Chapter Text
To say the first one catches her by surprise would be a fantastic understatement.
Evelyn had been expecting something, that much was certain. It was just, she’d been expecting that something to be pain, probably shortly followed by a very sudden and probably flashy death. The fiery itching sensation that has been building under her skin since the Conclave certainly hadn’t felt like a prelude to anything good.
But then: a warm hand around her wrist, the song of the rift building in her blood until she is practically humming with it. It breaks and crests like a tidal wave, shocks of unexpected pleasure flooding every last inch of her until there is nothing left but the overwhelming sensation of it all.
She must cry out, in surprise and shock as much as pleasure, because when Eve snaps out of it there are hands supporting her and even the Seeker looks a bit concerned. It’s humiliating, though they do not seem to suspect the truth of what just happened.
“I’m fine.” is all she can really think to say. Not awfully convincing, but the only lie she can concoct while her brain is still awash with aftershocks of euphoria. Her legs feel unsteady beneath her, loose and wobbly. Her cheeks feel warm with blood, her heart pounding out a frantic rhythm still in her chest.
Honestly, Evelyn isn’t sure whether she hopes she never has to do that again or whether she wants to make it a regular part of her routine. Not that it matters, it seems they are out of time to be concerned for her -- and she is out of time for worrying about things that aren’t the huge hole in the sky.
So….to be continued then.
------
The second rift comes less than an hour later, and this time Evelyn is, well, if not prepared, at least she has had time to brace herself.
And, well, if she’d thought the build-up was a whopper before, this time she can feel it coming from her the very tips of her toes. The tension threaded neatly through every last fiber of her being, pulling on her nerves in the most delicious way.
A barely muffled whimper escapes her.
‘Cummon Trevelyan, you can do this.’
Over a decade of sneaking about, indulging secret rendezvous right under the Templars’ noses, has taught her discretion. She knows how to get off without making a peep. Okay, so it’s not usually quite so intense but still...when this one crests Evelyn manages to silence herself to no more than a restrained gasp.
It does leave her feeling weirdly raw afterwards though, oversensitive, which she easily writes off as being a sort of cumulative effect. So, in the future: if given a choice. Maybe not so much on the doing this sort of thing back to back.
------
Of course, then they get to the really fucking BIG one, and…..
Opening it feels like foreplay, which is nice. But then there’s a big fucking Pride demon and it has a big fuck off lightning whip, which is horrifying. Then she has to actually close the damn thing and this one.
This one does hurt. In fact, it hurts like a bitch. Lucky for Evelyn, it doesn’t last very long before she blacks out.
Then she doesn’t feel anything at all for quite a while.
------
It never really gets easier though.
Time marches on.
Thus far luck has remained on her side. Evelyn has never actually had to lie, never said that it is pain she feels. As it seems others have been more than happy to draw that conclusion for her.
For the first time since sealing the breach Evelyn is forced to disrupt a rift in battle, and does not have time to recover properly afterwards before it must be closed or risk another wave of demons emerging. The result is unexpected and overwhelming. It all happens so fast, and she forgets to brace herself until it is too late.
When the rift collapses in on itself Evelyn hears herself cry out. Feels the ground rush up to meet her as she practically folds in on herself in pleasure.
“What is it? What’s wrong with her?”
‘Oops.’
And now she’s startled the recent addition to their little band of misfits. The Warden Blackwall. No doubt quite alarmed to see his new leader suddenly writhing on the ground. His normally gruff voice is brimming with well-meant concern; but Evelyn is too blissed out to respond with anything but a few tired pants and a hopefully reassuring grunt.
What she isn’t too tired to do is flinch away when rough, gauntleted hands begin trying to prop her up. He’s trying to help, she knows that, but -- No one has ever tried to touch her like this before, during or after. Only Solas, the first time.
Evelyn decides she really doesn’t like it, it feels too intimate, almost a violation.
“My lady?” He asks, alarmed and concerned as she squirms in his grip, and Eve is equally as annoyed at him for ruining her afterglow as she is at herself for being too wrung out to do anything about it.
Luckily, Solas is there to help. Which, should really be, like, the Inquisition’s catchphrase or something.
“Closing the rifts seems to cause her quite a good deal of pain, though she has never complained. This is worse than usual, but I suspect it is still within the normal fluctuations.”
A cool hand comes to rest on her forehead and brings a burst of beautiful spirit magic with it. Something about his mana, it sings within her. Finds the last fluttering edges of her orgasm and re-ignites them. Before she can help herself Evelyn is leaning towards him with a pleased moan, head sagging forward against his chest.
Blackwall let’s out an amused chuckle.
“Ah, I see how it is.”
Indeed, so does Evelyn. Apparently not all touches are so unpleasant while she is recovering. The idea would probably send a rush of embarrassment through her under normal circumstances. Thankfully, she is not quite that coherent.
Solas, however, merely snorts dismissively.
“Hardly. Healing magic is soothing. Her reaction is only natural. You should not take it to heart, nor should I.”
‘nor should I.’
Those words ring in her head as Evelyn fights to open her eyes and sit back up. Reluctantly agreeing to return to camp and rest for the remainder of the evening.
He doesn’t realize she wants him. It’s hardly worth noting, just a crush really. Mostly intellectual. Which is good, that’s how she wants it, how she needs it to be for now. Still...
As much as she hates to give up on progress for the day, it is important to take time to savor the precious things in life. And considering this is probably the only time Eve will ever get to hear Solas be wrong about something -- she should probably cherish it while she can.
------
“Hold a moment, Inquisitor.”
Evelyn pauses with her hand raised awkwardly toward the rift, palm tingling in hungry anticipation. Solas is walking towards her, staff already put to rest on his back. This particular rift was dealt with almost laughably easily, and they have the rare luxury of a moment to regroup before it must be closed.
“There is something I would like to try, if you would indulge me.”
“Um...”
It is hardly unusual for Solas to come to her with new theories or ideas, but Evelyn can’t help but think that this is hardly the time. Still, there is little she would not indulge him in at this point -- and she’s really going to have to take a closer look at that some time soon; as it is the sort of bad habit Eve had never dared entertain with any of her former lovers let alone in idle girlish crushes.
“Alright.”
“If I may?” He holds his hands out in a clear indication that he means to touch her. Far too respectful and proper for Evelyn’s liking.
‘Grab his hands, place them on your waist. Bite your lip, flutter your eyelashes, then say something grossly over seductive.’ Her mind eagerly supplies. It’s what she would have done before, what she still would do for anyone else. Instead she nods and blushes like a Chantry initiate when his palms settle almost too carefully (too chastely) around her waist.
“Now, if you will attempt to seal it. I have improvised a spell of sorts that I think may do much to mitigate the pain you experience.”
“And d’ya have to feel ‘er up to for that to work?” Sera calls across the clearing, “Or is that bit just for giggles?”
Evelyn chokes on a laugh at the scandalized look that shoots across Solas’ face at the accusation, watching with barely suppressed glee as the tips of his ears turn adorably red.
“It is nothing of the sort. Healing is most effective through direct contact.” Solas responds curtly.
Which. Yes. That is very true. And although Evelyn knows he has chosen her waist to hold simply because of her penchant for toppling over during these episodes -- and nothing else -- it is also nice to pretend that maybe he also might have other more selfish motivations. You know, just for fun.
‘Shit. OK. Think of very unsexy things. Red Templars, Snowfluers, that horrible piss smelling ale that Bull made me drink after we killed the Dragon.’
“Inquisitor..?”
‘Shit.’ She is taking too long to prepare herself and his voice is right by her ear. It’s act now or wait and fight through another wave of demons. But damn, to get off with him this close to her...honestly, she’s not sure whether it’s more arousing or terrifying. Definitely both though. Definitely.
Will he be able to tell? What if his magic only serves to aggravate her pleasure, as it did before? Or perhaps--
The rift starts hissing madly above them and suddenly there really is no more time to fret. Evelyn raises her hand quickly to interrupt it, taking a shuddering breath as the pleasure rushes in eagerly through the familiar beams. Solas is there immediately, pressing in closer until Eve is aware of his body heat against her back. Until she feels utterly and illogically enveloped by him.
He just wants to be helpful. Evelyn knows that, really, she does. This gesture is incredibly kind and thoughtful and….Maker! The man might as well have his hand down her pants for what he’s doing to her. It’s a mercy this particular rift is so weak or she’d be nothing but a quivering wreck.
It’s hard to think straight, but the scholar in her can still recognize the base spells he’s used, a rejuvenation spell mixed with something meant to dispel any feedback she might be getting from the rift. Eve clings to that, it’s familiar. The only damn thing in Thedas that makes coherent sense anymore, that keeps her grounded as Solas pours more mana into her and makes her blood sing and her breath catch.
Then the rift closes.
And, well, the end result is -- to be frank-- quite scintillating.
------
It is the most surreal fucking experience of Evelyn’s entire life when Solas apologizes to her later for the ‘failure’ of his spell.
“I’m sorry I could not ease your pain.”
She almost breaks down and tells him the truth right there. Certainly Eve feels guilty enough, there is no real reason not to other than the utter humiliation of it all and the fact that she would never be able to travel with him again -- let alone look him in the eye. But how does one even start that conversation?
Evelyn honestly has no idea.
So she cleverly solves the problem by not even trying.
Instead she scoots closer to him beside the fire, takes a deep breath, and for the first time in her life completely puts aside sarcasm and self-preservation to tell someone how she really feels. Fully aware that if she were watching this interaction from the outside Evelyn would probably mock herself relentlessly for what she is about to say.
“You have done more than enough Solas. Just having you at my side over the past few weeks has been more comfort than you can imagine. You are the first true friend I’ve ever had outside of the circle, I would not trade having met you for anything in Thedas.”
Stupid. The words sound stupid and insincere when said aloud, no matter the truth of them. Immediately Evelyn wishes she could take them back, but they hang there...heavy in the air between them. For the longest time he says nothing. Just a pregnant silence filled with her poor communicative skills. Obviously he does not feel the same way about their bond and she has just made a right fool of herself. Good. Now how to escape without embarrassing herself further?
“Well, at least not for anything that wouldn’t singlehandedly buy me all of Nevarra. But I would have Josie read over the contract first, of course.”
‘Of course’ she echos bitterly.
Unsurprising, for Eve to fall back on jokes when the tension simply becomes too much. Hoping in vain that Solas will let her bow out of this with some dignity in tact.
“Evelyn…” Is all he says when he finally speaks, but the thickness of his voice and the fact that he has never before said her actual name aloud speak volumes. Alright. Perhaps she is an over sentimental tit, but clearly that is no longer a club she is the sole member of.
Solas leans towards her, closing the distance between them and leaning up to cup her face and --- Holy shit, it this actually happening. Is he about to kiss her?
Without any warning the mark on her hand spits and hisses violently, emitting a burst of green light. The outburst is over in moments, and it’s like has happened before, but when she looks back up Solas has withdrawn and is staring intently at the fire.
It is as if the last ten seconds never happened, as if he had never slipped up and showed he wanted her.
And perhaps he hadn’t. Perhaps had they not been interrupted he merely would have withdrawn his hand and ended it there. Maybe the tension and the heat of that moment had really hall been in her head.
Or maybe, just maybe, he was as unsure about all this as she was.
Hah!
Bloody unlikely, that.
------
“Woah, boss! What did you just do?”
‘I don’t know.’ She doesn’t say, because conjuring what looks and acts a lot like a fade rift in the middle of a normal battle with mercenaries is nothing to just shrug off. But the mark is calm now, and there is no sign of a tear in the veil….it had simply torn their enemies apart and dissipated. Seemingly at her command. Not even leaving the men’s bodies behind in it’s wake.
‘Well, it left something behind.’
Evelyn fights the urge to shift uncomfortably in her clothing, skin hot and prickly, the wet heat between her legs throbbing with unfulfillment. She knows this denial well. It is the same sort of on-the-edge frustration one gets when their climax is interrupted by patrolling Templars.
Whatever this new ability was, it didn’t bring the same sort of pleasure with it as using the anchor usually did. Instead it was as though someone had teased her for hours before abruptly pulling away. Quite annoying really.
“Did I miss the part where you can make your own rifts now?” Bull isn’t giving up on his curiosity. Nor should he, after that display.
Honestly, Evelyn can’t think of what she might have done to call it. She hadn’t actively tried to channel anything through the mark during battle. Though she thinks she knows what set it off all the same.
Solas had been surrounded, three enemies in close quarters, too many for a lone mage to handle. Evelyn had tried to focus on her own combatant, really she had. She knows he can take care of himself. But they had been closing in on him and he didn’t throw up a barrier or fade step away.
And, well, she was in love. She panicked. Poor, infatuated Evelyn.
It sort of just happened.
“It was not a proper rift. What the Inquisitor created was merely a contained pocket of fade energy. Though I would definitely be interested in studying it further, when we have a moment.”
More than happy to accept his explanation, as well as his excuse for them to spend literally any amount of time together, Evelyn nods and moves to start looting the few remaining bodies for anything useful.
Or at least that is what she means to do, as the very moment she takes a step it occurs to her that whatever the mark has done to her this time may have been worse than she first thought. The smallest sensation of fabric against her skin, her smalls shifting against her center as she walks, it has become overwhelming. Casting that thing, whatever it was, has made her hypersensitive to absolutely any touch.
This fire under her skin -- It feels like something that needs to be unleashed, making her clit throb ceaselessly and her nipples tender where touch the fabric of her breast band.
Shit. Well, at least Eve hasn’t fallen over this time. Yet. But no doubt her companions are beginning to wonder why she has taken one step, frozen in place, and begun panting heavily.
Something trickles down the inside of her leg, and for a moment that doesn’t seem alarming. Of course she would be wet, as turned on as she is. Then Eve actually looks down, and it’s hard to stop a modicum of panic from leaking into her voice when she sees the hilt of one of the smallest daggers she’s ever seen poking out of her upper thigh.
“Solas!” she calls and he is by her side in an instant, following her gaze until his expression too fills with alarm. The dagger is miniature, smaller than a knitting needle, which means it’s only there to distribute poison.
------
Everything moves very, very fast after that. Bull has her thigh tied off to slow the poison in about three seconds flat, hoisting her over his shoulder as they rush back to camp.
Eve should probably be in excruciating pain right now, whatever poison she has been injected with, clearly it isn’t fucking around. The veins around the wound are already turning black with sickness and just by looking at her own skin Evelyn can tell her whole pallor has changed significantly. Solas hasn’t stopped casting on her for a moment, jogging alongside Bull with a lyrium potion already pulled out, ready to be consumed the very instant he runs out of mana. Solas already looks far more frazzled than Evelyn has ever seen him, and she would be probably be flattered by that fact under less dire circumstances.
It is an unavoidable reality that she might die, that she should probably be in shock and terrified. But with the effects of the rift still running rampant through her system that is hard to pull off, every last one of her nerves still humming on the edge of barely-denied pleasure. Evelyn finds herself in the incredibly mind-boggling scenario of being in a life or death situation while simultaneously being more turned on than she has ever been in her life.
At least she doesn’t even have to try and restrain herself this time.
Her companions expect her to be in agony, and they have enough experience with hearing her ‘pain’ before that her gasps of pleasure from being bounced around on the return trip aren’t going to shock anyone.
“It is going to be alright, Vhenan.” Solas tells her the very moment they are alone, the others glaring veritable daggers(hah!) at him when he’d requested privacy. Not that he was wrong to do so, no one else here has any useful healing skill, and Evelyn was glad there would be no one to make her ever more anxious or self-conscious with their hovering.
“I will fix this.” He continues to reassure her. Though she is still rather distracted by the other thing he said.
“What does that mean?” it sounded almost like an endearment, what he’d said in elven. Probably just wishful thinking at it’s finest though. Still, it gives Eve something to focus on that isn’t the frantic trembling of her limbs or the way she is suddenly so aware of her heart racing in her chest, or the terribly discordant feeling of being painfully turned on while simultaneously fearing for your own mortality.
Not that Solas even acts like her heard her, busying himself with laying out all the herbs they will need for the healing, chopping and crushing the blossoms with admirable speed.
“Solas,” she presses, because if Eve is going to die then she would like to at least know how he feels about her, “what does that -- shit!”
She is cut off by another extremely disconcerting blast of pleasure as Solas leans forward in one smooth move and slices away her leather breeches from the wound. Mumbling something else under his breath that is equally elvhen and incomprehensible, but sounds like an apology all the same. Or maybe a prayer, if Evelyn thought for even a moment that Solas were the praying type.
Minutes pass in tense silence as he presses herb paste into the wound and casts the most complex healing spells Evelyn has ever seen --- but the inflammation does not recede.
Damn. She really is dying then, well, at least it doesn’t hurt.
“Solas, can you stop for a second, I have something to say.”
He doesn’t, just swallows his second lyrium potion and keeps drowning her in ineffective and disturbingly pleasurable spirit magic. It’s sweet that he doesn’t want to give up, but that’s not really how she wants to do this, if these are her last moments.
“Please. I need to tell you how I -- ”
“I am not interested in love confessions from a dying woman.” He cuts her off. Which, okay, ouch.
“Though if you still wish to say as much tomorrow, I will be more than happy to hear it.” Then he props her leg up, places a chaste kiss to the inside of her knee, looks her straight in the eye and calls her, “My heart.”
It makes Evelyn’s head spin.
Tomorrow. So she won’t be dying after all. Great news on all fronts really.
The resulting look of blank shock on her face is hopefully not entirely unattractive. Though Solas seems unwilling to waste any more time on things that aren’t actively healing her.
“I have to burn the poison from your blood. This will hurt you a great deal. I am sorry.”
Evelyn nods and leans forward, daring to try for a proper kiss before she braces herself for the pain he’s promised.
But, perhaps at this point unsurprisingly, it isn’t pain that comes.
------
Three hours later he collapses on the bedroll next to her, completely drenched in sweat and drained of mana. Evelyn’s vision is swimming with darkness around the edges, exhaustion trying to pull her under. It is probably the least romantic opportunity she will ever have for this; but her life is, at least, technically no longer in danger.
So, might as well.
“I love you.” she murmurs.
“Ar lath ma.” he responds.
And they fall asleep side by side.
------
The first time they have sex Evelyn is too caught up in the fuck yes and the finally of it to think anything approaching clearly (Which, considering what comes later, turns out to be a damn shame).
Honestly, after their kiss and the hardly-worth-mentioning love confession in the medical tent, she had expected Solas to withdraw from her again, just like he had done that night by the fire.
Certainly Evelyn isn’t expecting a relationship or commitment to be borne from it. Neither of them are really the type for that. Not to mention that so far every sign of interest he has ever even shown has come across as little more than a lapse in good judgement on his part. They are slip-ups; a moment where sense fails him and instinct and desire take over for just long enough for Solas to make a bad decision and for Evelyn to get truly and extraordinarily lucky.
Still, when he appears in her tent after the events at Adamant, Evelyn first and foremost is expecting a fight.
She expects blame, chastisement for not bringing him with her. For making him miss what may have been his one opportunity to walk physically in the fade, for refusing to exile the Grey Wardens even in light of their actions. She knows he could not possibly disapprove more of her recent choices. To say he is disappointed in her right now must be an understatement, and yet….
Evelyn has never been so happy to be proved wrong in her life.
Anger may have indeed been his original intention, as the line of his shoulders when he first strides into her war tent are high with tension. But it drains from him quickly the very moment they make eye contact, and before Evelyn even has a proper moment to process what is happening Solas is approaching with quick strides and clutching her to him as though he is a drowning man with a life raft.
It is so contrary to the sides of him that Evelyn has seen thus far. Even in his distress when she was wounded he had still been so controlled, always reserved somehow. This time, when his composure breaks and he falls upon her, Eve is reminded sharply of the dam they released in Crestwood. All the pent up force of his desire released upon her at once, washing away all the remnants of her fear and doubt and exhaustion.
They stumble backwards together, two experienced lovers fumbling like teenagers in their haste and passion, but there is no wall for him to pin her against here and they both almost end up on the floor when their blind groping tangles their feet amongst Eve’s travel packs.
That cools them both down a bit.
“You are alive.” He finally pulls back to pant, forehead pressing against hers as Solas traces the lines of her face with unsteady hands.
“I certainly thought so,” Evelyn opens her big mouth, apparently insistent on ruining the moment, “but considering what just happened I’m starting to think I might still be trapped in the fade.”
It’s a horrible joke, but void take her, she is exhausted and being trapped in the realm of the Nightmare for half a fucking day wasn’t exactly a trip to the mineral springs.
Luckily Eve doesn’t appear to have scared him off (yet), as Solas just chuckle-snorts at her delirious attempt at humor. The atmosphere around them lightening considerably when his expression takes on an almost mischievous quality, the second new side of him that she has seen tonight.
“Shall I play the part of the cunning desire demon then, tricking the wayward mageling out of her robes?”
He drops his hands to her waist teasingly, thumbing the knotted fabric for a moment. Hesitating. Evelyn can practically see the carefully crafted walls of his self-control re-forming.
Nuh-uh. Not happening.
Evelyn tilts her head, pretends to consider his offer. Then takes a risk. She has known many mages who enjoyed having magic cast on them in an intimate setting, but just as many who considered it an invasion.
Gambling that Solas is in the former camp, Eve decides to make a counter offer.
“I’ve never been very good at playing passive. Perhaps we can take turns.” she purrs, whipping his belts from his waist with a delicate application of force magic.
Oh. Wow. That did the trick.
Solas is upon her again before she can even blink, and he is feral. Ripping the robe from her form with a blast of magic and practically throwing her down onto her bedding, pinning her thighs apart with his knees while divesting himself of his tunic.
A thrill runs through her. This will be the first time Evelyn has ever slept with someone she loves, the first time she has ever been in love. Perhaps it should make her nervous, perhaps she should want it to be special; want to wait for walls and romance and an actual fucking bed -- but she doesn’t.
She just wants him.
Right now. Thank you, please.
With a modified fade-step she flips them too quickly for him to fight it, refusing to let him simply have his way with her. Perhaps on another night they will drag this out, clash their mana against one another and make it as much a game of power as it is for pleasure. But not tonight, she wants him too badly to bother with such foolishness quite yet.
Fingers tipped with the slightest bits of electricity drag down his chest and he arches up against her, letting out a groan that almost makes Evelyn just pull down his leggings and sheath him in her with no more ceremony. But she is not quite that desperate, not yet anyways.
Instead she shifts, rolling her hips against the clothed length of him and smirking when he gasps out that elvhen word again, “Vhenan.” His hands rising to the swell of her chest as she undulates over him.
Maker…
He does know what he’s doing though, the feeling of his tingly spirit magic on her nipples combined with the occasional sharp pinch is her utter undoing. And the bastard knows it too if that smug little smirk he’s wearing is anything to go by. So she kisses it off of him, nothing else to be done really. Raises herself up onto her knees once more and claims his lips as she fumbles to push his leggings down over his hips.
“You are sure?” Solas murmurs against the skin of her jaw as he kisses across the skin there, and down along her neck. All calm and composure again, as if he had not been just as desperate and lust addled a moment ago as she still is now.
Evelyn almost laughs at the absurdity of it. Rolling off to the side and shooting him an incredulous look.
“It would be a bit rude for me to back out now, don’t you think?”
Wrong answer, apparently. If the stormy expression that begins to take him over is anything to go by. Evelyn gets out ahead of it as much as she can, pulling him on top of her and locking her legs around him. “Woah. Sorry, bad joke. I want this, I promise. I have for a long time.”
Exasperated amusement flashes across his features and he relaxes into her arms again, planting one more practically chaste kiss on her lips before pressing her right leg up and over his shoulder and sliding into her in one smooth movement.
“Fuck.” she can’t help but gasp out, but gets a lid on it quickly. It would not do to have half of their army come running because someone thinks the Inquisitor is being attacked. There will be time for her to moan his name to the heavens later, for now she must practice some restraint. But Maker it has been so long, Evelyn had nearly forgotten the blissful feeling of being full.
Solas is watching her intently, something akin to confusion on his face. He shifts his hips and enters her again, much too slowly and gently for Evelyn's liking. It makes her think he is not enjoying this properly, that he can be so measured and unhurried in his lovemaking.
Not that it doesn’t still feel divine, the new angle he has chosen brushing him against her sweet spot. Evelyn’s eyes fall shut and she swallows a whimper, dragging her nails down his back to cup his arse in a vain attempt to pull him into her faster, harder.
Eve has to swallow a groan when it almost seems to make him do the opposite. He repositions himself again and this time she almost pinches him in childlike frustration because it was going so well up until this point. Andraste's tits, what is wrong with this man?
His third thrust misses her spot but hits deeper, hilts him inside of her. A different kind of good that sends a shiver up Evelyn’s spine and forces her to press her face into the skin of his shoulder to muffle the breathy moan that springs forth.
Solas clearly isn’t feeling it though, because he pushes himself off of her abruptly, concern written all over his face. “Am I hurting you?” he asks, clearly distraught.
Which, if Evelyn hadn’t been so lost to her frustration and denied pleasure, was a very telling question. It was a question asked for a reason, by a generally very observant man
But unfortunately she was not paying very close attention, at least, not to the things that aren't the weight of him between her legs or the delicious expanse of skin spread out before her. So she responds carelessly.
“Are you...what?” she chuckles almost hysterically, trying to pull him back to her but he resists, watching her with skeptical eyes, “Solas, I don’t know what…” another exasperated breath, “I mean, it felt incredible until you just stopped.”
His eyes narrow, and Evelyn would swear he looks almost mad for but an instant before capturing her lips once more.
“Ah, forgive me then, my mistake.” Then, before Evelyn has time to consider questioning him, or to ask what on earth that was even about he is within her again. Voice low and teasing by her ear, “Now, where were we?”