open rp post

[troubleyan]

🏹 texts/epistolary 🏹 prompts 🏹 ota*

* pssst if we've threaded together on bakerstreet, consider this an open invite

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[troubleyan]

[ She eyes the seat next to him, feeling the distance like a chasm. Damn, he is charismatic and intense and she resents that it all works on her.


She doesn't move to sit at his side yet, simply licks her lips and clarifies his point: ]

Not a where, but a when.

[naharel]

Well. You weren’t making it that much of a secret.

[ His eyes don’t leave her even as he pauses to think, considering. It’s not a field he’s expert in, but…]

I would imagine if you’ve arrived here then it is something intended. Time is not bound by the realm of magic, of course, but it acts upon itself like a wave in the ocean. Whatever you do here will change things as they were meant to be changed, surely.

[troubleyan]

[ One eyebrow lifts at his conclusion. ]

Sounds like the kind of explanation a very powerful mage would give a peasant to excuse his curiosity. What, exactly, is your curiosity?

[naharel]

Or an explanation that makes sense. Not everything is a game, da’len.

[ Shaking his head, he watches her pointedly. ]

I like you. I want to know where you are from and what you know. That’s all.

[troubleyan]

[ She chews the inside of her cheek, hesitant, and then concedes. It's mostly motivated by spite - she wants Solas to have these memories of her, she wants him to sweat.

Fen'Harel, in the meantime, has been nothing but surprisingly kind and welcoming, so he gets her to behave. She sits next to him. ]

Long into your future, from a land named Thedas, a cluster of clans that call themselves the Free Marches. My parents - my father was a bann, so I grew up being drilled on the Game, up until the moment when it was clear I wasn't interested in making either a very good monk [ how else to explain Templars? ] or a very obedient wife.

[naharel]

[ Fen’Harel watches her as she comes closer and sits and listens as she speaks. A time in the future… He has questions, but he knows he cannot ask them. Time is fragile, he thinks, and doing anything to weaken the boundaries or asking for too much would be disastrous.

He’ll listen intently instead, nodding along.]

I cannot picture you being an obedient anything.

[ Head tilting, he keeps his gaze on her. ]

What did you choose to do?

[troubleyan]

[ She settles into the seat a bit more at ease now, her hand finding a glass of wine and taking one sip. His, by accident mostly. ]

I ran. I became a problem that they wanted to hide rather than a daughter they wanted, so they didn't send me to the Order and they didn't find any man dumb enough to want to marry me.

I did it for long enough that I learned some better skills along the way, that they found a better use for me - they had more children, you see, so I was rather trivial in the grand scheme of things.

[naharel]

How unfortunate for them. And now you’re here.

[ At least his read on her being a noble of some kind was accurate. As she drinks his eyes flicker over her face, her neck, and he ponders to himself for a few moments. It might well be that they’re able to send her back, but if she’s trapped here tomorrow?

It seems she is destined to always find herself in some trouble.

Shaking his head, his lip curves into a smile. ]

And what do you want while you’re visiting us here?

[troubleyan]

In the general gist of it, and now I'm here. [ The Blight, Archdemons, Corypheus - even the Inquisition - are hard to explain without giving him too much information about the future, without twisting it in some way.

Since too much is riding on the future not being changed by this (in the abstract; she will always be changed by this) she has to leave it at that.

Has to look away from those intense eyes and stop drinking him in when she thinks he isn't looking, fascinated both by the power he so easily wields and by the familiarities she spots there. ]

I want to figure out a way back - but I'm not mage, and so I... [ She looks up, meeting his gaze unflinchingly. ] I need your help.

[naharel]

We can do some research.

[ He can finally lean back in his chair, expression thoughtful. He could ask the others, he supposes, but he’s not of a mind to tell them much of the truth about his guest’s situation. If they got wind of her being from the future they’d beg information from her at their kindest. At their most cruel?

He’s seen what they do to their enemies.

After a few moments of deep thought, he comes back to himself, expression warming again. ]

Consider me at your service.

[troubleyan]

[ He offers it so simply that it knocks her breath out a little, leaves her floored. ]

Just like that?

[ A little flicker of a smile. ] you're not what I expected at all.

[naharel]

You need help. I offer it.

[ His lips curl again, a touch smug as he leans closer. ]

What expectations could you have had of me, hm?

[troubleyan]

[ She doesn't exactly pull away, not exactly displeased with the proximity. He - Fen'Harel, therefore not Solas, and not thinking of him as Solas at all - is very beautiful up close, and Evelyn is a sucker for a pair of intense eyes.

She runs her tongue against the back of her teeth, then smirks a little. ] You earn yourself quite the reputation among the People, to put it mildly. Or - you will, in any case.

[naharel]

I already have. But I won’t ask more.

[ As tempting as it is to find out what he does, how his future unfolds… It isn’t worth learning. It might change, or it might break him, and he’s not prepared for that. It’s too dangerous a thing.

Instead, he keeps his gaze on her, coy. ]

I doubt we’ll have much time for study tonight. How else might I entertain you?

[troubleyan]

[ The realisation smacks her in the face as he smirks, surprising her. ]

You're flirting with me.

[ Is this what the gods are like? Imposing one moment, and keen to say anywah, let's fuck the time away the next? Or is this specific to Fen'Harel? ]

[naharel]

Oh, you noticed?

[ Fen’Harel huffs a quiet chuckle, head tilting. Perhaps he needs to be more forward, but… his eyes flick over her body once before he returns to her face. ]

Are you offended, or interested?

[troubleyan]

[ She only hesitates for a few seconds, running her gaze quickly over his body just as he takes her in.

Her baser instincts make the choice for her, outside of whatever her mind might think. (He won't remember her, or this hasn't happened for him yet either, and either way he offered himself first.)

She reaches up, twisting one long lock of his hair around her fingers experimentally. ]

Oh no, I'm interested. Banter is my form of flirting, don't you know?

[ He wouldn't know - but he does now. ]

Well, now you know.

[naharel]

Indeed, I know now.

[ Fen'harel leans forward, letting her fingers curl around his hair without pause. It's rare that anyone gets so close to him, rare that he allows it, and surely this is the most dangerous option that he could possibly choose, but...

If they figure out a means of returning her to her own time, then it will hardly matter. She will be gone and the danger will pass. It's a game, and he has always found it a rather enjoyable one.

Clearly, he is comfortable with himself, lounging as he does, and his lips curl - wolflike, dangerous. ]

What brings you pleasure, da'len?

[troubleyan]

[ This experience, this travel through time, has confirmed two things to her so far: one, that she would recognise him in whatever world, whatever time, with or without hair, with or without the wisdom of age. It's the eyes, the cut of his jaw, the tone of his voice, the da'len - she could have easily thought Solas was a descendent merely, but every side comment about how many court machinations he'd witnessed, every little slip of his tongue about the Elven Gods or about the Fade, made more sense to her now. The wolf among them, apparently, had been the Dread Wolf all along.

Two, and most tragically, is that she wants him in whatever time, too. As composed as Solas keeps himself, Fen'Harel is almost feral by comparison, and there hides the appeal.

There's no easy answer to his question, her list is infinitely long. So: ]

Let me show you.

[ She tugs his hair - she dares, yes - and pulls him closer and brushes her lips against his. The intention, at the start, is to tease a kiss against his lips. Kiss him gently, but a whisper, and leave him chasing her for more. The intention ignores the simple possibility that she might love the first taste of his lips enough to have her lean in for something more solid, the wine glass slipping out of her hands and toppling to the floor as she surges forward and licks at the seam of his lips. ]

[naharel]

[ Watching her mind word is a delight - whatever her experiences are in the future, she is clearly weighing it up against her desires in the present. He cannot imagine what goes through her mind, as blind as he is to events that will unfold, but watching her process is lovely. It's as if a machine is ticking away in the depths of her brain.

It's appealing, to see someone who is thoughtful enough to think, to try and plan things through. Fen'harel has always enjoyed someone with intelligence, with curiosity, those who ask questions and seek out more. She pleases him.

He doesn't care about the wine glass, doesn't worry about the staining on the ground below them, because his attention is solely focused on her. She has wants and desires, and he intends to give succour to them all, to give her whatever pleasure she mind demand.

The taste of her mouth is delicious, and as soon as they're close enough he pushes in, one hand lifting to tangle in her hair as he pulls her against his mouth, deepening it immediately. He has no time for her idle games or dancing around one another with this - he'd take her mouth with his own, plunder her and leave her begging for more. ]

[troubleyan]

[ More. More is needed - more is necessary. She lets out a heady little moan against his lips as he takes her mouth, the thorough kiss threatening to undo her already.

Evelyn isn't a shy woman, hasn't been in years. Sex isn't new to her, desire isn't a foreign concept. She is being gifted something precious here: an itch to scratch, a desire to have fulfilled. She can't bring herself to missing out, when she knows very well how unlikely it is to repeat - even if she did make it back to her time, and parted with him on friendly terms.

So she takes it, with both hands.

She brings one hand to curl over the nape of his neck and the other to bury in his hair, and meets him in matched fire for another kiss. One easy shift, and she straddles him on the seat he so enjoyed to lounge on, her borrowed clothes offering little in terms of barrier for the heat of her skin. ]

sorry for the delay! lost internet

[naharel]

[ The way that she immediately gives in to her want and desire is a heady thing; delicious and wonderful, and so unlike his partners of the past.

Fen'harel cannot admit to having had too many lovers in the past, comparatively, but he is experienced enough to know where to touch her, where to let his fingers trace and touch. He can tell that this is something that she wants, that her desire has been inside of her, waiting, and he embraces it. His expression warms as he pauses to give her a moment to breath, lips pressing against her jaw.

Let her take what she wishes. He will not stop her.

Slowly, carefully, Fen'Harel lets his arms wrap around her, pulling her close, one hand on her hip and the other cupping her backside, drawing her as close as he can manage with the awkward positioning. ]

Welcome back!!

[troubleyan]

[She catches her breath, clumsy as she's been made by two heady kisses, her breath huffing against his temples, her eyes half-closed in surrender.

He's left her feeling wound up tight and breathless with just two kisses? How deep still waters run, indeed.

When he draws her near against him, she shifts to position herself more fully straddling his lap, her chest against his. For a moment, she remembers her clothes aren't hers - they're borrowed from someone in this palace who shares her size, the long and flowy dress more akin to a robe - cinched at her waist and all - than anything else to her, and they leave nothing to the imagination.

Evelyn is more comfortable in a leather armor and breeches than in this, on the battlefield, but if she's going to fuck Fen'Harel on his luxurious sofa, she can see the appeal of not too many layers.]

You can touch me. Please.

[Her voice has no reason to be so raspy, so low and sensual, even as she guides one of his hands up her stomach to her chest. Yet here she is, seductive and seductively rolling her hips against him, even if just a little.]

ty!!

[naharel]

[ She asks so sweetly, and Fen'Harel has no desire to ignore her wants, to let her sit and be displeased; it's clear that she is the kind of woman that is luxurious in her pleasure, that is keen to take it, to give and receive it, and he relishes it. It is rare, here, to see anyone so willing to bare themselves, to offer themselves so completely.

His own clothing is light, flowing, the style of the People, and when she settles properly to straddle him he can feel how warm she is between the light fabric between them. It is delicious, but not enough, and he wants more - just as much as she does, he thinks, given her sweetness, the hoarseness, a tease in of itself.

Careful, one arm wraps around her, sinking down to grab at her ass, to squeeze gently as his lips trail down along her jawline, to scrape his teeth gently against her neck. A base urge, perhaps, but she would look rather handsome marked with his teeth and his mouth; he cannot deny it.

The hand up, against her chest, rests on her breast, fingers stroking where he knows her nipple to be as his teeth bite, just a little. ]

Anything you desire, da'len.

Then I went on holiday for a week sorry

[troubleyan]

[She allows herself the simple pleasure of forgetting where and when she is, and who she's with will become. It's been an eternity since someone asked Evelyn Trevelyan what brings her pleasure, or offered to provide it, so she receives it with open arms.

Or, rather, with arms wrapped around his broad shoulders. She pushes her fingers into his hair as soon as she feels his teeth scraping her skin, gripping it a bit tighter when he squeezes her ass - and sends her hips into a maddening grind against him, seeking friction the way a moth seeks light.]

Ah-haah! And if... I want to know what that means?