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The Absence of Dislike

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“Say it again,” his tongue filled her mouth after the demand, stopping any words she might use to satisfy him.

Solas's thrusts into Inquisitor Ayelet were less measured than usual, she noted, fueled by a sentence spoken outside on the ballroom’s terrace as she begrudgingly took his hand to dance. The younger elf was not complaining about this change of pace. She sucked his tongue with kiss-swollen lips, giggled when his moan turned back to pleading. Three words had undone him.

“Stop,” her laughter rang off the gold-plated walls of her room in the Winter Palace; Solas had said she looked as if she belonged here, undressed her with reverence. She turned her head away to let some cool air into her lungs. The mage ran tongue and lips over her jaw, onto her clavicle, unperturbed by her lack of answer. She had already said it, he already knew it.

He pulled himself out of her, hovered over her body, teased her with the promise of another chance to be filled by him. When Ayelet dug her nails into his backside, trying to push him down to meet her, he resisted with unexpected strength. Flared nostrils huffed her disapproval.

Solas stoked fingers through her curls, satisfied with her need of him. “Please?” A need he knew to be more than physical now.

One weighted sigh later and Ayelet inclined her face to kiss him, he was eager to accept. When she released her hold on his bottom lip, her favorite of the two, she said it : “I like you.”

His smile exposed teeth rarely seen, pronounced canines that made him look more wolf than man. He sunk those teeth into her neck and returned himself to her; there was no ceremony in it, only desire as one hand lifted her ass off the bed, allowing him to reach new places inside her.

“Again,” he murmured against her neck. His breath was hot on the places his mouth had touched. Ayelet thought to deny him, to play another game, but when he ran his tongue up the blade of her ear, she couldn't. Wouldn't.

“I like you.”