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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[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?

i keep disappearing off the face of the earth tbh

[naharel]

[ Fen'Harel's lips curve a little as he watches her, letting her seek and take her pleasure as she sees fit. It doesn't stop him from touching her, from stroking his fingers along her body and letting himself experience the warmth of her skin; she is delicious, delightful, like the first sunrise after a frost, and he wants to devour her.

Resisting isn't easy, but he tilts, pressing his hips up to meet her, to chase the feeling of her warmth, to let his mouth curve into a dangerous smile over her skin. He could bite her more, mark her, claim her - the rest of the People would know just to whom she belongs.

A heady thought. ]

You could ask me nicely.

noooo worries, this horny thing is here for you when you can

[troubleyan]

[She shouls be at the very least able to resist him a little. It should make her feel even a hint of apprehension that she's folding so easily at the chance to bed the elf who will become the object of her attraction in the (in his) future. (But maybe thinking about him as just an elf isn't fair anymore. A god, maybe.

What self-respecting Chantry-critic doesn't want to fuck a god?)

Solas will likely have something acerbic to say about this. How easy you made it, Inquisitor. Fuck Solas, and his future judgement, his coldness, his possible scorn. Fen'Harel is burning between her legs, his mouth leaving a line of molten heat up her throat, his voice playing havoc with her senses.

Temptation is only too sweet to resist. Fuck it. I want this.]

Please. [She finds his shoulder and bites him.]

giving her what she deserves tbh

[naharel]

[ Watching her giving in to her pleasure is a wonder, but at the same time it seems as though there is some level of distraction to her thoughts, as if her mind trails elsewhere. Refusing to allow it, Fen'Harel leans in, pressing his mouth to hers again, a hard, dangerous scrape of his fangs against her mouth.

He could leave bloody marks against her skin, could leave his brand on her with his mouth, but he will not. He will give her some measure of tenderness, unless she begs otherwise. She seems to enjoy being claimed, despite being her own person, and he is careful not to push it too far.

What he wants is to trail his mouth down her body, press her legs open with his hands, slide between them and attach his mouth to her pretty cunt until she is begging for more; that will come in time.

He loses control of himself, just a little, with the pressure of her teeth against his neck, and he groans softly. ]

Da'len is the tongue of the People. It means 'little one'.

Excellent

[troubleyan]

[Ha - she's almost as tall as he is, but if he is as ancient as he is, she imagines it's the equivalent of 'child'.

Funny when he says it, it sounds dark and seductive, unlike when others use it. She's a fool.

But she has been a fool for a long enough time to know that there are some opportunities you don't say no to. Case in point: this one. She's going to fuck that god.

Satisfied with the answer, and the reaction to the bite, she draws back to sit in his lap and meet his gaze.]

Show me how you like it.

[naharel]

[ The term can be used in a variety of ways, Fen'Harel is aware of that; in this context, it's simply a term of endearment, something that slips off the tongue without him thinking too hard. There is no intention to belittle, to offend - just to lean close and steal more of her kisses and whisper sharp words into her ear.

He wants to devour her, but in the most wonderful way possible. It's all that he can think of, pressing in the back of his mind, the urge to take her and claim her. It should be alarming.

Leaning forward, he kisses her again, a little softer this time, before he speaks against her mouth. ]

I enjoy being bitten. Nails in my skin. A hand around my cock, to bring my partner pleasure with my mouth before I give them the rest of me. What do you want, da'len?

[troubleyan]

[He has her rivetted, hanging onto every word and imagining - easily, might she add - all the things he is enumerating. Her teeth on his skin, her nails against his back as he takes her, his mouth on her, her hand around his cock.

What do you want, da'len?

Her answer is breathless, pressed against his lips softly, not intending to tease.]

That. All those things.

[A quick peck to his lips, and her eyes darkened by arousal.] Right now.

[naharel]

[ He chuckles, low and deep as he leans in to press his fingers against the fabric she's still wearing. He should be taking his own off, stripping down to bare himself, but he is unconcerned by that. He wants to see more of her skin, to touch her, to leave marks wherever he goes.

Her desire is heady, making him want more, and Fen'Harel leans in to give her another biting kiss as his hands sink lower, lower. His legs are wide enough that she could side astride him, that he could nudge her how he pleases, and his lips curl. ]

Open yourself to me. Show me, and you can take whatever you desire.

[ His fingers are curling around her hips, nails pressing. ]

I will give you your desires.

[troubleyan]

[Is that a command? she wants to ask, but even the thoughts sound breathless in her head. It sends ripples of pleasure, of heat, down her spine and between her legs and leaves Evelyn panting into the kiss, gasping after it, at the touches.

She isn't sure she could put this dress back on without help, but she remembers how it was pinned in place. It does not take a genius to work backwards. She reaches up with deft hands, and picks loose the pins and gilded brooches that hold her gauzy dress in place. The fabric feels like liquid silk the way it slips off from her shoulders and falls off her pert breasts. The belt that is wrapped around her waist holds the fabric in place, but it is easy to gather up the fabric of her skirt in her hands and bare her legs for him. She keeps going, until she has tucked the bottom of her skirt into her belt, once above each hip.

Her lips are kiss-swollen, and her skin feels heated. She may be sitting astride his lap now, easily accessible and visible (and so very naked beneath all that rich fabric) but she does not look shy about it. If anything, her bold actions make her sit with more confidence.]

Does this please you enough?

[naharel]

[ It is good to see how she reacts to her own boldness, to see her settle into comfort - Fen'Harel might desire to mark and bite and be a touch on the side of brutal, but that does not mean he wishes for her to have discomfort, to regret any of this. He watches as more and more skin is bared, and he lets his eyes drag over her skin, the roundness of her breasts, the scent of her almost overwhelming.

Leaning in, his teeth sink into her collarbone as a hand begins to explore; it doesn't take much to steal between her legs, to press two fingers against the shape of her cunt, pressing against her clit, seeking out where she is wet. He wants nothing more than to see her fall apart for him, and his lips twitch as he presses his teeth deeper in her skin.

Let her be bold. Let her be wanton. It fills him with desire, and all he wants is to take more of it until she has nothing left to give him. ]

You please me wonderfully, da'len.

[troubleyan]

[She wasn't expecting this - she should've expected this. The Dreadwolf to devour with all his focus and no preamble.

She lets out a moan from the first slide of his fingers between her legs, even her less sensitive hearing picking up the slick sounds of his fingers on her cunt. She chokes on another moan, her hands flying back behind her to grab onto his thighs above his knees. All so she can open for him, open and let him have and let him take - ] Maker - mmh, yes, please...

[Her body feels enflamed. Nipples painfully peaked, arousal fitting like a hand around her throat, her cunt dripping onto his luxurious robes, clenching around nothing as she does.]

[naharel]

[ When it comes to wanting something, Fen'Harel is unwavering, determined to find or take his goal without hesitation and, in the eyes of some, without morals as well.

What delights him is how much enjoyment she seems to take from her pleasure, the way that she moves against his fingers. He barely has to do much more than hold them in place for now, allowing her to open herself, to let him do as he pleases. It is always delightful when someone shows off their true colours, and what he has learned today is that she must enjoy being commanded, just a little.

Or she simply enjoys giving in to her lust. Either way, it is a delight for him. ]

Do you want more? What would you have me do to you?

[troubleyan]

[ It's a very easy question to answer, when it boils down to just lust, just a stiffling amount of desire. It slips out past her lips breathlessly, even before he finishes the first question. Does she want more? ] Yes - more...

[ The latter, on the other hand, is not so easy to answer. Her words all rush to the tip of her tongue and she feels paralysed by the choices, the overwhelming amount of choices.

(So many decisions on her shoulders, and for once Evelyn Trevelyan wants to push them all to the side and feel, just feel. Allow herself pleasure, instead of continued, constant calculation.) ]

I want - you choose. Fen'Harel, you choose what you'll give me.

[naharel]

[ What he wants is to hear her give in to him, to offer up all of her desires and show him what pleases her best, but it seems as though she is willing enough to let him take what he will. His expression turns rakish, a smirk crossing his face as he leans in to leave a real bite on the curve of her neck, above her collarbone. It will be easy enough to hide, he thinks, as he deliberately sucks to leave a mark - but it will also be visible if she wishes to show it.

His fingers press into her properly now, deliberately thrusting - not quite as hard as he might fuck her with his cock, when he allows himself to get there, but enough to give her a hint of the pleasure that he intends to bring sooner rather than later.

Kisses trail up her neck to her ear, and he speaks there with a low voice, lips still curved in a smirk. ]

What if my desire is for you to climb atop me and show me how well you ride? My mouth or my cock, I have no preference.

[troubleyan]

[ She doesn't expect the smirk on his face, nor the press of teeth to her neck; the mischief, the decidedly present ferocity to him, they draw a gasp from her and chase it down with a whimpered moan when he sucks his mark on her.

Fuck -

That's not just hot, it's electric. He fills her with his fingers at the same time and she lets out a shaky sound of pleasure, holding onto him with one hand over the back of his neck and one on his shoulder. As he starts to thrust inside her, the slick sounds of her cunt practically echo in the room, her pleasure amplified in the intense silence of this moment.

She doesn't waste time to move past the shame expected from a woman of her rank (if her upbringing as the Trevelyan youngest had actually had impact on her, she would be ashamed of how wanton she is, how easily she chases her own pleasure when it is in reach, how hussies like her don't get married or elevated in the Maker's eyes). She side-steps that as easily as she would a trap, and throws herself into the arms of every inch of pleasure he offers, riding his fingers in short and needy movements before long.

When he kisses up her neck, she rolls her hips, grinding down against his hand. When he speaks next to her ear, she flutters around his fingers. ]

I'm a - very good rider, actually. You'll find I'm difficult to dismount, even, once I've settled in for the ride.

[ It's as close to giving him permission to be rough as she's going to get right now, because for some things she is still shy. Telling Fen'Harel to pull her hair and fuck her into the goddamn floor feels like a bit of a stretch for the beginning stages of whatever their relationship is.

She leans away, not too far, but enough to create space to reach down for the front of his robes. For a moment, she gets a little caught up in his gaze, the icy blue-grey almost ethereal when he's aroused, but then her right hand cups him through fabric and she drops her gaze down because - damn. Talk about hiding a secret weapon in those impoverished apostate clothes, future Fen'Harel. ]

Both. I want both.

[naharel]

[ He has always enjoyed his pleasure, there is no denying it, and it gladdens him to see that she is taking as much enjoyment from this as he is. It isn't rare, necessarily, for a woman to show her pleasure in this way, but it is not exactly common either.

She is beautiful as she moves against his fingers, the sound of her a delicious symphony around them as he keeps pressing, teasing, deliberately dragging it out of her. He wants to feel her tighten around him, to see her shake with orgasm as he pushes her over the edge, demanding and wanton with his own desires.

Carefully, his thumb presses against the slight swell of her clit, not enough to really give her any kind of push towards release but enough that he might be able to have her shaking and all the more needy for him. His lips curl into a pleased smirk, and he hums against her skin, breathing her in. ]

I'm sure I will find it a most thrilling venture.

[ He allows her free rein of his clothing, allows her to do whatever she likes, leaning back and basking in the way her face betrays just how excited she is by what he is offering her. ]

Do you think your legs will manage it, if I were to bring you up here for my mouth?

[troubleyan]

[There are little lies she could tell herself like: he isn't Solas, maybe an ancestor, surely the coincidence is just coincidental, there's no reason to fear the fact that her Fade scar has been itching around him. Like: it'll turn out Fen'Harel was just a myth, at least by the time she gets to her time again he will be, assuming she ever gets there.

There's one lie she won't feed herself: she wants to fuck the Dreadwolf, before he grows to be the elf that fucks up the world for the elven Creators. For surely, the fact that his moniker is whispered as a threat to children, to make them behave, is a real good reason to believe he's fucked up.

Before the brutality sinks in, before it comes to it, Evelyn wants a spin. It's a shameless want, and one she's sure to pay for dearly (if he does end up being Solas), but no less desired for knowing the danger beneath her choices.

Besides, how is she meant to be capable of coherent reason and good choices when he has her on the cusp of a very satisfying orgasm? She's sure it will be, assuming he'll ever let her come.]

I think you'd better tell me to rise up to the challenge, my Lord. I respond best to a stern hand.

[Solas, with his winter grey eyes, watching her with aloof pride as she sweats through the exercises it takes to control the mark, Solas holding her wrist and aiming her hand to a rift, Solas instructing her to keep steady, try again, do not falter, Inquisitor -

A terrible chain of thoughts that push to the forefront of her mind, even as she tells Fen'Harel how to take her in hand. Thinking about another elf, a different elf, or the same one but much older, while slipping her hand inside his pants and wrapping it around his cock is possibly more terrible. Maker take her - or failing the presence of Andraste in this time and place, may the Dreadwolf finish the deed.]

[naharel]

[ Fen'Harel hums, pleased, watching her fall into her desire. She is beautiful, it is a thought that echoes like a mantra in his mind, the desire to touch her and pleasure her overwhelming. He cannot say what it is that draws him to her in this way, makes her want him the way he does, other than the desire for someone new, different, unique, who can stand up to him and use her voice. It has been so long since someone new was present in his world, and she is nothing short of interesting.

A stern hand, she says, and his lips curl as he pulls her closer, letting his teeth sink into her neck again. One hand grasps at her backside, squeezing gently, before he offers it a sharp spank; not enough to leave any bruising, but enough to strike an echo of want through her if she truly does enjoy such things. He's interested to see how far she might let him go.

The urge to mark all of her skin makes him want to keep going, but he stops himself. Instead, he makes good on his promise. ]

Tell me if you wish to stop, or if you need me to let you down. I will take good care of you, da'len.

[ His arms sink below, around her thighs, and he pulls her up, leaning forward so that he can try to snag her legs around his shoulders, if she'll allow him. Once she is safely in position - with a little magic to help keep her settled and not have to be concerned with holding herself up - he leans into the space between her legs with a pleased hum.

She even smells wonderful. ]

I cannot wait to see you break for me.

[ And then his mouth gets to work, tongue pressing through her to taste the wetness of her cunt. ]