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He was reading when Varric entered, barely glancing up at the dwarf before turning his attention back to the book. Something had been building between them for quite a while, but Solas had been loath to commit. It was wrong. It was selfish. It was cruel. So lately he’d tried to keep his distance, but it seemed a passive conclusion would not be permitted. “You certainly turn tail early,” he said casually, Solas’ shoulders tensing. “I mean, I know I’m kinda rusty, but I didn’t think my flirting would scare you off so easily.”
Oh, he resented that. He wanted to snap that he wasn’t afraid… but of course, that was the exact reaction Varric was trying to provoke. That frustrated him, too, how simple it would be to fall for the other man’s prodding. “Perhaps I simply tired of it,” he said, wary of meeting his eyes. He knew it was a cruel response, dismissive, but if they couldn’t have this, then it was crueler still to let the possibility linger. Best to make a clean break instead.
Varric snorted, and that was not the reaction he’d anticipated. He looked up from the book with a sigh, only to find the other man smirking at him. Another unexpected reaction. “Look, I don’t chase. You want me to back off, I’ll back off. But seriously, you aren’t anywhere near as secret as you think you are.” Varric drew closer, hip against Solas’ desk and arms crossed. “Just tell me the truth. I think I’ve earned that.”
“Have you?” He shot back, but even he could hear how empty it sounded. Varric didn’t even bother with a reply, aside from his smirk growing. Damn dwarf. “It is… not that easy, Master Tethras.” Something flickered across Varric’s face at that, and his smirk seemed to stiffen, held deliberately. Solas had wounded him, and that weighed on the both of them. He settled back with a frown, meeting Varric’s eyes. “Have you thought this through? The world is at risk, powerful forces are aligned against us, and I am a mage. An apostate. Should we succeed, I highly doubt I’ll be able to linger. What would we have? Some brief dalliance? Is it not kinder, for both of us, to let it rest? Is it not wiser?”
“Shit, Chuckles.” Varric sounded strained, although Solas couldn’t quite place how. “I’m not proposing. And this isn’t my first ‘dalliance.’ I care about you, and you obviously feel the same. What’s better about burying that? We may die tomorrow, or in twenty years—but in either case, I’d rather live today.”
He stared at Varric for a moment, then shook his head, even as he felt a traitorous smile creep onto his face. “Of course that would be your view. Of course it would.”
“And of course you’d be so deep in your head about this that you can’t even see straight.” He snorted, unwilling—and unable—to contest that. Instead he tapped his fingers on the pages of the book a few times before closing it and standing, Varric straightening up. He stood in front of the other man and met his eyes for long moments, superficially debating with himself although he’d all but decided.
Varric grinned when Solas bent down and grabbed his jacket, kissing him hard. Heavy hands settled on his hips and Varric’s warmth seeping through his clothing was a delight. Varric may not chase a relationship but he certainly chased Solas’ mouth, pressing forward and reinstating the kiss when he began to pull away. Then he was being urged backwards until he felt the seat brushing against his thighs, sinking down into it. It made kissing easier, their height a better match now. “Ahem.” They jerked apart at the sudden voice, Varric stifling a laugh as Solas felt himself blush. “Please, do get a room. A different room.” Dorian sounded entirely too smug about it, but Solas had to admit it wasn’t a terrible idea.
Still, he let Varric pull away without protest, tilting his head back to glare up at Dorian as the door to the rotunda opened and closed. The other mage smiled and shrugged before giving a little wave and turning away, and Solas heard his muffled laughter drifting down.
He found himself wondering where, exactly, Varric’s room was.