He thought she didn’t recognise the warmth of his touch. Three times he’d danced with her on the ballroom floor that evening, and every time, she hadn’t needed to be able to see his face to know him.
Solas really wasn’t as clever as he thought he was. Granted, he may have been able to dance around a ballroom with what was undoubtedly a fantastic disguise - likely an illusionary spell to mask his ears and facial features - but to someone who had carried the intimate mark of his magic within her body for years, he was unable to stop his very presence feeling like a homecoming to her.
Evelyn could almost sense him as he followed her up the staircase to her room within the Montilyet estate. She'd taken up Josephine’s standing offer on a visit while she adjusted to the loss of her hand, and her dear friend had already been accustomed to helping her familiarise herself with new surroundings, so they’d had spent the last few weeks helping her map out the new environment. Blindness had always made change troublesome, but Josephine had taken her on multiple trips through the estate; giving her a thorough description of every room and its possible obstacles.
After weeks of adjustment, she was confident as she trailed her gloved hand along the staircase bannister leading to the guest rooms, her light, pearl-coloured skirt deliberately short enough so that she wouldn’t need to gather it when moving.
Her fireplace was still lit and warmed the room - Josie correctly assuming she’d retire early from her first official event since the council. She didn’t need to hear the swinging door behind her as she led him to the balcony; feeling the familiar touch of his magic in the air.
“You’re not quite as clever as you think you are,” she called out behind her, finding the balcony railing and feeling the cold breeze against her cheeks.
Evelyn heard him reach her side, and turned to reach out her hand and grasp onto the silken fabric of his clothes. He sighed, breath a rush of warmth on her skin as he leaned instinctively towards her touch.
“That is more complimentary than you assume,” he replied to her in a low voice, one of his arms snaking around her hip to pull her forward. “For I am twice the fool that you seem to think I am.”
She jerked away, back stiff.
“Because I am human?” Evelyn asked, the words a barb and a self-inflicted old wound.
“Because you are intoxicating, ” Solas corrected her, somehow magnetic and vulnerably raw. “And my greatest threat.”
Perhaps there was something wrong with her that his confession made her sink into his touch.
“More complimentary than you assume,” Evelyn replied, parroting his words back at him to hear that delicious warm chuckle of his spread through her like spiced wine. She curled her hand around his neck, leaning into him for support and breathed against his lips. “Let me intoxicate you, then.”
He groaned against her mouth, gripping her lower lip within his teeth; something fittingly wolfish in every one of his touches.
“You should call for a guard,” Solas murmured, pulling away to press his lips down the column of her throat. His breath was ragged, warm against her taut and sensitive skin. “You should order me gone.”
She tilted her head back, hand curling up to his shoulder for support.
“Maybe,” Evelyn hummed, “but I don’t want to.”
He groaned, fingers tightening almost painfully against her hip.
“You should want me gone,” Solas tried again, as he always did; riddled with his self-loathing and almost begging her to take the easy way out.
Evelyn didn’t need to see his expression to hear the words unspoken between them.
You shouldn't want me.
For so long, she’d thought he’d held back because of her humanity. When they’d travelled together, he’d offered her his arm to aid her in unfamiliar and rough terrain - there were magical options to help her locate enemies in the thick of battle, but they were quickly taxing and she preferred to avoid them outside of combat. Every time he'd slid her hand into the crook of his arm - an elegant grace to the escorting gesture more befitting of a ballroom than the wilderness - she’d ignored the shivers that had run through them both.
They'd stolen their first kiss together in Skyhold’s seedling nurseries; she’d been knee-deep in the dirt of a garden bed, able to feel dried mud on her forehead from when she’d scratched an itch, but after another bout of their charged debates on magical theory, Solas had taken her cheeks within his palms and leaned down to rob her of her breath.
It had been the first of their trysts, the first of many hidden moments where he’d seen what noises he could conjure up from her lips. But he’d ultimately held back - she could sense it in the moments when he’d pulled away; she could feel a tension that remained behind in his skin when she’d pried her hands away from him.
She’d assumed the root of his misgivings was in her humanity, and it wasn’t until he’d revealed his identity to her in the mess of the Exalted Council that she’d realised it was something much more consequential.
“But I do want you,” Evelyn murmured, finding his lips and coaxing him back for another of their stolen kisses; something desperate within them that never failed to make her breathless. She parted, the air heavy between them and it made her shiver. "And you want me."
He straightened and she felt his hands brush against the edges of her thin skirt. She had a moment to frown before he gripped at her thighs and hoisted her up, pushing her back against the nearby balcony wall. She gave what could only be described as a squawk, and gripped tightly onto his shoulder for support as he slotted himself between her thighs; the flimsy fabric of her skirt allowing her to feel him firm against her.
He’d fucked her for the first time at the winter palace, only a day after the events at the council; she’d been spread out on her back in the guest bedroom, legs wide and her hand covering her mouth to stifle the squeals and moans he was pulling from her with every rock of his hips.
He’d made her break that night, gasping out his name while he whispered filthy things in her ear of every sordid idea he’d imagined while yearning for her in his lonely nights. She’d flushed as she’d begged for him to spill inside her; fill her up and leave something of him within her. He’d positively growled at her pleas, tightening his grip on her waist to give her what she wanted.
In the aftermath, he’d pressed her down into the mattress, keeping her safely beneath him - sated and drowsy in her pleasure - and marked her with kisses to the nape of her neck.
“You’ve carried my magic inside you for years,” Solas had whispered, voice low, “it’d be cruel to leave you totally bereft of me now.”
Their trysts had continued despite his reveal, despite his plans, and a part of her felt some guilt at not trying to change his mind. Before the Circle, her family had done nothing for her self-worth, and even though she was one of the most influential women in the world now, there was still a frightened part of her that believed she was not loved. That, if she went to him and begged for him to listen, to stop and work with her, he would laugh - cackling as the true Dread Wolf of Dalish story - and she would be the next world he shattered.
Another part of her, a much more frightening part, believed that she might manage to get through to him.
One of these days, after all her kisses were stolen, she knew her fear of his rejection would finally be conquered, and she would have the courage to challenge him.
But for now, they’d both let themselves believe they were stringless.
“You’re a demon,” Evelyn sighed to Solas, rolling her hips against his to feel the delicious thrum of him between her thighs.
She could feel the rush of his chuckle on the skin against her collarbone.
“I’ve been told I’m a wolf, actually,” he replied, dry but heated.
Evelyn brushed her lips against the pulse at his neck, boldly vicious for a woman who knew she would be stifling her squeals in mere moments.
“Then devour me."