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The Rusted Horn provided an immediate shield from the thundering rain that beat relentlessly down on its roof. Much of that could be owed to the kids (who had made a hasty exit) and the healthy fire they built that roared with life in the old tavern's fireplace.
Since the small Inquisition band made their first camp in Crestwood, the sun hadn't shone, but somewhere in the sky behind the clouds it hung low in the sky, threatening to cede to dusk.
Genevieve could feel the evening in her bones, so she was grateful the others had acquiesced to the resting for the night before checking on the dam controls. Her hands were aching from a day full of fighting off the undead, the pain louder now that the rain wasn't biting at any and all exposed flesh as they trudged through the mud.
Solas eyed her from his seat on the floor; she followed his line of sight and realized she'd been massaging her hands in an attempt to quiet the worst of the pains. His gaze remained steady even as she caught his eye and quickly looked away, face burning.
After their meager supper, Blackwall had volunteered for the first watch and was ostensibly surveying the perimeter out in the torrent. Cole had made himself scarce, though if he had given a clue to where he had scarpered off to, Genevieve couldn't remember.
The rain had soaked down through their armor and the fabric of their doublets, so the first thing they had done was strip down to their shirts and braies and hang everything else up to dry by the fire. The damp linen clinging to her skin wasn't exactly comfortable, but sleeping slightly wet and being able to put on a dry coat and trousers in the morning was a fair enough trade. Plus, she knew she would be miserable otherwise.
Blackwall remained fully equipped for now--Cole, apparently, too, given that his leathers were missing, and Genevieve absently wondered if he minded or even felt the chill brought on by the cold and the wet.
Thus, as it was, she and Solas were alone in the great room of the Rusted Horn, dressed sparingly at best, and replacing the affectionate youths who had been here not two hours before. In the golden light of the fire, with the euphoria of a warm night in chiaroscuro to a miserably chilly day, the electricity in the air was palpable. She felt as taut as a bowstring.
"Lethallan."
The low rumble of his voice wrenched her from her thoughts, and she chanced another look in his direction. She found his gaze unwavering still as if he'd continued to observe her, lost in thought as she had been.
Satisfied with her attention, he continued in Elvish, as was his wont when it was just the two of them, "Allow me, please."
The offer didn't abate the blush that, by now, probably reached the tips of her ears. Still, she sat down next to him and offered her aching hand without comment. He began to massage her fingers one by one, brow furrowed as he concentrated on his ministrations.
This was a familiar routine for the pair but not since their kiss in the Fade. He had asked for time to think, to consider, and she was not interested in pressuring him. As deliciously exhilarating as it had felt to have his arms around her, she also enjoyed his company in any capacity. If he did not want to pursue their mutual attraction, she would not press the issue.
Not that it made it any easier to be in this close proximity to him. A hair's breadth away as he kneaded her palm--all business.
He had strong hands. Warm, too, but that could be attributed to the fire. No, she decided. He radiated a warmth that was all his own, just like his scent. Unique and seductive. She remembered how it felt to breathe in as he exhaled. It had added a dimensionality to his taste. His arms had encircled her, and she had puzzled later that she must never have truly felt what it meant to consume and be consumed. The way his tongue had traced her lips, begging entry...
"...hear me?"
Genevieve must have looked scandalized, realizing she'd been staring at his mouth, because Solas snorted, his eyes softening from what must have been a look of mild concern.
"No. Sorry. What were you saying?" she managed, employing a breathless laugh as a meager bit of cover in her embarrassment.
"I asked if I was hurting you. Although, if I was unable to easily break your concentration, that must not have been the case." He was teasing her which did not help to slow her heart rate whatsoever. She was scrambling for a coherent response, but he continued in a dangerously low voice, "What could hold the Inquisitor's attention so steadfastly, I wonder?"
That earned him a sardonic smile--one he seemed to take as a well-won trophy by the twinkle in his eyes. Her heart clenched at the sight, and without really thinking, she lifted her hand from his to cup his cheek. Her smile had turned warm, she realized, as she saw it reflected on his face.
A clap of thunder caused Genevieve to jump, breaking the spell that had fallen over them like blanketing snow. She began to retract her hand, feeling the blush rage anew before he trapped her hand against his cheek with his own. His eyes were closed now, his brow knit and smile gone; he appeared deep in thought.
She gave him a moment, but several beats later, concern bubbled in her stomach. "Solas?"
His eyes flew open at the first syllable. Lightning cracked across the sky, illuminating his face, and she was confused by what she found there: something tempestuous and fervent, ardent and honest. Vulnerable, even, but her attempt to ask after him again was stifled by his lips on hers.
While her mind floundered for sense, her body immediately reciprocated his embrace. Any pain in her fingers was forgotten as she clung to his damp undershirt, desperate to be closer, closer, closer, even as they were flush against one another. He had relinquished her hand to better cradle her head as he hovered above her. They were all heady breaths and panting. Her senses were dominated by his presence. His sighs. His smell. His taste. His body was a shield against the outside world.
His weight was perhaps more than she could handle tonight as her left arm began to tremble violently. In response, Solas deftly scooped her up and onto his lap. The more intimate position set her heart hammering and caused Genevieve to whimper; he growled into her mouth, hugging her even tighter. One of his hands found her ass. She nipped at his lip, then traced the spot with her tongue like a salve. It was his turn to moan; she capitalized on the moment by meandering kisses along his jawline down to the column of his throat.
"The others--" he started. She tried to silence him with a kiss on his lips again. He met her with enthusiasm but was undeterred from speaking his mind. "The others will be back soon."
"I know."
"We should--"
"I know," she said against his lips. Her tongue flicked at the seam of his mouth. She waited for him to gently push her from him, waited for him to stop kissing her back. He did neither. Rather, he yielded to her tongue and sighed into the kiss. He loosened his grip only to better explore her body. His hands skated up beneath the hem of her shirt, touching the bare skin of her back.
Their fervor waned a moment, and they observed each other from under half-lidded eyes, pulling back only just. Gingerly he brushed his nose along hers. Both their chests rose and fell as they caught their breath, sinking into one another. If she had thought her clothing uncomfortable before, it was downright restrictive now. The skin-to-skin contact was addictive; she wanted more.
He kissed her again, slower now. Deliberate. His lips were soft, and he caressed her hair. Her hands reached up to hold either side of his face, and he leaned into her touch.
Another clap of thunder. Genevieve jumped again, but Solas held her tighter to his chest, pulling back only to rest his forehead to hers, eyes shut again.
"You're alright," he whispered without condescension, voice husky. "I have you."
She almost defended her startle reflex--she wasn't afraid of thunderstorms, she'd just been so tightly strung since the Conclave, and then the sack of Haven...but she thought better of it and settled against him, breathing deep. He was right. The others would be back any second. This embrace was a fleeting indulgence, and he hadn't really given her an answer about this...whatever this was. The moment held magic, though, in the liminal space of a strange tavern in a strange part of Thedas, and she was loath to relinquish it before it was time.