Work Text:
The soft morning beams pushed through the exquisite drapes of Ella’s window warming her body even in the cold. She yawned, a long thing that demanded nothing less than a stretch of her form in exchange. Her night was long, bodies intertwining upon the pristine sheets below.
But where was her lover?
A strange feeling of loss lingered as she looked to the empty sheets beside her. Odd. Usually she was the one rising with the rays of the sun, not her lover who walked among faded dreams.
Where could he be?
While the thought wandered, her crystalline eyes came to the tiny cake and morning tea beside her bed.
“Good morning, Vhenan. Hope you slept well, for I certainly did.”
A smile caught the sides of her lips in a spark, that fuse igniting the warm blush settling in upon her cheeks. With care, she captured the tiny cake hopping out of the bed, that smile still beaming off of her lips.
Within moments she had grabbed the honey filled tea setting out the room as if chased by the Dread Wolf himself. But where could he be? The curiosity of it drove her mad. She scoured the rotunda, crawled the kitchen, ransacked the garden.
But nothing.
Then, she came to his room.
She paused as her eyes gazed upon him, taking simple pleasure in how proud he stood when alone. A delicate furrow stayed upon his smoothed brow; the brush in his hand weaving magic upon the canvas. Colors dancing hand in hand, all at the command of the man before them.
The painting itself was no less stunning. Ethereal colors swirled together creating a land straight out of fantasy. Broken roads blended with great ruins.
“It's beautiful.” Ella began. Her voice warm, and as inviting as the fire of a hearth. She smoothed a hand over her braid as she stepped close; close enough to slip under the crook of his arm and circle her hands around his chest.
“The painting pales in comparison to the beauty in my arms, Vhenan.” His lips curled in a smile. He pulled her closer sweeping a stubborn lock of her iron-barked hair from her face.
He wondered if she knew of her unique beauty? The lines of her laughter, the delightful furrow to dimple her brow when anger struck her? She was splash of bright color in a world so muted.
“Shall I give you a lesson of your own?” he cooed, how voice a husky whisper in the caves of her ear. She shivered in return, a giggle emerging from her lips as vivid as the colors upon the canvas. Nipping upon the bare skin of her neck, he continued.
“Art is all around us. And it can be quite… pleasurable to look upon. If one can find the right canvas.”
“Is that so?” She replied. Her voice honeyed in its sweetness, yet with a hint of cinnamon bite. A tease to lead, a bite to entice. “And pray tell, what canvas is that?”
With a slowness that ached, he popped loose the first button upon her blouse letting a bit of modest cleavage spill over.
“Let me show you.”
While her own fingers took to the task of her blouse, Solas gathered his instruments of creation coming to stand before the great mirror of his room. He beckoned her closer just as her blouse fell to the floor below.
The Dalish had no need for frilly panties and lacy bras crafted to hide such pleasures. No, as her blouse hit the floor, her breasts stood bare, proud in their perk and tightening under the cold wind of the room. He delighted in her, assisting in the vital task of removing her breeches; the last piece of fabric prison keeping her free body so terribly clothed.
No hint of embruim blossomed upon her cheeks as her lips met his setting up on their dance under the warm morning beams. With soft guidance, he lead her nude form to the mirror standing the elven woman before the glossed glass.
“You are a perfect canvas, vhenan.”
As he spoke, Ella blushed. Her hand calloused from the soil of the earth smoothed over her vallaslin stained cheeks in a gesture of alluring shyness at his heartfelt words.
“Your arms.” Solas began with a sweeping smile. He stood behind her in the view of the mirror; picking up his brush and tickling the skin with the bristles, “Beautiful. Toned yet not from the swinging of a sword, but the carrying of books, the mixing of potions. The crafting of thought into spell.”
His brush inched higher in a slow agony, like honey waiting to be poured from a bottle. He came upon the rise of her breasts, his free hand cupping the perk within his hand massaging the weight until she moaned in delightful response.
“Your breasts. Copious. Full. Pert. Curves that could only be produced by the finest of art.”
His hands moved, grasping upon her hips he pulled her nude form to his bare chest. Her back arching in a throaty moan as his brush trailed lower. “Your hips. Supple, generous. Commanding even the wind to sway in turn. A gorgeous flair.”
“Too much flair for my tastes.”
“Nonsense.” Solas’ throat rumbled in a low growl upon the lobe of her ear sending tantalizing shivers down her spine.
“I adore every curve of you.”
His brush inched lower coming to the crest of her thighs, brushing lightly upon the skin of her. She parted her thighs further, a blushing curiosity staining her cheeks as she looked into the mirror at her own skin.
“And this. A gift to a lowly pilgrim. A secret treasure of your own making.” a throaty moan escaped her. He laid the brush down upon the floor below returning with only his fingertips to part her.
“A pearl of your own pleasure.” his voice lowered, cooing into her ear as their eyes met upon the mirror.
“An instrument.” He swirled upon the hood before her slit.
“One must simply know how to…”
She moaned.
“Play it.”
His pale blue eyes never left hers upon that mirror, their visions locked as his fingers plucked upon her like the strings of a lute. Each melody from her lips more tantalizing than the last.
He sunk his fingers into her core removing them with slick moisture.
With a devilish smile, his fingers did not return to her core but rather to the curve of his smile sinking that finger past his lips licking every bit of the sweet honeyed salt of wetness.
“The perfect melody.”
Her lips parted, trying to grasp words. Something to convey the utter need creeping upon her. From behind her, she could hear the faint rustle of his breeches falling to the ground below.
“Shall we sing together in harmony, vhenan?”
She moaned, not in pleasure, but in hot need. In the ache for his touch to return. To finally release her from the prison of her body’s own making. To give her that bliss. That heaven found between her dripping thighs.
“Fen’Harel’s Teeth.” she cursed, her voice emerging as a hiss of urgency.
“Is that what you would like?” Solas cooed sliding his cock along the wet slit of her, eyes still locked upon the mirror.
“For it can be provided.”
She breathed. Her breath quick and fleeting from her chest. Her eyes hungry, ravenous.
While he returned with only that prideful smile.
Her eyes begged, pleaded for the fill of him within her. To have his cock thrust within and without until she was nothing more than a puddle of heat upon the cool floor below.
When he finally did… When he finally gave her a bit of that bliss she ached for...
She almost came undone with the first slide of him within her.
“Not yet.”
His voice emerged as a deep murmur within the cave of her ear, his voice low, a throaty husk illuminating within the chill of the morning. A small tremor of bliss took her lithe elven form; soon gathering her into the crook of his arm yet again, lowering her to the ground below.
Her eyes turned to look upon him. But instead of their eyes meeting, face to face, he commanded her upon the mirror once more. Their bodies entangled upon the glass.
“Our forms.” he smoothed a hand over the ample curve of her backside, giving the supple flesh a squeeze within his faded hands, “Crafted to become one.”
He slipped a thumb upon her instrument of bliss once more just as her hips began to ride upon his cock. Her back arched, her nipples taunt within the reflection of the mirror. Her teeth biting upon the thick bottom of her lip, as she rose and fell with an exquisite crash.
“Tell me, vhenan. What do you consider art?”
Her lips parted in another throaty moan, her mind too muddled to even answer; to even think of anything other than the animalistic need gathering upon her abdomen. Her hips crashed into his again and again rising and falling upon his hardened cock. Every muscle in her body taut with aching need. With agony. With rapturous torture.
“Please.” she begged. Her mind finally breaking in a word. One crafted from the pits of her soul.
“Solas, please.”
He returned her request with the painting of his thumb over her clit, hips hips returning to hers. She rode even further, the glass of the mirror fogging with passionate heat.
And when her lips broke. When her body shivered in glory. He had no choice but to join her in her crafted bliss. His arms circling around her, pulling her close to him and sealing their lips together in a perfect kiss.
Chests, rose and fell just as hips had. Breath, quick and hastened. Sweat beading from their bodies and dripping to the floor below.
He whispered into her ear once more.
“The perfect canvas.”