods left to swear to, so I can only swear upon myself. I love you beyond measure, beyond time and space. And I will not let any of those stand between us. Sileal, I am yours, as much as you are mine, and nothing will part us, until time and all worlds cease to be. And even then, perhaps, when all is void, my hand will still find yours, and we will walk it together."

And then she kisses him, as deeply and thoroughly as she is capable of.

It is not an Arlathan bonding ceremony. There is no assembled crowd, no spirits as witness, no binding Spirit of Love to connect their hearts and minds for all time, and make emotion and reality one truth. But there is her, and her vivid gaze, the measured, inimitable force of her voice.

Solas is not given to trust, either to indulging in it, nor to embodying it. But he catches his breath in the light of faith and, all unwilling, he believes her.

If all that is good and wicked in the world shall come to pass, whatever happens, they will go together into the dark. She will not leave him. Impossible truth, impossible future: that a mortal should arise to this power. That he should be overmastered by such fancies.

But the gods had all fallen, been cast down by her own hand, or by her proxies. Even his cleverness and power, his own long plans had been seen and undone. If a mere and rude Dalish nobody could arise to the seat of Inquisitor, then why could she not take the reigns of the world itself, and shift it all to save him?

He believes her.

In a few hours, or a day, cynicism will regain its footing, his own doubts creep in, the teeth of self-loathing find his throat once again... but for now, he believes her, and in terrible, heart-cutting joy Solas surges up into the kiss with his arms rising to meet her.

"Yes," He whispers, momentarily breathless and exultant, shining with joy, "Yes, Vhenan. Let it be so."

Let him keep her, this one shining thing. The only good left in his life, the one person worth living for. Oh yes.

Beleth doesn't want to invest herself too heavily into hope, into the belief that she sees on his face.

Since they first met in Caldera, on that snowy, chilly day, when he stared at her like she was his greatest hope and fear both alighting down to torment him, and she realized that he did not recall anything that happened between them in those last hours, she knew that the task of convincing him would not be an easy one. She is one person, a sole woman, without Mythal, or Morrigan, and Rook was not in a cooperative mood. How could she convince him to lay aside his campaign and come to her, when in ten years, she'd been unable to do so?

She has told him what she knows, and what she has seen. She laid out the plans of her allies, so that he could not trip over them, and the only path for them would be to help her save him. And sometimes, it felt like he could see it, see the future that she told him of. Then something would happen -- his regrets, his fears, his duty too great a burden. So it might be, now. But she has to hope, and she has to enjoy when she sees the belief on his face.

And the love, which is always there, when his face is turned towards her. She will never stop enjoying that.

And he is kissing her, and she can taste that hope, that faith, and that love on his lips, and she returns it as best she can, sinking into his arms. Even if it's just temporary for now -- it will become permanent, in time. She has seen it. And she thinks to the orb, to the picture of him holding that little baby, placing a kiss on its forehead.

They will be happy, together. It is the only option she will brook.

"It will be." She tells him, with the confidence of knowing nothing else is possible. "I should sit in your lap more often, if this is how you act when I do it." Both their books are discarded, and she suspects they'll wait a little longer, as she adjusts herself, starting to trail her kisses around his face, lingering near his jaw, and neck.

"Maybe I would not be a good friend, after all. I don't think I'd last very long at not being able to touch you."

"Ten years you endured," Solas reminds her; she does this often, belittling her own strength, and courage, as if adhering to reasonable limitations had ever once been her mein, "It is no mystery if you grow impatient, now. As I once told you that I longed to experience what it was to be dominated by you..."

No, his heart was strong, and now that it is safe to do so, Solas revels in it.

"...I can say now with confidence, it is as fascinating an experience as I might have predicted. You grow more skilled with every repetition, and the effect is... breathtaking."

"It's different." She replies, lips pulling into what threatens to be a pout. "That is to say, it'd be different if we were friends. Though I'd still want to kiss you, I think." She cups his face, a smirk on her face as she examines it closely. "You are very kissable, I fear. I'm not sure I'd have the wherewithal to resist." She hadn't, after all, when Solas and her were in that dream together. Throwing caution to the wind and grabbing for him, the surprise on his face...

No more surprise now, of course. She's made her opinions quite soundly known. And when he mentions how breathtaking her skill is, she can't help but look quite pleased with herself.

"I could say the same of you. To hold dominion over the Dread Wolf... or to give myself to him entirely..." That smirk only strengthens as she slips a hand under his shirt. "Either way is thrilling. Though I will say, for as much as I will complain about the book, it did give me an idea or two..."

"Shall I take you then, my heart?" He challenges, reaching at last to satisfy himself, hands easy on the fullness of her rump and leaning allow her own raving hands more freedom, "Shall I set a wolf's fangs at your throat and wring pleasure from you until you are weeping for mercy?"

It was an enticing thought; Beleth was so controlled, so full of prepossession and care. To see her incoherent, blind with pleasure and exhaustion, utterly spent, unable to do more than weakly protest... only to bend and pull yet more from her weary flesh. Yes, that was a thought, indeed.

"Or perhaps you will yet tame the Dread Wolf, and hold him to heel: all the hounds of Ferelden, put to shame."

His hands and his words work in concert, a dual attack that leaves Beleth's ear tips red, both imagination and heart racing. Solas has always been good with his words, poetical when the mood strikes him, and tantalizing with other moods. Tempting and teasing.

But she has her own weapons.

"I want both. I want it all." She tells him, lips moving to his ear as her fingers toy idly with the band of his pants. "I want you, in every way that two people can be together. We have all the time in the world, my love, and I want to spend no small amount of it trying everything that is there to be tried." It's easy, in this position, to move her arms around to his back, nails gently gliding over the skin there, not quite enough to be called scratching, as she presses herself up against him.

"More than anything else in Thedas or Caldera, I want you."

Inbox // IC Communication

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject