Chapter Text
Solas didn't care for swamps.
Certainly, if anyone had asked him his opinion on the subject, he would have given a neutral response suggesting that even uncomfortable environments have their merits, for those patient enough to discover them – or something equally bland and yet slightly condescending. He believed such a statement to be true, and he did always try to look for the intellectual value of any situation or location. As such, it gave him an irritating sense of cognitive dissonance to admit, even to himself, that there were some places he'd just rather not investigate, for reasons purely selfish and centered on physical comfort.
Because in truth, Solas actually hated swamps. Especially swamps full of animated corpses. And even more so, he hated being stuck in a swamp full of animated corpses with Sera, listening to her complain endlessly about the swamp and the corpses. The Inquisitor seemed to share his frustration. She was marching a few paces ahead, her boots squelching in the mud, and whenever Sera piped up with a new grievance, he noticed her posture stiffen slightly, though her responses were nothing but patient and kind. Blackwall, on the other hand – and to his credit – was taking the entire muddy business very good-naturedly, even though he had the most reason to complain. His heavy quilted under-padding must have doubled in weight with all the mucky water it had absorbed, and if he stepped even slightly off the path, his heavy plate greaves would sink knee-deep in sludge, but he trudged along without griping. He was also doing an admirable job of trying to keep Sera's mind off her misery – or at least Solas had thought it admirable until the Warden decided to entertain her at his expense.
"So, Solas… Sera and I were just talking about you. We need you to settle a question for us."
Solas sighed. "Why do I have a feeling this question will be offensive?"
Blackwall hesitated. "Yes, well… probably. Sorry."
Sera snickered. "Go on! Ask him!"
"All right so…we know you make friends with spirits in the Fade. So... um, are there any that are more than just friends? If you know what I mean."
Sera giggled uncontrollably, though Blackwall at least had the grace to seem sheepish.
"Oh, for... really?" Solas tried to sound both bored and forbidding. He certainly had no intention of discussing that subject! He noticed the Inquisitor had stiffened again, and even in the murky light of the swamp, he could see that her ears had flushed bright red. No doubt she would be shocked to find out about some of his more erotic adventures in the Fade. Not that she would find out. That was private.
Unfortunately, Blackwall and Sera didn't seem to agree.
"Look, it's a natural thing to be curious about!" the Warden prodded him, as Sera kept up a steady stream of chortles.
"For a twelve year old," Solas said coldly.
"Let it be, Blackwall," the Inquisitor said. Even Solas was surprised by the edge in her voice.
"When did you get so stuck in the mud?" Sera asked her.
"Are you serious?" Trevelyan laughed, lifting her boot out of a puddle with a loud sucking noise.
"Ha ha, it was a pun, pruneface. Come on, don't you want to know if Elfy McStuckup has been getting his staff stroked by spirits?"
"No!" Trevelyan said, while Solas just let out a strangled, inarticulate sound of embarrassment.
"It's a simple question, Solas," Blackwall said mildly.
"Nothing about the Fade or spirits is simple," Solas insisted, "especially not that." The Inquisitor looked at him sharply, while Sera guffawed.
"So you have been playing hide the Fade-sausage!"
Solas wondered if perhaps all the corpses around them were Sera's previous associates, who had sunk into the mud and died of shame after one of her interrogations. "I did not say that. Particularly not that."
"Don't panic, Solas," Blackwall said jovially. "We can keep a secret."
"Ass."
Blackwall laughed. "Now who's twelve?"
"Enough!" Trevelyan snapped. "No one here is grilling you about your personal life, Blackwall. Can't you extend others the same courtesy? Or do you want to talk about Lady Josephine next?"
"Understood, Inquisitor," Blackwall said stiffly. "My apologies."
Solas realized the turn the conversation had taken basically assumed that he was having relations with spirits, and while it was technically true, he didn't want to let the impression linger undisturbed.
"For the record, I never said I was – "
"I said enough!" Trevelyan's voice was strangely high-pitched. "No more on that subject, if you please!"
"Of course, Inquisitor," Solas said, surprised by her vehemence.
He'd never heard Lady Trevelyan react so strongly to an off-color topic. While she usually refrained from joining in when her companions' conversations inevitably turned to ribaldry, she'd never seemed offended by bawdy talk. Solas had always rather admired her poise – she allowed her friends their coarse conversations with an air of tolerant amusement and deflected nosy questions with self-deprecating wit. At times, he'd wondered if perhaps she had little personal sexual experience to speak of. Not that it was any of his business, of course, but his impression of the Circles was that some were more repressed than others, and there was something about the way she reacted to naughty subjects that implied innocence, or at least inexperience. But that was pure conjecture, for usually, she didn't react at all.
Not today though! She seemed distinctly uncomfortable with Blackwall and Sera's teasing of him, as if it flustered her as much as it did himself. A troublesome idea occurred to him – was the Inquisitor specifically bothered by talk of his sexual activities? He also rarely joined in such conversations, unless Cole had questions about corporeal behavior, and he couldn't remember a time he'd ever volunteered information about his private life in her hearing. Was she somehow put off by the idea?
He realized with a chuckle that he was being silly. Perhaps a Circle-raised, Chantry-devout mage might be disgusted by the idea of an apostate having sex with a spirit, but undoubtedly the spirit part was what bothered her. He doubted she could perceive the nuance between a desire demon and a spirit of passion, so to her it must all sound like the worst sort of forbidden debauchery. It wasn't though – depending on the spirit one engaged with, it could be brutal and primal, or sensual and loving, or a myriad of sensations and emotions in between, but it was a far cry from the kind of selfish perversions that desire demons preferred. Solas felt a tingle in his balls as he remembered some of his more enjoyable adventures. Perhaps it was time to seek out another one. It had been awhile.
Their party made camp in a mudhole that seemed slightly drier than all the other clearings they'd come across. There was no point in building a fire in the constant downpour, so they each retired early to their tents to chew on dried fruit and meat and try to dry out a little bit. Solas was grateful for the solitude. Sera really had gotten on his nerves with her constant complaining and it was a relief to enjoy the comparable quiet of rain hitting leather. There wasn't much to do and he was tired from the long day of tramping across the Mire, so after he ate, he peeled off his wet clothes and stretched out on his bedroll, ready to explore the Fade.
He'd not spent any time in this particular area – because swamp, ugh – so he had no idea what he would encounter when he closed his eyes. The Avvar stronghold suggested perhaps he might discover ancient Alamarri people, but one never really knew. He sighed, relaxing through deep breaths, and allowed his mind to drift.
The Fade tugged him along aimlessly as impressions brushed against his consciousness. He had little interest in the desperate attempts of the townsfolk of Fisher's End to eke out a living in the muck, so he kept moving. The terrain changed, became drier, grassy little hills intercut with streams and ponds, druffalo lowing in the valley, herded by Avvar with bows and axes.
A fire circle, blazing bright. The pounding of drums, gyrating dancers, mingled voices chanting boisterous songs. He paused and watched the memories shift and solidify. Something was here, something that remembered this joyful, sensualistic festival. Something was giving it form and substance, drawing him in for a closer look. He watched the dancers, erotic and wild, rolling hips and tangling legs, kissing and then spinning away. He watched the drummers, beating their hands against stretched leather, so fast their palms blurred in his vision. Sweat rolled down their faces and they stared at the fire as if in a trance.
Solas wandered away from the center of activity, wondering what else happened during these celebrations. The frankly sexual nature of the dancing stirred him, called to him. He laughed a little, remembering his earlier conversation with his companions. If only they knew. What had then seemed embarrassing now seemed natural, necessary. He drifted along a dark path, his fingertips brushing against the tall grasses lining the dirt trail. In the dark, his vision sharpened and he opened his mouth, sucking in air, tasting it. He heard a sound, and his ears twitched.
There it was again. He turned his head, sniffing the breeze, and his loins tightened as his nose confirmed what his ears suspected. He pushed quietly through the grass, stalking on silent feet up a small hill that was crowned with a large, broad tree.
He found two spirits in rut, and Solas was immediately fascinated. This was a rare sight indeed. He knew that it happened, and had even seen it himself on a few occasions, but generally spirits were too consumed by their own singular interests to be moved to join with one another. It appeared as though they'd taken the forms of a male and female Avvar. The female was largely obscured from his view by the male, who held her up against the tree and was pumping enthusiastically between her legs, which were wrapped around his waist. She moaned breathily, stirring Solas' cock with her feral, feminine whines. He eased his hand down his stomach to palm his growing member, squeezing it firmly as it expanded in his hand. He rarely wore clothes in the Fade, for spirits cared nothing for modesty and the accoutrements of the waking world served no purpose here.
He watched as the male's movements became more frantic, driving the female roughly against the tree. He couldn't help but wonder what kind of spirits they were, to come together so passionately. Perhaps they shared a purpose, or perhaps he'd drawn them here with his own curiosity. He stroked himself firmly, completely unashamed of his blatant voyeurism. Spirits did not require privacy, nor had he ever met one that experienced embarrassment over being happened upon in an intimate moment. Admittedly, he had little data on the subject, but he felt confident that these two enchanting creatures wouldn't mind if he sought his own pleasure from watching theirs.
The female reached her climax with a sweet, savage howl, and the sound pulled sympathetic moan from Solas' lips as he slid his hand along the length of his cock. She was clinging to the male, her fingers digging into his shoulders and her heels driving into the small of his back. Solas wondered if she would be willing to linger and talk with him, and then perhaps to have another go. The idea of her arms around his neck and her whimpers in his ear made him throb with anticipation.
The male was nearly finished, judging by the sounds of his guttural grunts and the forceful speed of his hips. He tensed against the female and roared in pleasure, a virile, bestial sound that reverberated through Solas' body and nearly brought him to orgasm himself. What lovely creatures, coming together so ferociously. Rarely in the waking world did one encounter such raw, untamed passion. It stirred Solas deeply and he pumped his cock in his fist, incredibly aroused by the spirits' unbridled enjoyment of each other. The male slowly lowered the female to her feet, steadying her with one hand while the other braced against the tree. Solas wanted to approach them and find out who and what they were, but he held back. Spirits might not be modest, but that didn't mean they necessarily wanted to be approached while they were still in the throes of post-coital excitement!
He released his grip on his cock and watched as the male stroked the female's sides, bending his head to kiss her neck and shoulders. Her low, throaty giggle was intoxicating to Solas' ears. The male stepped back and turned to the side, and the female followed, standing on tip-toes to kiss him and –
Two things happened at the same time. Solas realized he recognized the female and that she was no spirit, and Evelyn Trevelyan turned her head and saw him standing there, naked and hard as a rock. She cried out in horror and shrank into her Avvar-spirit's arms, and Solas gasped and stepped back, unable to believe his eyes.
He awoke with a jolt, his cock pulsing and dripping. The darkness in his tent was so complete that even his keen night vision found no light to cling to. He saw nothing, but he heard everything. The blood rushing in his ears, the pounding of his heart in his chest, his ragged breaths. He reached down and palmed his dick, and his face burned as he shuddered in pleasure, for the image in his mind was of the Inquisitor baring her throat to him and keening as he rutted within her. His teeth practically itched to nip at her smooth, pale skin. He imagined her cries straddling pleasure and pain as he claimed her with his teeth and his cock, and he bit back his own moans as his release jetted across his belly in hot, quick spurts.
As he lay quietly in the dark, trying to bring his breathing under control, he heard Trevelyan wake up with a small gasp in the tent next to him. And then she sobbed out in a low, humiliated whimper, "No, no, no, no, no..."
Solas sighed.
He had no idea how they would face each other in the morning. He would never be able to look at her the same way again.