Chapter Text
Night was drawing to a close by the time he stripped off his clothing, returning to his bed. He’d spent much of the evening acting as an escort rather than resting – though the hours he chose to sleep mattered little. Those who would make their demands of him would wait for him to rise when he saw fit. None would be brazen enough to disrupt the sleep of a god, save for perhaps one of his lovers – yet even they were too fearful of losing his favor to take such an action.
He closed his eyes. Sleep did not come to him right away and he lay there awhile in thought. He could still feel the tingling sensation against his skin where the scar on her hand had touched him, his own magic trapped inside such a pretty little vessel. He knew that thoughts of Isii would leave him soon enough. She was a curiosity that would linger in his mind, but he was confident that his interest in her would be fleeting. It so often was with the beautiful trinkets he enjoyed and then cast aside. No one truly held his attention for very long and he lacked any singular focus for the few who did. The beautiful and mysterious freewoman would be a passing fancy, as all others before her.
Still, it did no harm to let his thoughts linger there.
He thought of the thrumming energy that passed between their bodies at her touch, the intoxicating quality of feeling his magic through her skin. He replayed her kiss in his mind – how she had whimpered against his mouth, how her body had writhed, how she bit into his lip when she moaned. He had expected her to resist him, to fearfully melt against the seduction of his kiss, but she had pleasantly surprised him. Not only accepting, but urging, enticing, encouraging. Forceful in her own right.
He wanted her in that moment. He wanted to see how far that willingness extended. He’d resisted that impulse but thought of it now, imagining how the evening could have played out differently. Would he have teased her with light caresses, easing her body to arousal, gradually revealing his intent? Or would he simply slide his hand between her legs, pressing magic past the fabric of her breeches, tendrils of tingling heat surging into her core? He would so delight in the way that would make her gasp, stealing a surprised moan from her as her eyes widened in shock. Maybe her head would fall back, exposing her throat. He would take it, taste it, run his tongue over her flesh as he shifted fingers teasingly against her, asking her if this is how she wanted her Solas to touch her. He could imagine the rolling grind of her hips, as eager in this as she had been for his kiss, eager still when he would slide his fingers past loosened lacings, teasing her clit, testing her folds to see if she was ready for him. He would whisper to her in Elven as he pressed past her entrance, relishing the fact that she could not understand the filth that passed his lips.
There was a perverse quality to this fantasy- to think of taking her there in his Temple, against his own altar, but what better form of worship could there be than making her cry out to him as she came? He did not doubt that he would make her sing for him. In this fantasy, she was quite vocal.
He could not decide precisely how he wished to take her, his mind running over variations in position and quality. The thought suddenly occurred to him that she might be more assertive than his past lovers. In his experience, most of the women he’d taken to his bed awaited his demands, eager to please him but only on his own terms, perhaps fearing that they would lose their position of privilege if they did not give him what he wanted. But Isii didn’t know any better. She would not know that she was bedding a god. To her, this was her own dream. Her own fantasy to live out. He’d felt the way she bit him. There was a ferociousness hidden away in that delectable little body. Perhaps she would press him down against the cool stone of his altar, insisting she take him from above. Not a thought Fen’harel often indulged in, yet in this instance it held a special allure. He could imagine getting the full view of her body as she rode him, crying out a name that would one day be his. He could imagine her voice, the way she would scream as he flooded her body with power, tongues of energy flicking at her inside and out, stimulating all senses at once, wordless keening and moans and then crying out vhenan.
Fen’harel paused at that thought, opening his eyes. She would have called him vhenan. It was what Solas had said upon seeing her. Presumably, she considered him in the same way. For his future-self, he was certain it was merely a trick, but for her, the word would have carried weight. He closed his eyes and imagined how it would sound on her tongue. Vhenan in a whisper, in a gasp, in an orgasmic shout, imagined her saying it as her body lifted him to his peak and dropped him down to crash into the sudden wave of pleasure and relief.
The Dread Wolf let out a sigh, rolling onto his side, stretching out along his bed. Part of him regretted not indulging in her, but it was no great loss. She was a passing oddity and nothing more. His desires would move on, as would his thoughts.