Chapter Text
Ellana would be lying if she didn't admit she had a habit of staring at Solas’s lips.
So much of him was sharp and austere - his cheekbones, his shaved head, his expressions, his clothes. His lips were luxurious by comparison. Soft. Almost obscene. Too beautiful, too beckoning, to be on display for the whole world. They were where he showed so many emotions he otherwise kept private - amusement, fear, frustration. Desire.
Many nights in the last four years since Corypheus’s defeat had been spent remembering them. The way they quirked into a smile, the way they moved when he spoke Elvhen, the way they felt on her collarbone, her wrist, her cheek. Her mouth. Her sex.
Those memories were shards of colored glass. Sharp fragments too precious to throw away and too jagged to hold close. She didn't summon them on purpose but she didn't run from them.
And now?
Now she was in her room in her Kirkwall estate and the shadows were long and soft around her and Solas was with her and she couldn’t stop staring at his lips but she couldn’t make her own move. Then he licked his lips and parted them and she remembered his tongue tracing the delicate edge of her ear and his lips against her breast and then his lips on hers just before he said “I will never forget you” and turned away. Her chest tightened in longing and fear.
“I do not want you to feel pressured, Ellana,” he said. It was rare to hear her name on his lips. Serious. “I did not follow you here expecting anything from you. I meant what I said - just let me stay here by your side. That would be enough.”
Now Ellana licked her own lips.
“I - I am not silent because I don't want you here. I’m silent because I don't know what I want you here for.”
She took a step closer to him, slowly, like she was walking through mud. He reached one hand out to her, palm up. Offering. She rested one hand in his and even though every part of her was screaming for his touch, that was almost too much. How long since she’d held his hand? How long would it be until she got to hold it again? Wait - no - he said he would stay.
Said. As he had said so many other things.
“I don’t know where to begin, vhenan,” she said at last, her voice small. “Where do we begin?”
Now he stepped closer, their bodies brushing but not touching. He put his hands on either side of her face and held her gently, and even that small touch made her close her eyes.
“Look at me,” he said. She opened her eyes and they drifted, as always, to those lips. “Can I begin here?”
She nodded and he leaned in and kissed her, so soft it almost wasn’t real, just a flutter of his lips against hers. A whimper came from somewhere - probably from her.
She needed it to be real.
He leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers again, more firmly now. Still no press of teeth or tongue. Just lips, fitted together at the seam, soft and gentle and longing. His thumbs swept over her cheekbones. One traced the corner of her eye. He drew back and then kissed her again, like each kiss had to be separate. Deliberate. An apology. His fingertips trailed her jaw, then settled on her shoulders. Their bodies still weren’t flush. Her own hand was on his hip, resting more than holding. Ready to pull close or to push away.
It still wasn't real enough. It might all still be a dream.
She took hold of his hip and pulled him close against her and he groaned and put his arms around her. Now he moved his lips against hers, parting gently and then closing, setting a rhythm that she began to follow. Still not real enough. Her tongue darted into his mouth and he made a little sound that flooded heat into her and then his tongue followed hers. This was real. All of this. Especially those lips against her own, the one place they were joined. Real.
She kissed him harder now, opened her mouth wider, and his hands dug into her back. She took a step backward, towards her bed, and he followed, never letting their kiss end. Soon those lips would be everywhere she wanted them. The back of her legs hit the bed. This was what she needed. This was what she longed for. This was what she fought for.
This is what people died for.
And like that she was rigid in his arms.
Solas ended the kiss and took a step back, concern crowding his blue eyes, and the loss of him was sudden and complete and terrible.
“No,” she said, pulling him to her again. There was heat low in her belly and an ache in her chest and she needed him to cleanse her of both, because he was the cause of both. But when she lay back on the bed she was shaking and he held himself above her.
“Be still,” he said softly, and she watched his lips form the words. “Take your time. We have time.”
Time.
“Please,” she said, tugging on his tunic until he lay down. He stayed off to the side of her rather than on top and rested a hand on her hip. Then he leaned down and kissed her forehead.
“Emma lath,” he whispered, barely moving back. Then he kissed her cheek. “Ma sa’lath.” Now her nose. “Vhenan’ara.” Now her chin. He closed his eyes. “I will never kiss you enough.”
His voice broke enough that she knew what he meant. They had time but not enough. Not enough to make up for every kiss he had missed. Everything he’d done.
“Try,” she said. “I want you to try.”
He kissed her face and her throat and her hand, but there was only so much lips could do before he needed his hands to undo the buckles and pull back the collar of her shirt and kiss her chest. He helped her out of her shirt completely and her skin prickled at the air and at his gaze as he took her in. He trailed his fingers along her ribs, then bent down and kissed her belly. Then her hip. So close to where she wanted him, but not yet. She was going to burn up. He was going to disappear.
“Come back,” she said.
He lay at her side again. “I am here. I did not leave, vhenan.”
That was it. That was the thing that stuck inside her throat and made everything else impossible. They’d already had their fight about the orb, his plans, his selfishness, his responsibility to more than just the Elvhen. But they hadn’t fought about this. About them. About how he left and took all this with him. Every kiss, every whispered word.
“Yes,” she said. “You did.”
Ellana tasted the tears before she knew she was crying and then he kissed them, and kissed her, and she used her remaining arm to crush him to her, so tight she couldn’t breathe, until stars danced behind her eyelids and she thought she could die. But she had to breathe, and with her first breath came the choked sound of a sob.
Solas didn’t stop kissing her while she cried. Even when she tucked herself against him and all he could reach was the crown of her head and the side of her face he just kept kissing her. His lips made it real - all real. The pain, the joy, the desire. It was all real, and none of it was going anywhere.
“I will never be able to earn your forgiveness,” he said when she quieted. “I will never deserve it. Tell me to go now and I will.”
She clutched his tunic. “No,” she said against his chest. “Never. Stay.”
“Ma nuvenin.”
The crying had emptied her - no more endlessly circling thoughts, no more second guessing - and suddenly she was exhausted. She began to drift towards sleep. It was only when a distant roar of laughter woke her that she realized she had fallen asleep at all. Their comrades downstairs, still celebrating their victory. The mingled voices made her smile.
“This is not at all what they think we are doing,” she said, knowing somehow that Solas was awake. He chuckled and the sound broke her open again, sweet and fresh and aching.
“There’s time enough for that, vhenan. Let us just begin,” he said.