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He’s surprised when Varric offers Morinne the pipe and leaf for the evening, given her avoidance since arriving at Skyhold, and more surprised when Morinne quirks up her lips in a wicked smile and accepts.
“Come to my rooms after supper,” she whispers to him in passing, heading to a council meeting and tucking her treasures into her coat pocket.
So he does, wrapping himself in his pelt as the cool spring day turns to a cooler evening and the mountain winds fill the Great Hall as people come and go. He takes the many steps up to her tower and knocks twice before entering, finding his heart at her desk and beaming up at him as he enters.
“I thought you were no longer partaking in drink or leaf while leading the Inquisition,” he says as she produces the pipe, filling it with the dried elfroot.
“I wasn’t,” Morinne answers, “but then I realized that every once and a while, and just with you, there’s no harm. In fact, there could be fun to be had if it’s just us.”
She raises the stem of the carved pipe to her mouth, fitting it between her perfect lips, and part of him wakes and realizes what she means. Solas sheds the pelt, placing it on the bed, watching as Morinne takes the first long drag on the leaf and inhales a cloud of the fragrant smoke. She rises as she exhales, settling beside him on the edge of her bed, extending him the pip. He takes his first inhale and the smoke is a blanket on his nerves, his racing mind, and has always been a welcome reprieve from the chaos of his life.
So they smoke and as they grow progressively more befuddled, he quizzes her on her elvhen, delighting on the way it takes her longer and longer to find the meanings behind each word as her eyes go slightly red and her giggles grow more frequent.
“It’s getting hard to focus,” she murmurs at the balcony door, waving it open to let out some of the smoke that’s gathered in the room, so he gestures for her to sit beside him.
“How about this?” He whispers as he strokes her cheek, holding her gaze, watching her pupils focus on him.
“Sal’lavin,” she answers, and his hand drops to her neck, his thumb tracing the divot between her collarbones.
“Umm,” she pauses, biting her lip, “inmuin? No, just muin.”
“Very good,” the leaf makes him brash, so he pulls on the edge of her robe until his hand meets the soft skin of her shoulder, “and here?”
“Solas,” she purrs, and he tuts. “Fine, ummm, tar-something. Tarlavin.”
“Wonderful,” he kisses her shoulder, then shifts, kneeling at the edge of the bed and facing her. He tugs on the knot at her waist and the robe opens, freeing her perfect breasts, and his hand goes to them, cupping them, before looking up at her expectantly.
Her brows raise in surprise, “oh I - I have no idea.”
“Duinelanen,” he murmurs, and leans forward to press a kiss to the inside of one before meeting her eye, “gaelathe duinelanen.”
She gasps when his mouth encircles her nipple, his tongue laving at the delicious peak, before he pulls away. Whatever she sees in his eyes, she seems to understand, pulling off the robe and leaning back onto the pelt, ready to be dissected and devoured by him.
“Ghe,” he kisses down her belly, smiling as her muscles tense under his attention, her pulse quickening. Solas nibbles and nips at her hip before looking up and telling her, “tar’shol’lavin,” watching her nod, her fingers massaging at her breasts.
She whimpers at the feeling of his lips meeting the inside of her thigh, pressing a soft kiss to the tender, delicate skin there, looking up to see her body arch into the sensation. “Tar’shol.”
He reaches a hand up her body, feeling the flesh of her stomach, the muscle, then the curve of her breasts, before placing another kiss a fraction higher on her thigh. Moving ever closer, yet still agonizingly slowly, toward where he knows she wants him.
“Solas…”
Morinne lays there, gasping his name, naked on his wolf pelt, and a primal part of his mind wakes and stretches at the image before him, longing to take her, keep her, fuck her senseless.
“The things your body does to me, Morinne,” he growls the words, wild with smoke and need, “there’s nothing I would deny you. For you, vhenan, I would give and give and give.”
“Mmmh I - ah - Solas, what would you give me?”
“All of me,” he murmurs, pulling her soaked linen smalls to the side and beholding her gorgeous cunt. Solas presses another kiss, just like the others, to the bundle of nerves that’s undoubtedly begun to ache for attention, smiling to himself as she bucks toward his lips for more, then finally indulges her with a single, slow lick up the length of her sex. He uses the flat of his tongue, taking in all of her, the bitter and sweet musk, and allows himself another taste before saying, “I fill you simply for the joy of seeing you filled with me, Morinne. I would give you anything and everything. Isalan hima sa i’na.”
“Yes,” she moans above him, hands fisting in the sheets at either side of her hips, “yes, please, mmm -”
“Tell me,” he says against her, half worried he’s pushing his luck but too desperate to know, “tell me what you would have of me, my heart.” He licks her again, then takes her clit into his mouth for a deep, sucking kiss. “Tell me.”
“I unnnnhh - yes, yes, right there, fuck - “ she pants above him, hands reaching for his head as her thighs clench around his ears, but as she stops speaking, he stops moving. She whimpers, reaching again, then glares and rolls her eyes, understanding. “I was in the war - oh, yes, fuck Solas - umm, a war council meeting once and kept thinking of fucking you. Of mmm-ah sitting through that meeting with your spend still warm between my thighs and no one the wiser. Then coming back upstairs and having you -” he slips a finger inside her, “oh Gods, yes, having you fuck it back into me after.”
The image ignites a wicked fire within him, the wolf howling with feral need. Solas pulls his mouth away, but not before adding a second finger into her heat and using this thumb to press against her clit. Her arousal shines on the ring she stole for him in Halamshiral. “So the Inquisitor is a little depraved, is she?”
Both of Morinne’s hands immediately go to cover her eyes, though her hips cant against him, ever eager for more. The room smells of sex and her perfumed oil and the incense she burned before he arrived. He desperately hopes the pelt might hold the scent long after the night is over.
“Oh, and playing at bashful as well,” he can’t help the smile in his voice, aided by her blush and the elfroot buzzing in his blood. “Thinking such things while sitting across from the commander who lusted after you in Haven…” he tuts, as if disapproving, though the grin that lingers on his face is one of smug victory.
She smiles back, biting her lip to add to the playful, bashful act, but the smile falters as he picks up speed with his other hand and sends a thrum of magic into her, electric and bright. Her body clenches in immediate need at the intensity of the sensation.
“Evil, evil man,” Morinne hisses, rocking against him, desperate for more.
“I can stop,” Solas presses against her clit again, “if that would suit you better.”
“Not before you fuck me senseless.”
“Ma nuvenin.”
He lifts both her legs, balancing her calves on his shoulder, and groaning when her hand finally closes around his cock. It’s hard and leaking for her, desperate at the thought of leaving her filled with his spend, glowing and round with his -
Solas forces the thought from his mind, instead stroking her legs as she strokes him, meeting her eyes.
“Mmm,” he thrusts once into the hand closed around him, “you’re tighter than that, vhenan.”
Morinne crooks up a single brow, a corner of her lips lifting in a surprised, delighted smile as she tightens her grip around his cock, and he rolls his hips, fucking her hand slowly. The shine of his want, his need, is clear where she holds him, and he knows he needs to slot himself inside her soon or he won’t last long enough to fill her.
“I, fu-fuck, Morinne -” he pushes into her hand again, desperate, trying to contain the need to chase his pleasure, “I need to…mmmmff…sathan…”
She rubs her thumb along his slit, then brings it to her lips and sucks, humming softly at the taste before shifting. “I know what you need, vhenan.”
His eyes meet hers as she moves forward, twisting and pushing him to the bed before straddling his hips and bending to kiss along his ribs, then taking a nipple between her lips, sucking just hard enough to pull another eager moan from him.
He knows how she loves this, she’s told him before - having her composed, wise mage, groaning and trembling with need before her. Morinne just moves lower and strokes him again, softly, enough to keep him hard, and presses him to her cheek - luxuriating in the sinfully soft skin of his cock. She presses a chaste kiss to the side of his length, looking up at him with innocent eyes and a smile, and he moans for her once more.
“Fine,” he tries, attempting to bargain with her, “I want to - mmmmhhh…Nuvenas ihn bre’palas, i vallasan bredhas i’ma’da’vin.”
She looks up, eyes dark with desire, “Say that in common.”
“No,” he says, blushing, the proud part of him unwilling to say such filth twice. “Practice your elvhen.”
She’s almost never made such a request of him, allowing his elvhen babbling to simply be part of what exists between them in these moments. This time, however, she seems less keen to let him get away with secrets.
There is no hesitation, no moment of teasing left between his words and her lips fitting around his head, the salted musk of his arousal on her tongue pulling a delicious noise from deep within her. It feels impossible and yet the sound, the desire, the vibration all makes him even harder. She focuses on his head, licking and sucking - finding exactly what makes him tense and shudder - before moving down his length.
She presses the flat of her tongue to the underside of his cock and sucks, enjoying the hiss of pleasure and the desperate tangle of hands in her hair in reaction, but doesn’t slow. She takes him as deep as she can, using one hand at his base to maintain sensation down the whole of his cock, and raises her other hand to his balls, cupping them slightly.
“If you keep that up,” he pants, pulling out of her mouth and mentally saving the image of her licking her lips as she rises, “this will end far too soon, ma’lath.”
She pouts and he rises, crushing his mouth to hers in desperate need that is echoed by his painfully hard length between them, her slick wet to her thighs, and as they kiss, he takes his cock in hand and positions it at her entrance.
He slides inside her smoothly, to the hilt, and they sigh in unison at the joining. Morinne wraps her arms around his neck and tugs him into a kiss, mewling her pleasure into his mouth as her tongue meets his and their hips begin to rock together. In this position, where he kneels and she’s cradled in his lap, it’s hard to do little more than enjoy the wet heat of her mouth and her cunt, but he can slip his hand between their bodies while holding her tight to him and attend to her pleasure.
Her body clenches around him as his thumb meets her clit, working easy circles there that quickly has her gripping his back in pleasure, nails marking him as proof of his devotion to her, to her pleasure.
“Garas,” Solas murmurs against her cheek, then takes her earlobe between his lips as he sends another pulse of magic through his hands and into her, sending her crashing into climax.
She shudders around him, so tight around his cock he’s left almost as breathless as she is, moaning his name and writhing in his lap for more, more, more. Her nails dig into his shoulders and he wonders if it’s deep enough to draw blood but it doesn’t matter, all that matters is Morinne.
As the contractions within her subside, he shifts, pushing her to her back with her legs pressed to her chest so he might fill her even deeper, watching as her eyes roll back at the feeling.
“Nuvenan rosa’da’din in ma sule enan’ma,” he growls, burying his face in her neck, lost in the scent of her sweat, her hair, her sex.
“Common,” she whimpers again, hooking her legs behind his back, “please, Solas, tell me.”
“I want,” he grips her hip with one hand, thrusting desperately, “to fuck you so deep, to paint your insides with my cum, Morinne -”
“Oh -”
“- to cum inside you until I’m spilling out, to fill you, I -” he’s huffing, breathless, “want to give you everything, fenhedis, long ruin you, show just how well you take me - unnnh -”
Solas pulls up to adjust, to change position before it all ends too soon, but she’s there and wide-eyed, gaping at him with such brilliant blue, lust-filled eyes. He reaches one hand down unconsciously, still gripping her hip with the other as he fucks he. His hand wanders absentmindedly over the soft skin below her navel, buried within her, knowing what some wretched, ancient part of him longs to give her just there.
Tension coils tighter, hotter within him, and then she fucking grins as if she knows where his mind wanders and she might want it too. When she raises one leg, resting the crook of her knee on his shoulder, she lifts her hips so he might take more of her and a shaky breath escapes him.
Acceptance and understanding and love and need.
Morinne raises her other leg and he takes it, pushing her thighs to her chest, fucking her until she’s absolutely breathless.
“Sathan, sathan, yes, ahhh,” she whimpers, the sound of her pleasure wet and debauched, eyes fluttering with the intensity, the building pressure. He feels his own mounting, but he holds out until she arches off the pillow, a guttural, heaving gasp escaping her as she finds her way over the edge once more. It’s so intense she’s nearly silent, and he folds her tighter to kiss her as she pulls pleasure from each of his movements, in time with the contractions of her body.
It’s nearly too much, he’s spiralling, his body so eager and ready for his own release that he’s unsure he can deny it much longer.
“Vhenan, I -” he pants and pauses, groaning as she clenches around him intentionally.
“Garas, Solas, cum for me,” Morinne whines, meeting his gaze again. “Fill me, mark me, make me yours. Give me everything, I - ah -”
He lets out an unintelligible curse as he does just that, spending himself so deep within her a distant part of his mind whispers it could take just before he collapses on her indelicately. She wraps her arms around him as he catches his breath, still buried within her, and presses soft kisses to his neck, his cheek, his ear.
Neither speak for a moment, indulging in the afterglow of their joining, letting their breaths return to a steady rhythm while wrapped in each other's arms. When he’s finally gone soft within her, he sits up, withdrawing, and Morinne raises her legs as if to show off the mess he’s made of her. And what a mess it is.
“How’s the view?”
When he meets her eye, she’s biting the nail of her index finger and smiling, both legs in the air - perfection and mischief embodied. A woman he might take and claim and fill again and again, proudly announcing to the world that she is his and he is hers.
“Exquisite.”