“ you owe me a kiss. ” with Nyvera and whomever else you choose!
Solavellan. Solas x Nyvera Lavellan (700 words, some under the cut)
“You owe me a kiss.”
Nyvera arched an eyebrow as Solas paused, brush in hand, the roomthick with the smell of paint. He didn’t turn as he spoke, and his handcontinued deftly on its quest to decorate the entirety of the rotunda.
“Inquisitor. Strange; I do not recall displeasing you today.”
“Very funny.”Strolling further into the room, Nyvera reached out idly, trailing her fingertipsalong the side of Solas’ desk. There were papers stacked haphazardly on its surface;a stark contract to the elegant yet crisp lines he swept across his canvas ofstone. She frowned at the curling parchment for a moment, but her attention inevitably slid backto Solas’ form, so intent on his work. Enraptured.
“Perhaps my amusing you would suffice?” he asked casually,the brush coaxing a line of gold across the grey, breaking it like a ray of light through a cracked door. “As you can see, I am…otherwise occupied.”
Otherwise occupied.Nyvera folded her arms, although she was surprised by the lack of anger shefelt at being so easily brushed aside. Instead, there was a strange spark to it - it even lined the edges of his voice - and itgave her purpose. Letting out a short laugh, she wandered over to where hispalette rested on a crate. There were three colours currently taking upresidence on the thin board of wood; gold, dark red, and white. She studied them with a discerning eye.
“Oh my…what a shame…”Nyvera sighed, throwing an extra measure of melancholy into thewords. She dipped the tip of her nail into the crimson, swirling it gently. Solas,clearly fighting to resist the urge, gave in and turned to regard her, his eyesnarrowing as he noted her preoccupation with the paint.
“A shame that you are ruining perfectly good paint? Indeed.” He removed his brush from the wall and stepped over, his long legscarrying him the distance in barely a few breaths. He made no attempt to stopher, however, instead standing close and simply watching, those eyes following the circular motion of her finger.
“No,” Nyvera countered with a low laugh, angling her torso to face him. Slowly, she raised her hand fromthe paint, the tip of her nail now stained a deep, sultry red. Mouth curvinginto a smirk, she brought it to her lips and held it before them, so close she almost sense the wetness of the paint against her skin. The shade wasremarkably similar. “It’s a shame,” she continued, watching with mounting pleasure thebobbing motion of Solas’ throat, “that you matched the colour so well frommemory. You could at least try to be subtle, Solas.”