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It is Not Enough

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He is not the man she wants to end up with, but he's the man she wakes up beside after the world ends. She barely even remembers how it happened, or even what happened. The night is a fog after the sky stopped burning.

With his lips, he traces a path from the base of her spine to the base of her neck.

"Vhenan," he whispers.

She couldn't say how many times he's taken her, but she can feel him, ready again, impossibly hard after everything. The stump of her left arm is agony while her right arm is mottled with bruises from the fight. He takes his time, kissing each one.

They are not friends and they will never be again, but she aches to feel him. All of him. And he knows.

"Fen'Harel," she says. She is still wet when he enters her---from before. She didn't think she would be, but her body offers little resistance. She arches back and he finds the rhythm she needs. He fucks like a desperate man, like a man slowly falling apart.

"Solas," he says, "Please, vhenan, Solas." As if it will absolve him of his sins, as if she wants to, as if she would.

She lets him roll her onto her back and she lets him shudder around her, arms too tight. She should not love him. The battlefield is still slick with blood. The graves have not been dug. The bodies have not been buried. There is no one left but him. No one but his army and his People and his brave, new world with it's colorful sky and air that almost shimmers with magic.

And she is alone.

She holds him after they finish, his arms still too tight around her. He presses unfamiliar, Elvhen words to her cheek. He peppers the line of her jaw with I love yous and the curve of her brow with forgive mes.

In another world, it would have been enough.