Chapter Text
Prompt: Roof: “Darling, I’m pushing the house/into the garden, into the black arms,/the green embrace/of the oaks.”
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She wants to shout something like, “hold me” or “I’m falling,” or possibly “the ground is very far away” but Solas is already holding her and she is not falling and… well, the ground is very far away. But even though when she lets her head fall back she is staring upside down at an eight-foot drop and there’s nothing that would break her fall if he let her go… she does not actually feel afraid.
That’s probably because her body is flooded with too much adrenaline from the - ah.
Her fingernails dig into his arms and he makes a muffled sound like heat and butter and he thrusts into her once again.
He has a way of closing his eyes during sex but he must realize, she fights to think through the haze of his cock punching up at the tight core of sensation in her lower gut, he must realize that he’s essentially holding her over the edge of the roof - her shoulders dig against the gutter; her head can drop fully over the edge and make her neck strain. Both of his arms are cradled beneath her, his elbows crooked around where her hips splay over his lap and his hands, so surprisingly broad, wrap confidently on her torso, his fingers indenting the skin of her stomach, her sides. His touch is weirdly cold, she realizes, and it occurs to her that maybe he’s using magic. And he won’t let her go, she’s sure, and the roof is flat enough that he won’t lose his balance, and then he directs her hips down forcefully, bouncing her, really, on his dick again and again, and it’s so good, and she lets her head drop back over the edge with a moan and a whine for more, which he obliges, saying something she can’t understand in Elvhen. But she gets the gist. He’s using that certain sly tone that makes her want to smack him, and his words are slightly slurred.
She can’t tell if he’s really really far gone on the elfroot or if he’s just so confident that he won’t let her fall that he’s not worried about the edge of the roof and… full, he makes her full with a slow, commanding thrust this time followed by a wild burst of plunging. (She thinks of how he slams his staff into the earth, how he twists its weight above his head, how he strikes out with veilfist and how the muscles in his arms - the arms secure around her now - coil when he fights and that cool ferocity in him when he kills.) But what started as a very discreet climb up here to toke and meet in the Fade has turned into a potentially neck-breaking sex adventure and she really wants to be able to care more about her life right now than she does.
Then there’s the loamy buzz of the root spreading through her whole body mixing with the thrill of him sliding between her legs and she tries, again, to feel scared. But he has her, he’s got her, he’s holding her and hammering into her and she trusts him, Creators help her, not to drop her off of this fucking roof or, even though that would make a better story, fuck her right off of it.
So she groans, gives in. Hisses at him for more and then surrenders, lets her head drop back over the gutter and rides her whole body shaking as he jounces her on his lap. She unhooks her nails from his skin, drops her arms over her head, reaching back into the night. Arches her back and breathes in the night and really makes him work to hold onto her, which he does, adjusting to grip her tighter, plunging into her more keenly and apparently taking her abandon as an invitation. Which it is. And she feels her mind float free of her trembling, bouncing body in a fuzzy halo of satisfaction and bright, floating alertness as she gazes upside-down at the edge of the woods in the pale moonlight. She leans into the sensation of teetering just on the edge of falling into the night - like falling out of the top of her head, pouring onto the earth and spreading between the roots of the trees and tracing all of the earth and all of the night and all of the shadows between flowers and vines. Becoming a thing that’s dark and green and sweating; and this is where her mind is when he shudders, murmurs something else that she doesn’t know if she can’t understand because he speaks more elvhen than her or because she’s abandoned, forgotten all the languages of men; he pours into her, grinds her hips down hard onto his cock and holds just so while her mind carries her free: the edge of the woods blur and shake and the shadows reach out to catch her when she falls.