Uncertainty

Throat dry, lips chapped, a thirst that water cannot satiate, like a scream caught on the back of their throat. It had been a long trip.

The political conflicts of Orlais were something that Feray never thought, not even in their worst nightmares, they would become involved in. Conspiracies, mending up relationships, winning the approval of nobles with a charm they never had before. And then there were all the prying eyes, all the horrendous comments about their race, “savage” “knife-ear” “rabbit”. They couldn’t begin to understand how these idiots were more preoccupied with their petty squabbles for a land that was never theirs than they were about the lives of the innocent lost in the war or of the demons falling from the sky.

They would have preferred to fight two dragons at the same time.

Despite how drained the Winter Palace had left them, they were already planning on not sleeping at all that night, knowing that the thoughts would begin intruding like they usually did, thoughts of uncertainty and guilt. This time, the uncertainty of whether their choices regarding the fate of a nation were the best for all the people the Inquisition served. This guilt and uncertainty was to be piled on top of the many things they were sure to ponder about at night, the things that made their chest run out of air and their stomach twist and turn with dread.

As they make their way up the tiresome stairs, they hear someone shuffling on their studio. Quietly, still on edge because of the events, they enter their room, hands igniting with lightning, ready to attack, only to meet the amused eyes of the elven apostate. “I apologize for intruding.” He sits on the railing of the balcony, a small smile playing on his lips as he looks at their direction. He had started a fire for them, waiting for them to return from the judgment they were not ready to cast on Empress Celine’s cousin.

Chest now tight, head light, they smile, a shy and nervous smile filled with many doubts. “I don’t mind. Thank you, actually. Saves me the pain of having to wait for the room to heat up.” They are grateful; any moment they spent alone is enough for the guilt to take over their thoughts and begin prodding them with many questions they cannot answer.

Solas is not there only to get their room warm; he knows, not because they had told him, but because it is obvious. He had seen them before, pacing back and forth on the castle, placing requisition orders, talking with any person in the hold still awake, patrolling the castle grounds, and being restless always at night.

“Though you having the door open beats the purpose,” they add. Solas smiles as he makes his way to the inside of Feray’s room, closing the balcony’s door behind him.

“So many layers of fur have made me immune to the weather,” he jokes while sitting comfortably on the sofa, watching them as they shuffle through the clothes in their wardrobe, and carefully placing some of the pelts that make up his armor on the armrest of a nearby chair.

“Don’t talk to me about layers.” They laugh. “Or buttons.” An obvious look of frustration taking over their features as they think of the many buttons they will have to undo to remove the coat. “I hate layers,” they say as they sit down on their bed and begin struggling to remove their boots. The things were too long and too uncomfortable; the coat was too itchy and offered little to no protection against any attack. How could the tailor who designed these things have thought they were excellent gear for the mission of saving the Empress’ life? Not like armor would have helped at all with all the machinations, the tiptoeing, the talking, the pretending and all for what? Power. They only hope that promise of power doesn’t corrupt their mind, too.

It takes little for their mind to wander back to their decisions and Solas can see it in their face, a slight grimace, an echo of a smile still there but not quite. He stands up and walks towards them. “Do you need help?” he offers. Feray accepts his offer sheepishly. He is subtle about his concern, about his way of caring for them. He never directly asks them about it, knowing that questions are sure to make them feel worse; instead, he offers distractions that are sure to take their mind off the intrusive thoughts.

“Thank you.” They begins struggling with the belts and fabrics that adorns the coat, wanting to feel less embarrassed by being competent with at least something.

“Do you also need help with that?” Solas asks calmly pointing at the buttons, placing Feray’s boots neatly on the side of their bed. Feray looks at him, unsure of what to make of that question and his intentions. The look of uncertainty prompts Solas to act. Still kneeling on the floor, he leans in closer to them, his lips close to theirs but not quite as close as they wishes they were. He looks back to them, hoping that this is enough to make his intentions clear to them. Feray inches closer until their lips meet in a gentle kiss.

Solas breaks away from the kiss briefly. “Do you need help?” he asks again, a smirk now tugging at the corners of his lips.

The charm they had found at the Winter Palace is now completely gone, replaced by shy words. “Y-yeah.” Swift hands unbutton the coat without much struggle. Uncertain of what to do, Feray keeps their hands around his neck as he begins placing soft kisses on their own. When the coat’s buttons are completely undone, the softness becomes heavy, wanting, longing; their bodies get closer and become more intimate by the second, replacing the silence of the words they wish they had. Then the coat is discarded to the floor.

Feray is shy about a lot of things: romantic gestures, sweet terms of endearment, holding hands while others are watching, even acts of courtesy make them feel embarrassed. The smallest sign of affection mortifies them, probably because they never learned how to react to them. However, one thing they are not embarrassed about is nudity; they were, after all, raised in the middle of forests and plains that offered little to no room for privacy. Yet they can’t help but wonder, as they are undressed by calloused, cold hands, how come they can’t look at him in the eye without feeling like they could explode at any second.

Despite Solas’ cool demeanor, he begins to feel his ears and cheeks heating up when the rest of Feray’s clothes begin to form a heap on the floor. His usual calmness gone at the sight of their exposed skin, covered in scars and stories that he wants to trace with his own fingers. He climbs on top of them, positioning himself between their thighs, spreading them apart. Heavy kisses continue, leaving a cold trail as he makes his way to their chest. His hands are warm as he caresses their thighs, tracing scars, grasping softly and then firmly, longing for closeness but not yet allowing himself to go that far.

Moans threaten to escape Feray’s lips, but they hold their tongue and bite the insides of their cheeks; their eyes firmly shut, fearing to open them in case this prompts him to stop. Their chest tighten; they are short of breath; their skin tingles with the cold kisses and warm caresses that his lips and hands leave along their body. They long for his lips on theirs, only to make it easier on them to focus on something other than his wandering hands and to conceal the moans that are being kept at the back of their throat.

Not knowing what to do with their hands, they begin tugging at his clothes, pulling, slipping their hands underneath the fabric, their hands unsure, playing with the hem of his pants, wanting to feel more than his lips and his hands. A moan escapes in the shape of his name when he begins sucking at the tender skin of their chest, rolling his tongue around them, breathing heavily. Then his lips part from their skin, their hands no longer wandering through their scars. Solas sits beside them, undoing the wraps around his legs, unbuttoning his pants to remove them.

“Wait.” Solas pauses and meet Feray’s nervous gaze. “Are we…” they are unable to finish the question, heart now racing. The uncertainty comes with the fear of becoming too close, letting their emotions too exposed.

“Do you want to?” They looks everywhere but his eyes; they look for a response, but they had never been good with words and they are certainly worse under these circumstances. Instead, they simply nod, biting the insides of their cheeks again, embarrassed for wanting more and not being able to find the words for it.

Solas, in return, smiles calmly. “I could use help,” he teases. Feray’s hands are not as swift and calm as Solas’. Standing before him, they fumble with his sweater and the shirt underneath, Solas’ soft kisses on their neck not helping their nerves. “I hate layers.” That grants them a small laugh that echoes through their skin in the form of goosebumps.

When his skin is finally exposed, Feray can’t help but stare, hands extending forwards to touch him. Solas, however, interrupts the motion when he starts removing the rest of his clothes. He, unlike Feray, is not shy. Solas sits at the edge of the bed, naked. His hand extends towards them, inviting them to join him. They take the hand, the nervousness greater this time but their shyness wearing off. Solas pulls them towards him and they lie side by side; he leans in to kiss them and they respond urgently, kissing him as much as they can before it all ends, knowing and expecting that it will end.

Heavy again, their chest threatens to burst at any moment, a dull ache between their thighs begging for closeness. Feray straddles him, positioning themselves on top of him as they finally feel them inside. A whimper threatens to leave their lips as they bite harder onto them.

Solas sits down again, wrapping Feray’s legs around his waist. He can feel them shift on top of them, trying their best to focus on something else that is not the sensation of his skin against theirs. His hands roam their back, tracing scars, lips and tongue back to their chest. Feray’s lips look for words to whisper to his ears, but only moans come out from it. Solas’ hands wander to their ass, grasping firmly, pulling them closer to him, directing their movement, their thrusting of hips.

“Ara haurasha,” he whispers against their skin. The words don’t sound familiar, but they make them tremble. “Ara av’in.” They suck on their neck, his nails press slightly against their skin, leaving marks behind. Both his lips and caresses warm now, movements less calculated, mumbling words in a lost language. Feray’s sounds have no meaning, only cadence, a rhythm that marks every kiss and every thrust. Solas presses harder, faster, both of them struggling to catch their breath, sighing heavily against each other’s skin.

“Solas.” Not a whimper anymore, not a moan, words finally make their way out of their lips demanding, wanting, longing for more, for a sense of comfort, for safety, for closeness, for things to savage. Solas, without words now, holds on to them, as if at any given moment he could drown.

They’re left with questions, many questions that they know none of them can resolve. They hide under blankets instead, not talking, only listening to each other’s breaths as they grow steadier, calmer; the heaviness of before now soft, without edges; the world they had managed to ignore for a while finally seeping between the windows. They are selfish, they know, but instead of apprehension all they feel is the reassurance of the closeness between them. There will be enough time for the uncertainty to sink in, but for now, the acceptance of not knowing is enough.