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It had started innocently enough. An exercise in moving on from the past. Or… practice for the Game. Sure. That sounded real. But as productive as she wished her artifice was, her motivations were less advantageous for the Inquisition and more to quell her own fatigue after meetings at the war table, meetings with tedious diplomats, meetings with… well, there were a lot of meetings. And perhaps there was a little curiosity that needed quelling, too. And. Okay. In all honesty, she just needed a good bit of fun after everything else went to shit.

Thus it was that Inquisitor Lavellan decided to play on the affections of them both.

The Commander had been an easy enough target. Lavellan’s casual flirtations had reaped amusing rewards in his blushes and stammering and fumbling school-boy bashfulness. Classically handsome, “nice hair” (as Sera had put it), and well-muscled, and… mmm. His morning habit of training with the recruits in the courtyard had her lurking at aptly-placed windows during the wee hours more frequently than she cared to admit.

They discussed histories and military strategies. They spoke of the Free Marches. They played chess when they could; Lavellan won more than not, for practice as he might, Cullen lacked the dishonesty so integral to competitive games. They strolled. Flirted. He’d commented one morning on the battlements that her new blue cloak was “favourable to her complexion.” The sweat literally came off of him as vapor in the crisp air. Poor boy. Such coquetry peppered their interactions for weeks. She’d hooked the quarry’s lip quite snugly.

And then there was Solas. The enigma. Being the only other elf and apostate of her inner circle, Solas was also the one with whom she thought she would have the most in common. She felt a kind of kinship with him during their talks in Haven, a déjà vu, like she’d known him as a child but couldn’t quite place how. The emotion tugged at her uncomfortably at first, but was soon made easier by his determination to treat her with all the warmth of the mountains she’d been lost in. Even so, conversations with him – or arguments – were always effortless interesting.

And his voice really was alluring.

So when Solas’s routine standoffishness faltered in favour of quick, surreptitious glances, well, it was simply too cute to resist. She’d tested him a few times but, too clever for his own good, he’d expertly parried her verbal fencing. She had resorted to appealing to something a little more base thereafter. Reaching for things on high shelves and so forth. Leaning over his desk one day to take a “closer look” at the texts they were discussing. She’d slyly glanced up to see him tilt his head and gaze over her tits before meeting her gaze, expressionless. Oh, he knew what she was up to. And she knew that he knew. And he knew that she knew that he knew. It was all very amusing.

The fun part was watching them watch each other as they realized her attentions were split between them. Cullen’s pursed lips and clenched jaw. Solas’s masterfully blank expression. Cullen busying himself with a frown and a gulp of wine when she and Solas slipped into Elven at the dining table. Solas’s twitching eyebrow when she brushed Cullen’s hand to pass him a dish. The way others would sense the tension in a room and shift uncomfortably. Yes, these subtleties brought her a great deal of pleasure.  

Her first mistake was probably not having a clear enough endgame planned. Though harmless enough manipulation – well, aside from being at the expense of these helpless boys – every so often she felt a string or two slipping from her fingers and back into the fists of her reluctant marionettes.

Incidentally, her second mistake was underestimating Solas.

She supposed it was his ego that spurred him into open challenge while she and Cullen sat with tented fingers in the garden.

“Knight takes Queen.”

See what My children in arrogance wrought. Pawn takes Knight.”

“I see Mother Giselle has had an influence on you, Inquisitor.”

“Only insofar as I can use the Chant to punctuate my victories, Commander.”

“Calling a victory already? And you call me arrogant.” Quiet, shared laughter.

They looked up at the sound of crunching gravel. Whence came Solas, arms clasped behind his back, surveying them with all the interest of a drowsy cat. He stood between them long enough for Cullen’s face to become as wooden as the chessboard itself; then, with long, slender fingers, he delicately plucked Cullen’s Mage from its rank and file and reassigned it with a clunk.

“Checkmate,” he murmured.

The symbolism was not lost on the Inquisitor. Or on Cullen. Or on the eavesdropping gardener, for that matter.

Unsure if Cullen would respond to this slight with concession or confrontation, the next evening, Lavellan wandered up to his quarters in a blue gown. The night was cold. Quiet. She swung open the door of his office open without a perfunctory knock; she was the Inquisitor, after all. But she was annoyed to find that Cullen wasn’t present. She called up into his sorry excuse for a bedroom. Nothing. It was unsettling that he had left the door unlocked. Lavellan was about to go hunting for him when she heard a voice behind her.

“Inquisitor.”

She turned with a raised eyebrow, surveying the silhouette in the doorway. “Good evening, Solas.”   Unexpected. Okay. Fine. “You’re up late.”

He didn’t condescend to reply, instead stepping into the room and shutting the door soundlessly behind him. There he paused, his brow furrowed with an emotion so alien on his usually-composed face that Lavellan felt a thrill of – fear, excitement? – flutter within her chest.

Well, she wasn’t about to let him have the advantage. She cocked her hip and folded her arms. “Something on your mind?”

The look he fixed on her was incredible. Precise, powerful control. “We need to talk,” he said, and sauntered towards her.

“About?” He smelled nice. Dammit.

“About your penchant for puppetry, among other things,” he lilted, looking directly into her eyes, his curling mouth so close to her that she felt his warm breath on her lips. “I fear your machinations are transparent, Inquisitor.”

“Perhaps they’re meant to be.”

“Surely that will ease our spymaster’s concerns about your subtlety.”

“Mm. Get to the point.”

“If you wish. I would like to settle this game, Inquisitor.”

She spread her arms, that they might accent her sarcasm. “Oh? And that means what, exactly? That you intend for Cullen to burst through the door and see you ravishing me over his desk, where he keeps all of his masculine worth?”

His eyes crinkled. “As gratifying as that might be, our Commander is otherwise occupied this evening.”

“Your doing, I suppose.”

“I enjoy close attention to detail.”

“And yet you forgot to lock the door. How clumsy.”

The latch clicked when he waved a careless hand behind him.

“Such flair.” Laughter twinkled from her. “But you’re bluffing, dear.”

“I am not.” And he grabbed her by the arms and pushed her roughly against the wall.

His mouth was on hers in an instant, his lips pliable and soft and gorgeous and insistent, and she found herself returning the kiss in kind. She gripped his collar. He deepened the kiss. Brushed his tongue along hers.  Slid his hands to her breasts, which he fondled without abandon. Heat pooled between Lavellan’s legs and unbidden, she made a little sound of pleasure against his mouth.

His low, sly chuckle did things to her.

She spoke breathlessly between kisses. “Mm – you – have been hiding – mm – secrets from me, So – mm – las.”

“Shut up,” he grunted, squeezing her tits reverently before occupying his hands at the buttons at the back of her dress.

Well then. “You’re very dextrous,” she noticed appreciatively. He hummed greedily in response, undoing the last few buttons before pulling her out of the garment.

Bless him, he wasn’t expecting more layers. “The Dalish do not wear petticoats,” he huffed, going to work on them instantly.

“Our one redeeming quality,” she drolled, slapping his eager hands away to pull his tunic over his head. “They’re but a conceit of the shemlen, designed to frustrate wily young men.”

His predatory eyes lit with mirth. Creators.

“There,” he said in a moment, and she stepped fluidly out of her skirts, clothed only in her bodice and smallclothes.

He paused in his fervor to look at her. She scrutinized him back. Rather unfair, all things considered, that he stood still in his shirt and breeches, the latter of which did little to hide his pleasure at what he saw. She was about to tell him so when he pinned her back to the wall and started to grind his hips against hers.

It was sexy.

He kissed her luxuriously, letting go little groans, sucking at her lower lip, sighing in pleasure when she nibbled at his earlobe. Creators, the sounds coming out of this man. His kisses inched lower, to her jaw, her chin, her neck, her collarbone, and she lifted his shirt away in breathless urgency.

He set to work on the laces of her bodice. With his teeth.

She watched him, now bare from the waste up. He’d always carried himself with a sturdiness that hinted at lean muscle, but mercy, his body was more beautiful than she’d imagined. Though he sometimes spoke like a dreary hahren, he was spry and strapping and captivatingly cheeky. Her smallclothes dampened at the sight of his mouth’s expert movements, and she shivered when his hot breath brushed against her unbound breasts.

At last he straightened, pulling the bodice away, working at her again with his hips. His hands came to her bare chest and he pressed her into the wall, groaning into her ear as he took all of her soft flesh into his palms.

Okay, she was whimpering. Fine. She went eagerly for the ties of his breeches and felt his mouth curve into a smirk.

“I’m going to fuck you over that desk,” he whispered suddenly in a low voice, his hand appearing at her hip. She was throbbing in her smallclothes. Her fingers fumbled. “I am going to lick your cunt and make you come against my lips.” His hand brushed her. “You are going to beg for my cock. Does that sound about right?”

“Please,” was all she managed to say.

He lifted her chin with one finger. “Mm. I see you appreciate the value of practice, Inquisitor.”

It was then she acknowledged that she had maybe lost her advantage.

 

Solas was rather enjoying himself.

It had been a while. A long while. But instinct faithfully guided Solas to all of the Inquisitor’s wonderful weaknesses, and she bowed under his fresh onslaught of kisses. He thrust his fingers into a cunt so marvellously wet and hot that a primitive something within him seriously endangered his control. She was already in a state, eyes heavy-lidded and unfocused, her hands clawing angry red trails on his back while he increased the pace of his thrusts. She was soaking for him, the little fox. She’d thought she was so clever, he almost felt sorry for how easily he’d been able to win her. He used his thumb to rub circles into her stiff clit. She cried out. Mm. Yes, he felt sorry.

Abruptly, he hoisted her up and carried her over to the desk, the site of all his interesting promises, sitting her down and pulling the last of her clothing away. She made for his breeches again but he firmly caught her hand.

“Hush,” he commanded when she protested, unceremoniously sweeping Cullen’s belongings to the floor. “Lie back.”

She acquiesced; he snuck one hand under her ass to tilt her pelvis up before returning his fingers within her. He knelt. She trembled.

He rested his cheek against her thigh, peppering kisses there while he admired her pussy and the rapid rise and fall of her chest. He’d. Mm. He’d really missed sex. An unfortunate side effect of being alone for so long. And Lavellan, well. Lavellan was remarkable in many ways, but had already exceeded his expectations tonight. She, however, was growing impatient with his daydreams. Her little pleading sounds accompanied the insistent squeeze she gave him with her legs.

“Now, now,” Solas tsked, running his tongue lightly along her thigh. “Patience, Inquisitor.” Errant documents crumpled in her fists. He pressed his face against her curly patch of hair, inhaling deeply. Smiled. Hummed. Nuzzled. Then parted his lips and licked her long and slow.

She tasted so heady and good that he almost missed some of the choice expletives she released between pants. He worked at her with hands and lips and tongue and teeth. Her cunt was so gorgeous, so wet and soft and warm and responsive, he nearly whimpered in anticipation of being inside of her. Soon. Soon. Solas removed his palm from her ass so he could reach into his breeches and stroke himself. He struggled to govern himself. Tried to reassert his here and his now and his goal. But he strayed. Unbidden, the thought of their Commander looking upon him as he lapped at the Inquisitor suffused his cock with heat and made him groan helplessly against Lavellan’s crotch. She appeared to like that.

She was close. Her moans came now as whines, her body was flushed, she was dripping. He continued his ministrations, hard with anticipation of her orgasm, stroking at the sweet tension building in her pelvis, crooking his fingers, beckoning her release closer, closer.

Then all at once her muscles clenched and throbbed and she cried out as her body was wracked with pleasure. Causing this very powerful woman to come undone was satisfying beyond words. And Solas knew a lot of words.

When at last she stilled, spent and limp, she sat up to face him, wild-haired and sweaty. He stood and gave her a show of sensually licking her fluids from his long fingers. A bit unstable yet, Lavellan hopped off the desk and knelt before him. His heart jumped in spite of himself.

“This was not part of our plan,” he murmured impishly, watching her pull down his breeches and expose him. He took a breath to say something witty but instead gasped sharply as Lavellan, without pretense, took him in her mouth. Solas gripped her hair to steady himself.

It felt. Fuck. So. Fuck. Good.

She took him in further and further, lapping at him with her skilled tongue, sucking at his head. With one hand, she fondled his ass, his thighs, and then his balls; with the other, she pumped him in time with her mouth. When he moaned, she mewled around him with pleasure, as if drinking from a waterskin on a very hot day. Solas grit his teeth and shut his sight from the image of her sucking him greedily, but it didn’t stop him from coiling his fingers in her soft, tangled hair, teasing at it, tugging it, pulling at it until she squirmed.

It was too much.

Fighting very hard to compose himself, he sputtered, “Stop. Stop.” He shakily lifted her by her elbows and they leaned together in a deep, breathy kiss.

Lavellan coyly wiped her lips. Her wicked grin, framed by her mussed hair, was stunning. “So. Is this the part where I beg?”

“Ever intuitive.”

He spun her around and she latched onto the edge of the desk. When he positioned his cock at her soaked lips, she bucked and gasped with need. He steadied her firmly, sliding against her cunt with eyes squeezed shut, savouring her slickness and each of her honey-smooth moans. Then he stilled.

“Is this what you want, Inquisitor?”

“Yes. Please.”

He curled a tendril of her hair ‘round his finger idly and shifted against her, reveling in her ragged breaths. “Hmm?”

“Please,” she almost sobbed, and drove her hips back against him such that he had to bite back a groan. “Please.”

Music to his ears. He leaned a little closer. “Mmm?”

Her tiny fist pounded the desk. “You fucker!”

He laughed in earnest, and entered her.

 

She was in fucking ecstasy. The room swam as if a manifestation of the Fade, she reeled, she delighted, she moaned and moaned and moaned. Solas’s cock, so hot and palatable in her mouth, was beyond delectable in her cunt. Each careful thrust, at first slow and calculated, had her white-knuckled against the desk and calling his name like a mantra. He grunted and huffed behind her, he bit at her neck and shoulder when she arched, he pulled at her hair and inhaled the smell of her with a kind of wildness that made her incorrigibly desperate for more.

“Touch yourself for me,” he breathed hoarsely, thrusting faster and harder and deeper. Although her lone arm struggled to support her body while he fucked her mercilessly, she obeyed. One last resilient candlestick fell from the rocking desk with a clatter.

Her clit, already sensitive from her last orgasm, sent bolts of pleasure through her when grazed. Her thoughts fogged as Solas’s pace quickened still. When her gasps grew obscene, he snatched her hand away from her crotch and held it under his.

“Not yet.” But he kept fucking her and the pleasure yet grew, growing, growing, until she threw her head back against his chest, relishing the heat, the tension, the pull expanding in her pelvis, the–

And he abruptly pulled out.

She spun to face him with snarl.

“I want to look at you,” he growled, lifting her fully onto the desk’s surface and pressing himself eagerly between her spread legs. “I want to look at you when you come for me.”

He pushed inside of her again and gods, fuck, he was so sexy, his body taut, his mouth lifting with euphoria at each of her lewd sounds, each time she clenched around his cock, each time she pulled him in closer with her legs.

Her release came hard and fast, pleasure coursing through her anew with every thrust, her fingernails breaking the skin of his back, her lips raw and swollen. He cupped her face as she called out through her orgasm. “Good girl,” he whispered, then fucked her hard before following her over the edge.

For some time, only their heavy breaths filled the room. Solas rolled off of her. Almost entirely off of the desk. They shared sleepy laughter. He gathered her up with his arms and they spooned on the hard surface until Solas had to gently shake her from half-sleep.

She blearily surveyed the destruction they’d wrought. “Mm. We should. Well.”

“Yes.” Solas shrugged into his tunic and handed Lavellan her discarded clothes. “Worry not. I shall manage it.”

“Uh huh. Because I’m going to trust you to –”

He interrupted her with a long, languid kiss. “Hush,” he breathed into her ear. “I will take care of it.”

She was too blissfully tired to argue. This was his fault, anyways. Mostly. She nibbled on his lip and slipped into the dark of the keep, then back into her own bed.

 

There were one or two consequences.

Late the next day, through most of which she’d overslept, Lavellan stretched her sore body and sorted through the pile of documents Josephine had left her to read and sign. A list of appointments. Status updates on the Inquisition’s presence in Orlais. Missives from Cul—

Oh shit. Cullen.

She wasn’t sure how she would deal with the, well, not infidelity, exactly, but… whatever it was that had transpired in his office without his knowledge. Poor boy. She was still making up her mind about being frank with him when she descended into the great hall and heard the Commander himself.

She found Cullen in the rotunda with Solas.

“Is there a reason this was in my office?” he hissed, shoving what Lavellan recognized as Solas’s belt into the elf’s arms.

“Ah, I thought I’d lost this. Thank you.”

Lavellan’s footsteps bade them both to look at the doorway.

“Inquisitor.” Cullen straightened and softened, but his eyes were narrowed with confusion. Not yet putting the right puzzle pieces together, but with them making a hundred mismatched pictures that unsettled and hurt him. “Excuse me.” He spared one last look for Solas, who remained passive, then marched out .

Quite suddenly, her game wasn’t so fun anymore. She folded her arms and rounded on Solas. “You did that on purpose.”

“It’s entirely possible that I forgot the belt. My mind was on other things last night, after all.” Across the room, he fixed her with a shrewd smile. The wall behind him glistened. He caressed the belt in his hands.

“Right. A likely story.”

The leather swished in Solas’s fingers.

Well. Perhaps it was that the game had simply lost one of its participants. It still had potential for fun.

Lavellan avoided Cullen thereafter, and he her. Her choice was partly for his own good. Partly because she had trouble being in his office.

Ultimately, it was he who outplayed her who truly deserved her devilry.