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Halani Lavellan had given Crassius Servis a tiny room in one of the towers, and she had not expected to be given reason to go to it. Leliana kept the man under control, giving her reports of his…slippery nature and…desire to be caught. That report had made her tug a little at her collar, but she had tried not to let anyone notice. Especially not her expert Spymaster. Who likely had already.
Because Leliana was Leliana, and she noticed everything.
But Lavellan liked a walk at night, bundled up against the cold, nodding politely to her patrols. So there Halani was, quiet footsteps against the ancient stone, moon overhead, looking at the tower in front of her and sighing. Once, walking through at night would have meant nothing, but Halani did not want to go into a tower with a Tevinter who still held his magic. It was not as though she could simply jump down from the wall, and turning around would be embarrassing, so there she was, opening the door without knocking and hoping Servis wasn’t awake. In padded Halani Lavellan, rogue as quiet as the grave, and she was halfway across the Blighted floor when she heard a groan. Halani Lavellan paused as though she were a statue. Was he hurt? Mythal have mercy on her, she didn’t want to deal with this. So she kept going, and then she heard a gasp. No, Dread Wolf take her, no, was he…?
Halani Lavellan was not interested in the handsome Tevinter, not at all. In fact, she wasn’t keen on hearing the next hitch of breath that left his mouth as he undoubtedly…when was the last time that man had been given privacy without the Venatori around him? Because he was…he was…
Halani Lavellan crossed the floor and pushed at the ajar door to find Servis lying on his bed with his white robes piled on the floor, dark skin slicked with sweat and one hand wrapped around a not-unimpressive shaft. He stopped short when he saw her, swallowing awkwardly, and Halani was not staring at the cock between his legs, her eyes were not trailing up the lean muscle on his stomach, eyeing his glazed expression, laden with embarrassment and no small amount of pleasure.
“Inquisitor,” he began awkwardly.
“What…” she said lamely, “what is this…”
“This is…I can explain…you see…” he spluttered.
“I should have given you more private room,” she sighed. Servis let go of himself, reaching for his white robe.
“You came through them!” he cried. “This is hardly my fault!”
“You…left your door open!” she accused. “This is a public footpath!”
“Forgive me for thinking the tower was mine!” he retorted. “I had thought I was a respected agent of the Inquisition!”
“An agent, yes,” she confirmed. “You are hardly respected, Tevinter!”
“Servis!” he stated. “Crassius Servis, or just Servis! Please, Inquisitor, I have a name!”
He was standing now, and without knowing why she did it Halani pushed him backwards onto his bed again. The startled mage fell, dropping the robe, and the elf straddled him, glaring at him. Shamelessly the Dalish stripped in front of him, tossing her top aside. Still on his legs, she kicked off her boots and worked the tight trousers down her legs. If anyone later asked her what she was doing, Halani would admit she had no idea at the time. First her bra came off, then her smallclothes, and soon she was running him along her folds, and Servis saw his opportunity and he didn’t waste it. He grasped her hips, fingers moving over her smooth ass, and she traced the scars on his body – scars she had left – before she parted her legs widely and sunk down over him. She took one look at the suddenly satisfied mage, and her brows lowered.
“This door, it wasn’t open by coincidence, was it?” she growled. Servis shook his head, letting out a laboured gasp of delight. “You knew I was coming along?”
“You always take a walk before you retire,” the mage panted. “Sometimes you cut through here.”
“You wanted me to find you,” she stated.
“A great deal, Inquisitor,” he admitted breathlessly.
“Is it common among your kind to find a fetish in Dalish women?” she demanded. Servis held her hips down as she rode him slowly, letting out a groan.
“A fetish!” he gasped. “I would not be so base as to…I have little knowledge of the Dalish!”
“Dirthara ma, Tevinter!” she cursed, raking her nails down his chest.
“Festis bei umo canavarum, Inquisitor,” he groaned, hips surging upwards. “Maker, you’re depraved.”
“Says the man who left open his bedroom door so that I may catch him!” she snapped, and she bit him for good measure.
Creators, this man had no hair for her to pull. Why was the first Tevinter with hair to grab that disgusting Erimond? And Servis was a little pretty, with that fine nose and lovely skin, part of her had wanted him sat on the Inquisitorial throne the moment they threw him forward in chains. Oh, the chains would have stayed on, the lovely Vint left squirming beneath her. Yes, it was a lie to say she hadn’t immediately wanted to do filthy things to Crassius Servis. But not quite like this, lying on his bed as he rubbed her with his thumb. She squirmed – the Tevinter knew enough, it seemed – and she almost jumped out of her skin when a tiny buzz came through the digit. He was running electricity through his thumb. Risking demonic possession to make sex with her better? Was the Vint mad? She didn’t know, but under such ministrations she quickly found her body quivering in delight. No sensation could match the feeling. She bucked a little harder and found him pressing up into her.
If her Keeper could see her now! Riding a voyeuristic Tevinter mage as he pleasure her with his magic, letting out gasps of delight as he increased the strength, her nails digging into his skin as she fought to keep her composure. She would not break in front of this man, who twitched within her like he was close to the edge himself. Had it really been this long? A fair-sized partner and a little magic, and she was coming undone already? Not yet, she wasn’t so close yet, but if he kept this up, she would find herself over the edge too quickly. One of Servis’ hands grasped her breast, thumb flicking the nipple as both of them fought to take the other to the heights before they themselves came. It was a strange, slightly twisted dance of pleasure, and it was a dance neither of them won, because Halani came with a cry as Servis arched, grunting in euphoria as he spilt within her. For a moment, elf and human looked at each other in mild confusion. Then Lavellan clambered off of him with quivering legs, stooping and using his robe to wipe away the seed coming from between her thighs. All attempts to make it to the door were null, however, because she almost fell over, and instead made her way back to the mage’s bed.
Servis tried to hide his delight as the grumbling elf stole his blankets.