Dai Solas - Blog Posts

Dushan laugs, the sound roaming deep and warm in Solas' face. The man never keeps his distance. Always back to back, nose to nose, in the heat of battle or a drunken night. It makes his frame seem larger than life, brighter, so much more. "Felt the whole world change?"

"A figure of speech."

Dushan shakes his head. Laughs again, shorter, quieter, softer, smaller. Leans in even closer, squinting his eyes in a deeply amused manner.

Solas wants to flee. He doesn't admit to it again, holding his ground.

"A figure of speech," Dushan repeats after him, face open and mockingly curious.

So Solas tries again. "You changed everything."

There's something in his eyes, utterly tired and utterly angry, a wounded creature Solas can't quite make sense of. He walked his dreams a dozen times and yet, as the Inquisitor turns away and clicks his tongue, Solas finds himself wanting to see even more. A desperate thought.

"Sweet talker that you are."

A moment of quiet stillness and then a hand grips his hip, drawing him in swiftly. It's awkward, their teeth clacking together and Dushan's hair getting between them in a way that makes the kiss break apart in a second. There's guilt and a sudden flush of shame and Solas reaches out to palm away the wild strands from his face before they have time to think more. It's a lost fight, the way the hand moves up to his back and slides down, following the curve of his spine, anchor burning the touch like open fire and Solas gasps into strange lips. He traces the man's brow, his cheek, finds the heavy bone of his chin buried under coarse hair. Finds the ears, unfamiliar to the touch, smaller and tender and rounder, but Dushan pushes his elbow up until Solas' hand slips and grips the neck. Dushan pulls him in closer, Solas pulls on him too, lickings into his mouth with some quiet insanity.

I want to love you. Gods know I want to.

Solas pushes his way out with a barely audible "no, no" and Dushan blinks in a daze. Doesn't reach for it, a searching hand carefully frozen in the air.

"No?"

"We shouldn't. It isn't right. Not even here."

They flee apart without much to it. The Inquisitor clears his throat, lost fingers digging into his scalp for a second, gaze wandering somewhere above as Solas watches the snow set on his shoulders.

"Even here?"

"Where do you think we were?"

He takes his last liberty in the false safety of his room. The hair, as much of a mess, covers Dushan's face as he jolts his head uneasily on the couch. Solas hooks the strands behind his ears once again, kissing the broken line between his eyebrows with dry lips.

The fade makes him restless. The voices from the tower above grow louder. Solas cracks his knees, getting up, and grabs a mug from his table as Dushan almost tumbles down from the couch with a gasp.

Solas smiles.

"Sleep well?"

And all things end

All that we intend is

Scrawled in sand

Thinking about my Dragon Age art tonight