I'M drinking atm... and tumblr will not allow my drinking manipulations... how about "careless" touches with a hint of mutual touching and some forbidden line crossing...
😍😍😍 Okay, I know this was supposed to be a @dadrunkwriting thing, but it’s been on my mind all week and I finally sat down and wrote it today, and I simply can’t wait abother minute so: I hope this PG/PG-13 rated study in High Sexual Tension doesn’t disappoint, because I love this prompt. ❤️❤️Also, heads-up: it’s a long one.
Halesta didn’t look up from the book on her knee.
Twisting a loose curl around her finger, she focused carefully on the next line of text.
“I’ve already told you, Solas. I won’t respond when you address me by that title.”
“That is a response, is it not?”
She didn’t reply, though the awareness of him just behind her made her continued reading mere pretend. She scanned the same paragraph slowly, unable to make words of the letters there. He stood waiting so long; she was about to give in when he finally conceded.
She composed her face before turning to look up at him, trying immensely to retrain her triumphant grin.
If you feel well enough,“ Patronizing, quite literally looking down his nose, "I believe you would benefit from a bit of staff practice, while we still have the daylight.”
She turned away before rolling her eyes, but snapped her book shut with an exasperated sigh. She looked over to where Bull and Varric joked with Sera, flinching despite herself. Solas noticed, of course, rocking forward slightly on his toes as he traced her gaze back to her. He had caught her off-guard with his suggestion, no doubt rejoicing of her unwillingness to subject herself to ridicule. Her frustration bristled beneath her skin.
“You know damn well I don’t need help making a fool of myself.”
“We can go elsewhere,” Low and compromising, darkly silken, “If you prefer some privacy.”
Her heart jumped to her throat, feeling her pulse thrumming just beneath her skin. She stared at him warily, searching for confirmation of what his tone had almost seemed to suggest. Not finding it in his patiently blank expression made her no less suspicious.
“Shall I follow you into the forest,” Tease wrestled from a dry tongue, thinly veiling her doubt, “Never to be seen again?”
“You say it as though I have had no prior opportunity to steal you away if I so wished.”
Arching his brow, a small smile playing at the corner of his mouth; a swarm of featherweight somethings fluttered violently in her stomach. She sighed her very well, gesturing for him to lead the way. His fingers nearly grazed hers when pressing the stave into her hand, but he jerked away quickly as if fearing a shock. It shouldn’t have surprised her: he had made a point to keep physical contact with her at a minimum. As though she might find him out with so little as a touch...As if it could be so easy. When the camp fell beyond earshot, he began his lecture.
“A Mage’s greatest advantage is the tractable range of attack. A staff is not necessary to cast, of course, within a moderate range. Without the staff as a focus, however, your magic is more difficult to control, and likelihood of inadvertently harming allies or civilians is increased.”
They had come to a semicircular clearing, scattered boulders up against a steep wall of rock curving back into the woods. A path was visible through the scant trees on their other side, running along the fence of the farm stretching beyond. Solas turned to face her, planting the butt of his staff firmly into the ground.
“You have a habit of welding your staff as a rod and charging your opponent. It is certainly an added benefit, but should not be the primary use of your weapon. It is a focus for your magic, amplifying the force and allowing you greater control in aiming for your target. You fling yourself too willingly into sword fights, when you would be safer fighting from a distance.”
Halesta closed her eyes and took a breath, struggling to curb her temper. He was so condescending, as if she were a child. He didn’t understand. She had learned to fight before magic was even an option as a weapon, and her mother had died before— And anyway, why should she be safely at a distance while the others faced cold steel in the thick? She was not an ideal to be protected. She was a means to an end for this cause: a tool to be used, and damned deadly tool in her own right.
When she looked up again, he was watching her curiously. There was that infuriating glint in his eyes: the one that appeared when he knew he was getting under her skin. Admittedly, his gaze was just as stirring without it, only darker. Storm clouds over an angry sea. She bristled again, irritated with the renewed fluttering in her gut.
“Show me what damage you can do at a distance,” Taking a step back, hands clasped behind him, “Aim at the far rock.”
She focused and, with a deep breath, threw her frozen rage at her target. She knew with immediate temper that it had been sloppy, and Solas clicking his tongue against his teeth only irked her further.
Five, six, seven more times she tried, each attempt worse than the last. She knew what she was supposed to do, but didn’t know how to do it. Pacing as she chided herself, shame and frustration clouding her mind.
“It’s no use,” Finally tossing her staff away, “I can’t do it. You win.”
“Why are you so convinced I wish for you to fail?” Solas picked up her staff, sounding nearly as vexed as her.
Venomous and unforgiving: it was the first time she had vocalized her (baseless, as of yet) suspicion. It hung thick and defiant in the air between them as he stared at her long and hard. Blood rushed loudly in her ears, though she was unsure if from anger or fear or something else. There was a semblance of hurt about the crease between his brows, a tenderness to the skin around his eyes. He pinched the bridge of his nose, a defeated sigh falling with his squared shoulders.
“Of course not, da'len. I apologize for giving you such an impression.”
“Don’t. It doesn’t matter, right? We’re here to achieve a common goal,” Dropping her gaze, sharply tugging the tail of her braid in embarrassment.
“You don’t have to like me, we only need to be able to work together.”
“I like you well enough,” An impish smile in his voice as he handed the staff back to her, flooding her skin with heat.
“Here, we will try a different approach. Follow my movements,” He stepped away taking a fighting stance, “We will go slowly at, step by step without casting.”
She did her best to mimic his stance. She copied his steps and turns, attempting his graceful twirls and forceful jabs. She tripped the first time; the second, she tripped and managed to whack herself in the head. Solas couldn’t help but chuckle, though had the kindness to sound apologetic. And here she thought her face couldn’t burn any hotter.
“Perhaps I should have started with your posture. It is different from when one fights with knives, or even a rod. Take your stance.”
She lowered her body, bending her knees so she crouched into a slight lunge. He nodded to himself, making a quiet, discerning sound.
“Square your shoulders, as though preparing to throw a punch,” He walked halfway around her as she adjusted, “Straighten your knees a bit, not so low.”
Shifting into a boxing pose, she could immediately feel the difference. Solas placed a foot inside hers, sliding it her into a wider stance. It was far from a concupiscent gesture, and yet her pulse stuttered, forcing the shuddering breath from her lungs. The patient authority of his voice returned most of her attention to task.
“Very good. Now try again without casting.”
She nodded, focusing her thoughts….
“Wait,” He was suddenly behind her again.
His arms were around her, extending out, hands curling over her own. She froze, unable to move except for the shiver running down her spine. He shifted her hand placement, adjusting her grip before releasing her. She remained motionless, the absence of his chest against her back leaving her strangely, infuriatingly weak. She stood still for a brief eternity, unsure whether or not to move, or if she were even able to. Solas was silent and unseen behind her; she realized he was waiting for her to return to starting position.
Once again, she planted her feet and squared her shoulders. Humming her tune, she made one more attempt: step-jab-pull, step-turn-down, step-turn-up— The staff slipped from her hands, making one full turn mid-air before landing on the ground. She let slip a wistful laugh, throwing her hands up in hopeless resignation. Solas smiled with a small shake of his head, fetching her staff while she paced, tugging hard on her braid.
“Why are you doing that?” He mimed her hand on her hair, “You did the same thing earlier. I imagine it hurts, pulling so, ah, roughly.”
“Ha. Yeah, um,” She could feel the heat rise to her scalp, “I don’t know. It’s something I do sometimes when I’m frustrated with…myself.”
“Self-flagellation, of sorts?” There was a look in his eye Halesta couldn’t place, but her mouth went dry.
“Sort of,” She tried to wet her lips, he tilted his head, “It’s more like a way to clear my head.“
"And pain does this? Clears your mind?”
His question was posed openly and without judgment or menace, but beneath the innocent curiosity and wish to understand, there was something else. She had a vague sense that they were quickly approaching a line, and it was an entirely different line than the one she had been expecting. She swallowed hard but maintained steady eye contact. She had cowed too much already today, and she would not—could not—allow him to turn her into some bashful, awkward thing.
“Pain demands full attention. It drowns out anything else, if only for a second,” Half shrugging, Halesta watched him take her words in.
“Plus, what’s that saying?” Adding with a grin: feeling she had returned to herself, “‘Pleasure follows pain’?”
The strange moment was shattered abruptly an impending clamor. By the time she identified the troops on the path, Solas had grabbed her and was pulling her between a boulder and an outcrop of the rock face. Pressed firmly between his chest and the stone at her back, she felt a fleeting gratitude to a more obvious reason for the audible thud of her heart.
She was attempting to slow her breathing, but he smelled like a dark forest and his hand had briefly cradled back of her neck, nestling her close. Looking then, she was aware of how he curled around her, leaning down so his jaw nearly brushed the top of her cheek. The space was convex but tight; glancing up she could see his scalp pressed to the ceiling. In her movement, she had inadvertently grazed his cheek, skimming his neck with the corner of her mouth until her lips came up to his ear. She heard him swallow, the scarce air around them felt blistering.
Searching eyes and distant voices, I thought I heard someone.… Inquisition might be ‘round here somewhere.
“Templars!” Barely breathed.
“I know,” Solas muttered softly right into her ear, she lost her breath.
There had been too many for the two of them to reasonably take on alone. She feels a surge of panic rising, more fear than lust, and then out from the center of her screaming heart comes the gentle press of his finger to her lips. His other hand slid down her bare arm, electric attraction flashing through her, immediate in the sudden touch. She is hyperaware he’s holding her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze that goes right to her stomach.
“Shh, it is okay,” In the hair of space between them, he placed her hand to his chest, just above his heart, “Here, feel. You are safe.” She closed her eyes and concentrated on the rhythm. His pulse is fast but steady, not like the bounding of her rabbit heart. Slowly soothing, it lulled her and unthinking, she sighed against his skin. In a breath, his body had tensed and relaxed, head bowed and exhaling a growl that stopped her heart. Again that sense of a toeing a line quickly flickered in her consciousness, though any lines seemed blurred, smeared in the brevity.
His scent more complicated than before, his arm shifting to brace against the wall behind her: her head was swimming, riding a wave of ecstatic fear. His lips brushed her clavicle and, catching a gasp in her throat, he trailed slowly up. Wet and soft and barely skimming against her skin, hot breath stopping just below her ear to draw a small whimper. They stayed there, perfectly still for an infinite moment.
“I believe they are gone,” She had forgotten why and where; only his voice sinking into her skin reminded her how they got here.
She swallowed hard, a spasm of chaotic dread, not yet ready to surface back into reality or the unease to follow. They still hadn’t moved, yet she could almost feel the slow bracing tension creep back into her bones. But there his hand was on the back of her neck again, then the delicate pressure of his lips, a kiss, just below her ear. He withdrew slowly, confusion turning in her stomach. Relieved. Sad. Touch her again. Grab her. Leave her alone. Wait.
When he finally met her gaze, there was a sheepishness about him, but his eyes were dark and electric. Accepting his helpful hand out of their dark little crevice, she offered a small, wry smile: a silent agreement that there was nothing to speak of. He had shifted his gaze in hesitant gratitude. She clung to her confidence, keeping up with his long-legged strides back to camp in the twilight. A small victory, the upper hand. The day had ended in her favor after all.
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