Work Text:
"Wait… wait… slow down," Dorian demanded. His quill scratched against the parchment as Solas stopped translating. They'd been working for hours, struggling together through an old Tevinter text which contained a mix of middle Tevene and Ancient Elvhen in an irresponsible and nearly incomprehensible narrative. Clearly, neither the author nor publisher cared at all for readability. The tome read like the rantings of a lunatic or a fever-induced hallucination and (Solas could almost guarantee) offered no useful information on somniari or the orbs they were said to use, but he couldn't bring himself to inform Dorian of his suspicions.
They’d been working on this text for days, stealing moments on the road in between battles to work on translations. It was nice, now, to have the relative calm of Skyhold, and free hours well into the night to work together.
The candle had burned nearly to a nub, and the two of them were the only people left, not only in the library but in the entire tower; they were likely the only people left awake in the castle proper. Dorian's ink-stained fingers worked quickly to capture the last few lines as Solas reached for the wine bottle and poured himself some more, wondering when it had become nearly empty. The wind blew outside and the draft from the window caused Solas to shudder.
"It's late," Solas commented before sipping his wine.
The quill stopped moving, but Dorian didn't look up; his face was nearly unreadable as he said softly, "you don't say. I hadn't noticed."
Solas watched the way the tension sat in his shoulders, the way he schooled his handsome face (when had he started thinking of Dorian as handsome?) into an impassive expression. "Unlike you, some of us need our beauty rest," Solas quipped, "as you and Vivienne are intent on reminding me."
"Well, it is true I can't get any more gorgeous, I'll give you that," Dorian returned, "but you're not hard on the eyes."
The quill still wasn't moving, even as Solas felt the heat caused by Dorian's comment darkening his skin, the faint pink from the wine becoming shades closer to scarlet. He wasn't sure what to say, 'thank you' felt foolish. He licked his lips, cleared his throat, and took another sip of wine.
They had been spending many long nights like this since Lavellan and Bull had begun their… dalliance; Solas suspected Dorian believed he had a crush on Lavellan and was trying to distract him. Dorian wasn't entirely wrong; he also wasn't entirely misguided in his attempts. It had begun with Dorian asking for help with his research, then taking Solas' books and penciling notes and observations in the margins for Solas to discover later, and now, with Dorian subtly staying close to him in the field making snide comments only Solas could hear.
Solas was surprised to find that in spite of their differences, he enjoyed spending time with Dorian. He was intelligent, witty, and handsome. Hmm. That word again.
He snapped out of his reverie as Dorian closed the lid to his inkpot, the metallic crack drawing him back to the here and now. His eyes traced up the man's strong arms to where he rolled his shoulders and stubbornly tried to release the tension from his neck. It was a sign he'd had too much wine that he found his fingers twitching, aching to help Dorian work the knots from his muscles. He firmly set his wine glass on the table, resigned not to touch it again, and watched in horror as Dorian rubbed at his face with his thoroughly ink-stained fingers.
He must not be too drunk, however, as he was able to grab Dorian's wrist just before the man shoved his hand through his already messy hair. The move had him towering over Dorian, as he'd had to stand to stop him. "That's really a terrible habit," he chastised, reaching for the nearby rag and wiping Dorian's fingertips clean before he shoved ink into his hair.
"A sign I probably should go to sleep," Dorian conceded. "I only do it when tired."
He glanced at Dorian, suddenly aware of how close he was to the other man, taking in his heavy eyelids, the messy hair, the way the ends of his mustache were fraying, and he couldn't help but wonder when they'd gotten this comfortable; when had Dorian decided it was no longer necessary to remain perfectly poised and polished in front of him at all time? His eyes landed on a smear of ink on Dorian's cheek; the thought he should get that seemed to be the only thought which could make itself known through the buzzing of his brain and the thudding of his heart.
What was wrong with him?
He seemed to move in slow motion, dropping Dorian's wrist and reaching out to cup the man's face, his five o'clock shadow rough and scratchy against his palm. The sharp intake of Dorian's breath echoed in the empty library, and Solas couldn't miss the way his silvery eyes met his eagerly. His thumb swiped at the ink. "You… um… ink," he huffed out. They were so close, he could hear it when Dorian breathed again, shaky and uncertain.
And then he found himself leaning forward, his lips pressing against Dorian's almost tentatively. There was a flurry of activity, of Dorian's hands moving to his waist and pulling him into his lap, of his tongue shoving its way into his mouth, of him moaning softly and leaning into the stray brushes of Dorian's fingers as they roamed his body, of his own tongue fighting Dorian's for dominance. When they finally came up for air, his head was spinning, his heart was pounding, and all that existed in that moment was the two of them. He fought for control, for conscious thought and restraint. It was a losing battle.
His belt was gone with a flick of Dorian's wrist (a practiced motion which made Solas wonder how often Dorian had quickly undressed a man in some shady corner), and then Dorian's hands were under his tunic, warm against his chilled skin. He couldn't focus on any one sensation, not Dorian's surprisingly calloused fingers on his sides and stomach or his surprisingly gentle mouth on his neck. His head was spinning, heart ramming in his chest, he couldn't breathe. It was too much. It had been too long.
And then Dorian shoved the tunic over his head, and his necklace thudded against his chest. Dorian quirked an eyebrow at him, lips twisting into a smirk. "Are you… quite alright?"
Solas became aware, then, of the low whining sound that was escaping him, and he flushed. "I… uh… it's been a long time," he admitted.
Dorian's fingers danced up his chest before his palm pressed flat against it. It was firm and warm and Solas found it centering. "We can go slower if you like," Dorian said softly, "or we could stop." He lifted his eyes, blown wide with desire, almost shyly. Solas inhaled sharply at the sight of Dorian so unsure and vulnerable.
"It's… it's fine," he assured him. The expression on Dorian's face changed then, turning into something almost predatory as his fingers wrapped around the jawbone necklace. "You can remove that if you-"
"No, perish the thought. We mustn't tell Vivienne," he said, and then he tugged Solas forward, his other hand moving to Solas' ass to pull him closer until their hardened lengths were pressed together. Solas whimpered softly as Dorian finished his statement by whispering heatedly into his ear, "but I rather like it. Makes me wonder what sort of man managed to obtain such a thing. I imagine he must have been wild and untamed. It makes me wonder if I can make you that way again. So… what of it, Solas, were you wild once?"
"We were all young once," Solas sighed. He was surprised his voice sounded so shaky, surprised his hips were moving eagerly to seek the friction which sent pleasure coursing through his body, surprised his hands trembling with anticipation. He rocked forward and Dorian gasped, eyelids fluttering shut as his lips parted.
Solas' lips brushed over Dorian's gently as his normally deft fingers pulled at the buckles on the infuriating straps which comprised his clothing. Solas never understood how they worked and half suspected Dorian used magic to make his clothing functional (that would be so Tevene it would hurt). He pressed a kiss to Dorian's jawline and nipped triumphantly as he finally managed to get a buckle undone, tugging at the leather eagerly and pushing it out of the way.
Dorian's hands slid down his back, settling on his ass and squeezing gently. "You have a magnificent ass," Dorian whispered. Solas chuckled as he nipped again at his jawline, earning him another moan as a reward.
"Not nearly as magnificent as yours," he countered, his own warm breath reflected off Dorian's light brown skin as he conquered yet another buckle.
"I didn't think you'd noticed," Dorian replied.
"How could I not the way you saunter around in front of me?" Solas challenged. His hips rocked against Dorian again and the man growled in frustration. He pushed Solas' hands out of the way and in just a few seconds the last few buckles were undone, Solas watching in fascination as he peeled out of layers of leather and fabric expertly.
"Me? Saunter? Hah! You have sauntering down to an art form. Where did you learn that, by the way? No normal hermit apostate knows how to command attention like that," Dorian huffed. It was a dangerous question, so Solas ignored it, instead leaning forward to press a kiss just behind Dorian's ear. Dorian's hips bucked as Solas worked lower, one strong hand pressing Solas' back so that bare chest met bare chest.
Dorian's other hand ran up his side, fingertips gently tickling; Solas couldn't help but jump at the sensation, his dick pressing against Dorian's through layers of fabric. He was so hard it was nearly painful, and he could no longer tell if the warm relaxed feeling in his limbs was coming from the wine or his desire.
Solas ran his tongue the length of Dorian's neck, settling above his clavicle, just as the man's fingers reached his nipple. He inhaled sharply as Dorian's fingers worked the hardened nub and he began sucking at the skin where Dorian's neck met his chest. He sucked until it was raw making sure Dorian's every nerve ending was on fire; the tip of his tongue worked against the spot then, causing Dorian to gasp and writhe in pleasure, head thrown back to give him more access. He nipped at the skin and Dorian moaned deeply, the hand on Solas' back moving to his head to hold him there.
The other mage's hips thrust again, and Solas whimpered at the friction. He could feel pre-cum beginning to leak, his desire peaking painfully. "Solas." His whispered name sounded a bit like a prayer as it fell from Dorian's lips, a very dirty prayer which Solas could feel with his lips pressed against Dorian's throat. "Solas, it's worth noting… if you wish to stop… now is the time," Dorian whispered.
"I don't want to stop," Solas answered. Dorian's eyes slid shut and Solas could practically see the internal conflict play across his face. He couldn't help but wonder what was stopping him. Solas rocked against him, pressing his erection into Dorian's, and as Dorian gasped, Solas claimed his lips in a kiss. "It's not the wine," he whispered as the kiss broke. He reached for Dorian's wrist and placed Dorian's hand on his hardened cock. "Does this feel hesitant to you?"
Dorian let out a sound that was half-moan and half-growl as he squeezed Solas through his leggings, and then he wrapped an arm around Solas' waist and stood, helping Solas to his feet. Solas was thrown off slightly by their height difference, by having to look up slightly as Dorian kissed him. He didn't have long to contemplate it, though because Dorian used his height advantage to lead Solas backward until he was pressed against the edge of the table.
And then Dorian's tongue was sliding down his neck and chest, swirling around one nipple, and then lower as Dorian fell to his knees. He felt Dorian press a kiss to his hip bone as his fingers worked under the waistband of his leggings; his fingers tangled in Dorian's hair as the fabric was pushed over his hips. He felt Dorian's laugh as exhaled breath on his stomach more than he heard it.
"Maker's breath, Solas. No smallclothes?" Dorian asked. Solas smirked, his eyes meeting Dorian's upturned gaze as he raised one shoulder dismissively. "How am I supposed to ever concentrate again knowing you're wearing nothing under your leggings?"
"Isn't everyone naked under their clothes, Dorian?" Solas retorted.
Dorian huffed up at him in frustration, and Solas couldn't help but feel triumphant that he'd finally won their verbal battles. The predatory look returned to Dorian's face and Solas briefly wondered if this was a meaningless victory as the other man's hand wrapped around his balls and squeezed gently.
He grunted, hips jerking without a thought, as Dorian's other hand wrapped around him; he was so hard his head was nearly exposed already, but Dorian didn't seem satisfied with "nearly". The man tugged ever so gently, and the feeling of his foreskin sliding to fully revealed him caused stars to explode before his eyes.
Too long, too long, too long. The phrase pounded in time with his heart as one fist clenched in Dorian's hair and the other gripped the edge of the table so hard, he was almost certain his fingernails would indent the wood. How could he last like this? How could he ever make it through to give Dorian any sort of pleasure?
His eyes snapped open as he felt Dorian shift and he watched as Dorian's tongue snaked out to catch the leaking pre-cum from the tip. The sound which left Solas was inhuman, the sight and feeling of it too much for his overstimulated brain. And then Dorian's tongue was sliding the length of him tracing every ridge from every vein from tip to base with the tip of his extremely talented tongue.
"Ah!" The sound left him involuntarily, and the thought that perhaps they should have cast some soundproof wards was the last coherent thought he had as Dorian sucked his balls into his mouth. He was nothing but sensations, warm and wet and gentle caresses of Dorian's tongue. The pleasure coursed through him, pooled in his stomach and the base of his spine, causing him to shudder in anticipation, causing his balls to pull up tight in preparation for release. But it wasn't enough, not nearly enough, and so it was nothing but pure, exquisite torture.
He had no idea how long Dorian worked at his balls, sucking and licking; how long he gasped for air, tugging on the other man's hair, but when Dorian finally stopped and Solas' soul slammed back into his body and his brain re-engaged, he was dizzy and his eyesight was bleary and his fingers had become so entangled in Dorian's hair he wasn't sure where the man's hair stopped and his hand began.
"What was that about everyone being naked?" Dorian asked with a smirk.
What the bloody fuck is he talking about?
Solas shook his head, unable to make sense of what Dorian said and unable to make words work. Dorian let out a triumphant "hah!" before wrapping his lips around the head of Solas's cock; the ability to care - at all - about what Dorian was talking about left him instantly.
Dorian's tongue swirled around him as Solas' eyes slammed shut, head tilted back in ecstasy. His hips rocked involuntarily as he sought more, and Dorian's hand wrapped around the base of him, retaking control as he jerked him slowly. The other man's descent on his cock was far too slow for Solas, but there was nothing he could do about it except breathe deep and try desperately not to spill into his mouth too quickly.
The tongue sliding over his length was an expert at its machinations, swirling in unpredictable and unrelenting patterns. A bead of Dorian's drool ran down the length of him, gathering at his fist, but his lips chased it eagerly. Dorian's fist stopped moving as His lips met it, and Solas inhaled deeply.
It felt so good being surrounded by the warmth of Dorian's mouth as he sucked him rhythmically. His tongue had stopped moving, but his head was bobbing ever so slightly, suction waxing and waning, pleasure crashing into him like waves on a beach. Dorian's fist moved, and he slid down further. A low keening moan started in the back of Solas' throat, and then Dorian pushed forward again.
Solas felt Dorian relax again and move forward to take even more of him. "Fenedhis!" The swear was pulled from his lips as his legs began to shake. He tugged on Dorian's hair desperately, some part of him unsure if he wanted the man to stop or go forward. He forced his eyes open and looked down. Dorian's grey eyes met his, and even with his mouth stretched around Solas, the bastard managed to look smug.
He groaned, and then Dorian swallowed again, his lips moving forward until they were at the base of Solas' cock. "Fenedhis lasa!" he half-gasped, half-shouted. His legs gave out; he was only held up mercifully, but the edge of the table Dorian had the foresight to trap him against. Dorian's throat constricted around him and Solas whined.
The other mage was moving then, slowly but steadily, back just enough he could inhale through his nose and then taking Solas fully again. Solas tried so hard to be good, to stay perfectly still as Dorian worked his magic, but his hips began to move slightly, seeking more of the bliss Dorian was giving him in measured bursts.
Dorian's hands moved to his hips and held him, roughly pinning him to the table. Solas jerked in frustration; his balls were pulled up so tight they throbbed. He was impossibly hard, so close to release he ached for it. He managed to pull a single word in Trade from his memory, and he gasped it out desperately, "please."
His plea had the opposite effect from what he desired, as Dorian slowly pulled off from him with a loud pop echoing in the library. Dorian's chin glistened with a mix of spit and pre-cum and he wiped at it dismissively as he stood gracefully. In Solas sex-saturated brain, Dorian seemed to tower over him, even though he wasn't that much taller. It didn't prevent him from bonelessly throwing himself at the other man for a kiss, eager to taste himself on his lips.
Solas reached out to squeeze Dorian through his breeches, finally breaking their kiss to whisper heatedly, "let me…"
"Oh no," Dorian said, his voice dark and husky with desire. "I'm not through with you yet."
"But-"
"Shhhh," he hissed, placing a finger over Solas' lips. Solas tried to protest, but Dorian spun him in his arms and insistently pushed him forward. He had no choice but to give in (not that his pliant body could give much resistance) and he found himself with his chest on their parchment notes, cheek resting on the book they'd been translating. A small glass vial of oil found its way from Dorian's pocket to the table and Solas let out a laugh.
"Really? Is your ego so large you carry that around expecting to need it?"
"It's the only useful piece of advice my father ever gave me - always be prepared," Dorian quipped.
"You're insuffer-" Solas' words died as they merged into a deep moan. Dorian's tongue swept from his balls up through the crack of his ass as Dorian spread him open wide.
Dorian's tongue swirled around his opening slowly, and Solas sighed, sinking onto the table in a relaxed position. The movement of Dorian's tongue was mesmerizing, the pleasure lazy and soothing rather than insistent and dizzying. Dorian moaned softly as the tip of his tongue met resistance trying to push inside of him, and suddenly the pleasure was no longer soothing. Solas gasped and pushed back against his tongue, the stretch of it doing something to his wanton brain.
"Dorian!" he gasped as the tongue pressed inside of him. Every nerve synapse was on fire, lightning surging through his brain.
He couldn't take anymore, not without cumming. He clawed at the table, parchment crumpling under his hands as he pushed back against Dorian's tongue. The tongue was gone and Solas whimpered at the emptiness.
"Careful of the research," Dorian teased.
"To the Void with your research!" Solas snapped, the words melding into a moan of anticipation as he heard Dorian lift the vial from the table. Still, he managed to plant his hands on the table between pages of parchment and push himself up.
He felt Dorian's fingers spreading the oil and the slick slide against his nerve endings made him gasp. Dorian chuckled, "my, my you are eager, aren't you?"
Solas growled. He wasn't sure where the primal sound came from and hadn't expected it to leave him. Two fingers pressed into him and the moan which left him echoed around them. The stretch burned, but Solas couldn't stop himself from seeking out more, the mixed pain and pleasure setting his body on fire.
Dorian wrapped an arm around him, curling around him almost protectively as he scissored his fingers, tenderly preparing him for what was to come. Some part of Solas wondered how he'd gotten here, why he'd let Dorian so thoroughly control this, but another part didn't care and pushed back eagerly onto his fingers. The fingers curled inside of him and stars exploded behind his eyes again. His hips were rocking without his consent, Dorian's fingers moving in him with a rhythm that left him panting and breathless.
And then he was empty, but thankfully, not for long. He felt Dorian's slickened member press against him. The resistance was overwhelming, and Solas hissed at the burn until suddenly the ring of muscles gave way and Dorian sunk into him. Dorian moaned then and as he slid slowly forward, he pulled Solas to him, until his back was pressed to Dorian's chest. Solas couldn't breathe, he could only gasp for air and sink back against the other man's broad chest, his head on Dorian's shoulder.
"Maker, you feel so good," Dorian whispered heatedly. He pressed a tender kiss to the back of Solas' neck as he wrapped a hand around his hardened shaft.
Solas couldn't respond, he could only clutch at Dorian's strong thighs, nails digging into the muscles as he ground against him. His hips moved almost desperately, wordless gasps and moans pouring from his opened mouth.
Dorian's hand tugged on him gently as he began to move, the slow and gentle rhythm of Dorian inside of him being matched by the movement of his hand caused Solas' eyes to roll into his head. Dorian's breath was warm on his neck, his moans and gasps echoed in Solas' head. There was nothing but them and the pure pleasure Dorian was working from his frayed system.
The other man's thumb rubbed over his head, spreading pre-cum along the shaft. Solas' hips jerked as Dorian pushed forward roughly. There were stars again as Dorian's thrust landed against his prostate; his body shuddered and the moan that escaped him must have been the reaction Dorian was looking for. Dorian's hand tightened on his hip, canting him forward slightly as he began to pick up speed, every thrust causing stars and lightning to erupt behind Solas' tightly closed eyes. His lips still worked the back of his neck, tongue, and teeth working the skin there gently.
There sound of flesh against flesh joined the moans and gasps which were reaching a fever pitch. Solas' body was on fire, heat building at the base of his balls, the small of his back, everything which had been loose was tightening; he was shaking so hard he was coming undone.
His orgasm slammed into him unexpectedly, the tension suddenly releasing as a scream escaped him. The shaking became uncontrollable, originating deep in his core as he exploded. He was only vaguely aware of Dorian still moving inside of him, still chasing his own pleasure, of the other mage thrusting one last time, and spilling deep inside of him.
He came to with aching muscles, leaning bonelessly against Dorian who was impossibly still holding him up with the help of a bookshelf. He hissed as Dorian's softening cock slipped from him slowly. Dorian slid slowly to the floor and Solas went with him, grateful for the rug which helped insulate against the cold stone. He pressed a kiss to the back of Solas' neck again before whispering softly, "Maker's mercy, I need to ask for your help translating more often."
Solas snorted but didn't reply. He wasn't eager to start moving or thinking. Not yet. Not when it would lead to overthinking… to question about what this would mean for his plans. "I find myself disinterested in moving," Solas said softly.
"We don't have to move anytime soon," Dorian replied; his arms encircled Solas, pulling him closer, and Solas resolved that if they weren't moving, he wasn't thinking.