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Patience	By : Tanwen Category: +A through F > Dragon Age (all) > Dragon Age (all) Views: 3266 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Age, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Chapter 1
- 2-Chapter 2
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Trevelyan leaves Skyhold for a time, after that. There is some matter that has arisen in the Emerald Graves. Solas does not volunteer to go with her. He never volunteers, though he will always go if she asks.
This time, she does not. She takes Rainier (though the man still insists on being called Blackwall), Sera, and Cassandra. He tries to view this as a good thing. She will forget about him. As the days pass he steadfastly refuses to admit that he misses her. He spends his time alone, reading or studying, or engaging in a few small experiments relating to the strength of the Veil. He could almost fool himself into thinking that he could stay like this indefinitely.
Five days after Trevelyan’s departure, Solas feels a tug on him while he walks in the Fade. This is not uncommon. There are many elven who call to the Dread Wolf in their prayers and dreams. Their tugs are small and inconsequential, easily ignored.
This one grows stronger as time passes, and eventually he feels compelled to investigate. He approaches warily, and as he grows closer, he catches the scent of lilac in the air. Her scent.
He finds himself, once again, in his study. Trevelyan is standing behind his dream-image, an odd look on her face. Her boldness seems to have deserted her as she touches him tentatively. The dream-Solas does not respond, a look of cool indifference on his face. The image blurs as though she is losing her grasp on the dream.
Solas seizes power and throws it at the dream before it can vanish, drawing himself in once more. A blink, and their positions are reversed. She is standing over his table and he is behind her, pressing close. Trevelyan lets out a startled gasp before she leans into him.
“You will remain absolutely still,” he murmurs into her ear. “You may speak, though I may not respond. Is that understood?”
“Y-yes,” Trevelyan says, and he tries not to feel relief at the raw longing in her voice. He has let this go too far already, but he cannot turn away.
He touches her slowly, admiring her muscle and curves. “Resist, if you can,” he says, unable to keep a slightly mocking tone from entering his voice. “Resist the touch and presence of someone you are attracted to against your better judgment. Someone you have nothing in common with, someone who irritates you and will not yield to common sense.”
Solas does not realize that he has used a small trace of his magic until he notices just how still she is holding herself. Even here, in the Fade, it should not be possible. He tries to ignore the excitement that this sight causes. Trevelyan, unnaturally still, while he touches her with impunity. Her face is the only thing that is moving, and her expression is unfocused, eyes half-closed, lips parted as she sighs in pleasure.
“It is quite hard to hold yourself indifferent while being touched in this manner,” Solas says, almost conversationally. “While your groin burns with desire, wanting to feel that intimate contact, that exquisite pleasure.” His hands move to caress her suddenly-exposed breasts, courtesy of dream logic. She gasps, and either his magic is slipping or she is overcoming it, because she practically falls back against him. The triumph he feels is both worrying and satisfying.
Solas has been so focused on Trevelyan that he has been neglecting his own rapidly increasing desire. The pressure of his erection between his body and hers hits him suddenly, and he is filled with an overwhelming need to take her, make her gasp and squirm beneath him. He growls and flips her around, pressing her rear against the edge of the table. With a deliberate effort he lets the rest of his magic fade, gives her room to move as she sees fit.
Trevelyan’s hands come to rest on his chest, clutching at him, trying to pull him close. She is panting rhythmically, on the brink of an orgasm. Solas smiles and spreads her legs wide before moving forward and sliding inside her. She tosses her head back and clutches at his shoulders, her pants turning into shallow gasps. It is the sweetest sound Solas has heard in quite some time.
He does not try to slow down her rapid pace, her desperate need. He is enjoying the sight of her like this, completely wrapped up in an ongoing climax. He is still rock hard inside her. It is taking all of his control to keep himself that way, but he knows it will be worth it.
When she has slaked herself and collapses against him once more, arms around his neck, he takes a moment to press his mouth against her hair and inhale her lilac scent. It never fails to astonish him how much detail can be found in the Fade. He wonders if this corner of the Fade will forever carry that scent.
“This is what you wanted,” Solas tells her. He acknowledges, finally, that there is no turning back for him. “You wanted me to fuck you. You wanted it raw, and hard, and you wanted to be hoarse from screaming when it is over.” He traces a slim finger down the side of her face and smiles wickedly. “You have not yet screamed your lungs out.”
He gives her a few moments more to rest before he starts again. Solas forces himself to be slow at first, to ensure that she is primed and ready for him. Her soft breathing against his skin is an indicator of his progress on that front, and he is gratified at how quickly he rouses her to a fever pitch once more. Solas nibbles at her neck, remembering the response he got from her before. He bites harder, leaving a mark. It is safe to do so, as they are in the Fade, and it will not last. He wants to mark her as his, but he is not quite ready to share that fact. Even with her.
She gasps, goes taut against him. He holds her there and thrusts upwards rapidly. The pace he sets is punishing, designed to leave her raw and exhausted. He is going to make her scream. It will satisfy both of them.
When she begins to moan, he growls in response and presses harder against her. The moans are satisfying, but they are not what he wants. Not what she wants. His hands are digging into the side of the table, and it is almost too painful, too intense. But he has endured far worse than this, and for a reward that fell far short of what this one promises to be.
“Solas!” Now she is screaming, and he feels his release wash over him. There are other words there, but his name is the only one that he cares about. He is once again lost in her, in the feel of her against him, her scent, the wetness that is threatening to drip down his leg. She has gone slack, his desire outlasting hers. As it should be. She is mortal; he is not.
I will be waiting for you. The words form in his mind, and he could swear that they echo in the Fade. That she can hear him. He is not sure whether to hope that he is right or not. He is afraid to ask whether she knows that this has been more than a dream. He is not sure that he would respond well to rejection.
Solas reminds himself that she began this, that she pursued him, and lets the hope sit in his chest like a fire as he leaves her to her dreaming once more.

It is late at night, a week later, when Trevelyan returns from the Emerald Graves. Solas knows this because of the commotion her impending arrival causes, sending servants and advisors scurrying to welcome her back. He joins the crowd because it would be out of character for him not to.
Their eyes meet for a single moment as she rides up. Solas cannot read anything from that moment. Forces himself to remain calm as he returns to his sleeping quarters. He will make her come to him. No matter how much his body began to ache from that sight of her.
He begins to wonder if she is also trying to hold out when the next morning passes without any sight of her. Then, a few hours before dinner, he smells her scent. She is wearing more perfume than usual. It has an instant effect. An almost shameful effect. He turns before he realizes that is what he is doing, sees her standing there. His eyes meet hers, dark pools that threaten to draw him in. He sees her breath catch in her throat. She moves towards him with the same grace she displays on the battlefield. He has never really appreciated it before now.
Trevelyan is wearing a dress, flowing and elegant, instead of her usual shirt and trousers. The bright blue is a startling contrast against her dark brown skin. Solas has never seen her wearing anything so fine.
“Inquisitor,” he says, and no amount of determined self-control will hide the husky note in his voice that tells her she has gotten the effect she desired. He cannot bring himself to care at what he has given away.
Her gaze is still locked on his as she crosses the distance separating them. His heart is beating faster, in time with the intense throbbing around his groin. Trevelyan puts her hand to his chest when she is but a few inches from him. She stays there for a moment before she removes her hand and sinks to her knees. Solas is too fascinated by the sight to do anything other than watch as she removes his clothes. He is ashamed at how thick and hard he is from proximity alone, momentarily angry with himself for allowing her to affect him this strongly. The anger dissipates as she runs one finger down his full length. Solas sucks in a breath and lets his head fall backwards, reveling in the sensations she is causing.
Then Trevelyan’s lips are closing around the end of his erection, her tongue swirling once before she takes him deeper into her mouth, and Solas knows for sure that this is real. This is happening. He feels a surge of triumph and reaches out to touch her cheek, run his fingers through her hair. His head falls forward and he looks at her. As though she senses his gaze, her eyes open and she gives him a self-satisfied look. This is where I want to be, she seems to say with that glance. This is what I want to be doing.
Solas groans and clutches the edge of his desk. He hears a responding whimper from her as she takes him deeper into her mouth. He spares a corner of his mind to admire her skill and confidence. She does know exactly what she is doing. Solas lets himself enjoy this until he hears her whimpers changing, taking on an edge of plaintive need. He looks at her and sees that one of her hands has drifted downwards, to rub at her slit. Solas puts his hands on her shoulders and gently pushes her away. Trevelyan looks confused for a moment, and almost makes a move to continue what she had been doing, but Solas is stronger and faster than she. He backs her up swiftly, until she is pressed against the wall, and then he kisses her. She tastes like him, his seed still on her tongue. Trevelyan throws herself into the kiss with the same enthusiasm she had been displaying a moment before. She is gasping every time they break for air, her hands running up and down his sides, keeping him close to her.
Solas reaches behind her to find the ties for her dress, and he forces himself to take care in unlacing it. He wants to see her wearing it again. He is practiced at such things and the dress is soon on the floor. He pulls off his tunic and presses himself against her, basking in the heat she is giving off.
“Solas,” she whispers, placing her arms on his biceps.
“Vhenan,” he responds before he enters her. She moans loudly, and he can tell that she is right on the edge. He does not have the patience to try and keep her there, milk every moment of enjoyment that he can. He does not have to worry that this will never happen again, and his body is demanding release as much as hers is.
Solas kisses the side of her neck as he takes her. He is too close to be gentle, but he is not deliberately rough with her either. The sounds she makes urge him forward until they are both breathing hard, gasping, clutching the other one close in desperate need. Their climaxes are nearly simultaneous, and it fills Solas with a sense of satisfaction and triumph.
Silence fills the air for a few moments before Trevelyan speaks. “Collect your belongings from whatever hovel you’ve been sleeping in,” she says, every inch the Inquisitor once more. “You won’t be spending another night there.”
“As you wish, Inquisitor,” he replies.
“Shaeri,” she corrects him gently. “Call me by my name, Solas.”
“As you wish, Shaeri,” Solas says, running a hand down the side of her cheek.
“Oh my,” a voice says from behind them. Solas turns to see Dorian, arms crossed, leaning against the wall near the door. “Nice arse, Solas.”
Trevelyan - Shaeri - laughs as Solas tries not to blush. “Don’t you have curtains to be lighting on fire?” Solas asks curtly.
“Looks like you already took care of that,” Dorian says with a snicker, and leaves.
Solas mutters under his breath and tries to think of a suitable way to repay Dorian. He decides, after a moment, that revenge can wait. Something much more appealing is still pressed against him, after all, and she is tilting her head up in a clear invitation.
He leans in and bites her neck, this time hard enough to bruise, letting the world know that Shaeri Trevelyan belongs to him, regardless of what else may happen. He will continue to make sure of that, selfish though it may be on his part. She chased him, and he caught her, and a wolf protects what is his.
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Patience