An evening
Another solavellan silly moment.
Her hands tug at the hem of his tunic, drawing it up, and he releases her to shrug it away, shivering in the chill from the open balcony. They are kneeling in her room, on her bed, their meal discarded at her desk and his breath is wine warm in the candlelight, sweetened by fruit and cocoa. She laughs and it is loose, free. The evening is humming, a buzz in his ears and he smiles as he tugs the fabric up and over his sight, shivering as her fingertips trace the revealed skin.
He gives an entirely undignified snort, though, when her hands continue to his sides and then begin to dig.
“Vhenan-”
He wrenches himself free of his tunic.
The Inquisitor, the blessed Herald of Andraste, Banisher of the Wardens and Protector of the Mages is on her knees before him and she is chasing him.
“Aha-!” she cackles, cold hands devilish, and she presses closer to exploit her advantage, tickling until he at last captures her hands in his own.
“Vhenan,” he says again, attempting to admonish, but she only grins at him, eyes bright with her laughter.
“Ticklish, ma’lath?”
He snorts, refusing to deign that with a response - but she twists then, somehow managing to break through his grip and push him into the sheets, and his choked laughter is all the answer she needs.
He resorts to magic this time - a weak barrier, primed to sting and protect but little more - and she withdraws at last, placing her hands on the (relatively) neutral ground of his shoulders.
“Ahhh. That bad, then?”
He fights to keep his expression mild, although he twitches instinctively every time she shifts.
“Merely a defensive measure, I assure you.”
“Mmm, I’m sure.”
He does laugh at that, at her knowing grin, silly and utterly un-fooled- and when his attempt to rise is thwarted by gentle hands, he prepares himself for the next onslaught.
“Vhenan,” he begins warily, pleadingly, and tries to seek her eye.
But her gaze has wandered, he sees - it trails down the arch of his neck and across his chest, a hand shifting to trace after it, and suddenly very different preoccupations rise to mind.
“I suppose,” she says after a moment and then she is moving, settling herself more firmly astride his hips, knees tucked against his sides. He experiences the strange urge to both flinch and shiver. “I could find other ways to amuse myself. This time.”
“This time,” he finds himself agreeing, very agreeably.