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Few would call Kaaras a quick study.
After some consideration, Solas has found that he is one of them.
He has found a surprising intelligence to their thoughts, more than even they give themselves credit for, but it has to be coaxed out of them. Invited. They are, in most situations, hesitant, and the uncertainty that precedes nearly every word, every movement they make, gives the impression that they are slow of mind. But Solas now knows the truth to be a lack of confidence, perhaps due to growing up singing the Chant as a child with stubby horns, and no place being made for them within its verses.
Given a little positive reinforcement, Kaaras is shown to be kind, patient, gentle, and far more intelligent than they appear at first glance. Cullen has had excellent results teaching the Inquisitor to play chess, and Solas suspects they would lose less coin at Wicked Grace if they actually put an effort into determining when their friends are bluffing. Just last week he found Kaaras in the garden, passionately debating some nuance of the Chant with a flabbergasted Mother Giselle.
It is becoming clear that all Kaaras Adaar needed to become a leader was a little experience. A little coaching, a gentle guiding hand.
In love, they are much the same. But Solas finds their progress in that area to be… significantly faster, than how well they suit the role of Inquisitor.
Odd thoughts for him to have as the third member of their unlikely trio, Aevalle Lavellan, guides one of Kaaras’s fingers into Solas’s ass.
“Oh,” Kaaras says, the rich tones of their voice still low and breathy after Solas’s earlier exertions between their legs. “That’s not what I expected.”
Solas is lying on his back on the Inquisitor’s silk sheets, his cock already hard in the air between them. Aevalle is beside Kaaras, a hand on their wrist, the other stroking Solas’s thigh with a maddeningly gentle touch.
Aevalle had insisted on watching as Solas devoured Kaaras—and then, after they watched Solas clean the slick from their face, they had made a single, shy request.
The request involved something they had purchased in Val Royeaux. Something long, and hard, and with a leather harness.
The three of them had debated a little, the phallus sitting on the bed in plain view—but not for long. Aevalle had insisted on her skill as an instructor when Solas voiced uncertainty over Kaaras’s relative inexperience, and then Kaaras had promised that they would stop the moment Solas wanted them to…
They had looked at him with such wide-eyed sincerity, with want, with something gentler and deeper that Solas knows in his bones he doesn’t deserve.
He didn’t have the heart to deny them.
As such, Solas and Kaaras are utterly naked, and Aevalle has only shrugged out of her jacket. He can see a fine sheen of sweat on her brow, and her pupils are blown wide as she retracts her touch from Kaaras’s wrist and Solas’s leg to sign, Go gentle at first. We need to do this slowly, so we don’t hurt him.
Kaaras nods. “Solas?” they ask, gently.
The phallus is still on the bed—near enough he could knock it off with his leg, should he so choose.
He hums. He is tempted to tease them, like he might with Aevalle— you’ll have to move at some point, vhenan —but he finds he has a little more patience for Kaaras, in most things, than with others. “I have no complaints.”
Kaaras makes a face. Their eyes are glued to where their finger lies within him. “I was hoping for a more enthusiastic response than that.”
Solas laughs a little, breathy and low. “You’re doing well,” he assures them. “Now, if you would please…?”
Aevalle takes their wrist once more, and gently— too gently —guides Kaaras’s finger deeper. Then, just as slowly, back out again.
All the way out, much to Solas’s disappointment. He watches Aevalle reach across him for the bottle of oil balanced precariously on the bed—her red, red hair dangles over her shoulder, tickling the sensitive flesh of his inner thigh.
She helps Kaaras put more oil on their fingers—and then she catches Solas watching, so she sits up taller, pushes Kaaras’s braids over their shoulder, and presses her lips to their neck. Then again, and again, and Solas sees the flash of her teeth—
Kaaras shifts their shoulders. “I’m trying to focus,” they say.
Aevalle lets out a disappointed huff , but allows herself one last bite before she withdraws with a wink and a smirk.
It’s better to use more, not less, she explains about the oil.
Kaaras nods, bringing their attention back to Solas. He watches their face as they insert the finger again— so slowly —watching as they bite their lip, their gaze focused on him, on their hand, on the place where they meet.
He trembles a little, when they pause again. And he finds his gaze wandering to their arms, their broad shoulders…
He wants… He wants…
But it’s not about what he wants, he tells himself again, and tries not to linger too long on how begrudging that thought is. As if…
As if maybe it could be.
The mattress gives a little, and Solas is torn from his thoughts by Aevalle moving up the bed to catch his hand and twine her fingers in his. She leans over him, her eyes flicking over the features of his face with open adoration as Kaaras begins to move again. Slow, steady, in and out, in and out…
It’s so easy to get lost in these moments. To forget everything but the slide of flesh, the sound of another’s breathing, to look up into a pair of bright green or dark brown eyes and feel as if he belongs.
Aevalle glances back to Kaaras—and then she bends down and kisses Solas right as Kaaras adds another finger.
He moans into Aevalle’s lips. Low, wanting—there’s such a delightful friction before Kaaras pauses again to add more oil. And he is grateful, touched by their focus on his care, but he does not feel impatience, either. The slow pace Kaaras sets feels intentional, natural. A steady build as they explore, and touch, and murmur soft words of encouragement that Solas can’t quite make out.
Aevalle, for once, takes her cues from Kaaras. She does not try to rush things, or play games, or push or tease—and she does not resist as Solas guides their twined hands lower, until he feels his knuckles brush against the lacing of her breeches.
His lips tremble against hers. He can feel her smirking, just before she nips him playfully and pulls back.
One of us has to tell Kaaras what to do , she signs after she sits up on her knees.
“I am more than capable,” he dutifully informs her.
She rolls her eyes at him affectionately. But then she seems to get an idea—her eyes darken a little, as she looks down at him sprawled out on the bed, reaching for her.
Hands behind your head , she signs, slowly.
He swallows.
Kaaras curls their fingers, experimentally, tentatively.
It sends a jolt right up Solas’s spine—he whines , though he is only aware of it distantly. He feels his legs jerk, his toes curl, and his whole body tense as Kaaras finds that sensitive spot inside him without meaning to.
And then they stop—pulling back a little, startled.
“Ah,” he pants. He looks back down at Kaaras, who is staring up at him wide-eyed. “Apologies—that was…”
His cock is throbbing, and every word in the Trade tongue suddenly escapes him.
“You good?” they ask.
He breathes for a moment, his hips straining towards Kaaras as they start to pull out. “Yes,” he manages to say. “Very good.”
“You want me to stop?”
He chokes back a whine. “Keep going,” he manages to say. “Please.”
Kaaras smiles, then bends down to kiss the closest part of him—his knee.
Solas looks over at Aevalle, who is watching him, unmoving. She’s not wearing a breast band under her shirt, and for a moment he is arrested by the sight of her nipples through the fabric.
He very slowly lifts his head, and obediently rests both his hands behind it.
She smirks. She moves her hands to her breeches and begins to unlace them. Her fingers tremble with a little too much urgency to call her motions teasing, really, and Solas can’t help a smile at the poorly-disguised eagerness with which she shoves her breeches and smalls down around her knees. He’s close enough to see that she’s already wet—she has been watching for some time, now—and he allows himself a little laugh at the sight of her ripping off her shirt and chucking it over her shoulder.
Said laugh being… lower than usual. Kaaras has resumed, and is taking great care to come very, very close to the spot that prompted his earlier reaction.
But not quite touching it.
Aevalle’s hands wander over her own body, now that the shirt is out of the way. She makes a show of tossing her hair over her shoulder, of running her hands down her neck to her breasts. She palms at them, briefly, before glancing over at Kaaras to see if they’re watching.
They’re not. They’re paying very particular attention to Solas, and stretching his ass as slowly and methodically as they can.
And, more specifically, pausing to apply yet more oil.
Aevalle shrugs a little, looking back at Solas with a wink, before one hand cups her breast, and the other wanders lower.
“Vhenan,” he says, as her fingers slip between her legs.
She smiles at him. Her hips start to rock, slowly, to the rhythm of her hand—which matches Kaaras, movement for movement, each agonizingly slow slide in and out . Forward and back, in and out—
His whole body is rocking, trembling. His hands curl under his head, nails scraping along his scalp—she is so beautiful, lips parted, neck bared, her breaths coming out of her in rough, even pants…
And between his legs, Kaaras. Brows furrowed in concentration, utterly focused in their task. Their skin stretched over their muscles, on full display instead of hidden under all the layers they normally wear. A sight so beautiful, so rare even for him— in another life , he finds himself thinking. Imagining years of nothing but their lips, their arms around him…
He wants to touch them both so badly.
Kaaras adds a third finger, and Solas gasps.
“Vhenan,” he chokes out. “ Please . Let me…”
Aevalle tosses her head back, rocking a little harder into her hand, and once again Solas finds himself speechless as his cock throbs , again.
Kaaras sees him and pauses to lean forward and place a hand on his hip. “Solas?” they ask, gently. “Kadan. What do you need?”
They have big, warm hands. And even as they hesitate, they are steady, and even though they are strong, they are so, so gentle.
He’s so hard, even the air on his skin feels like lightning.
“Hold me,” he says, like it’s a confession. “I want—both—I want to be—between—between you… both of you. Please .”
That last word is a whimper, bubbling out of his throat as he rolls his head back. Nearly bites his tongue so they don’t hear it— he does not deserve this, does not deserve this—
But he wants it so badly.
“Fuck,” Kaaras says, into the total silence that follows.
It sounds like a growl.
His eyes are closed, so he has only the shifting of the mattress for warning as Aevalle launches herself forwards and seals her lips to his in a series of heated, tongue-heavy kisses. He trembles against her, her breath filling his lungs and making him dizzy, before she pulls away.
He opens his eyes just in time to catch a glimpse of her delighted grin.
She bids Kaaras pull their fingers out—which they do eagerly, though Solas whimpers at the sudden emptiness he feels. He sits up, slowly, watching as Aevalle snatches the phallus off the bed.
Propped up on shaking arms, he watches as Aevalle helps Kaaras step into the harness, and then apply a liberal amount of oil to the phallus.
There’s… something very appealing about watching Aevalle running her hand up and down the phallus while Kaaras touches her face, gently.
But they don’t stay like that long.
Kaaras returns to the bed first, and Aevalle trails behind them, her hips swaying with each step. Kaaras stands there for a moment, their hands on the footboard, and they look down at Solas with wide, wide eyes.
Aevalle stands beside Kaaras and signs, On your knees, then, Vhenan?
He exhales, slowly. He looks down at the phallus Kaaras is wearing one last time. They have not chosen a particularly large one; it almost looks comically small now that it is attached to them.
But his mind keeps playing the image of Aevalle stroking it, over and over—and he finds no urge to laugh, looking down at it now.
He turns over, hands and knees on the bed, his ass bared.
“ Maker ,” Kaaras breathes.
Solas clenches his fists in the sheets. “Please,” he says, quietly.
Kaaras lets out a strangled noise. But then Solas feels the mattress dip behind him, the heat of them at his back, and then, finally , their hands on his hips. Gentle, tender. Hesitant, as always, in a new position.
“You’ll tell me if I hurt you?” they ask, voice shaking. “If you want to stop? Three taps, anywhere, remember?”
He is burning, where their hands are on his. He rocks back a little, unable to disguise his urgency when they are so close . “Kaaras,” he says, “ vhenan . You won’t. I will, just— please .”
They curse under their breath as the mattress dips a second time.
And then there is another hand touching him—caressing, gently, teasing into the small of his back, over the curve of his ass, fingers slipping down to his oil-slicked entrance. Slipping in and finding no resistance, exploring, coming just shy of the place that makes his vision go white.
Just as he begins to buck back into her touch, Aevalle withdraws her hand. Just making certain, it seems, that Kaaras was thorough enough.
Somewhere under the overwhelming want and impatience , Solas feels his heart warm at that.
And before he even has time to consider the tenderness from them both that he feels he does not deserve, he feels the phallus pressing up against him.
Kaaras steadies him—he nearly bucks back into it, he is so eager, and their grip tightens a little just to keep him in place. It seems that Aevalle guides Kaaras in, bit by bit, with such a maddeningly slow pace that Solas nearly throws his head back in frustration.
But eventually, he feels cool leather and warm flesh pressed against him, and a fullness inside him as the phallus is completely inserted, and Kaaras is flush against him.
“Holy fuck,” Kaaras says. “Solas…”
He tries to focus on breathing. “Yes?”
Their hands wander a little over his hips—following the bones there around to his front. Splaying over his stomach, running up and down his chest.
It takes all his will just to keep still.
“You’re so beautiful,” they whisper, with the same tone of voice they have used when speaking of great works of art.
His heart flutters in his chest. He tries to rock against them, a little—and he is rewarded by the hitch of their breath as the harness rubs against them in turn.
“I could just… sit here all day,” they tell him, as they begin to tentatively pull back a little.
He is too slick inside to feel much of the drag as they do—but he gasps anyway, his head falling forward and his eyes squeezing shut.
“Just like this,” they say. “Or maybe you on your back, so I can see everything. And maybe—maybe I’d ask Aevalle to tie you up, so you couldn’t touch yourself. Or her. And I could just do this—” they push back in, and Solas bites back a curse. “—all day. See how many times I could make you come, without touching your cock.”
If he had his wits about him, he might laugh and tease them. Oh, he would say, I see you’ve given some thought to this .
He only has the frame of mind to whimper, his cock twitching at the thought, leaking onto the mattress.
“Solas,” they groan, when they are flush with him again. “I want to hear you. You sound so good , please.”
He can’t say anything—his thoughts are scrambled, and he can only pant, wordlessly, into the air. It’s so hot . How is it so hot?
They start to pull back again, a slow, slow drag back out of him, and he whines at the feeling.
They push forward again, and he moans when they are flush with him, and he is full once again.
“Please,” he whimpers, when they pull back again—and he rocks against them, trying to urge them faster, only succeeding on sliding uselessly back and forth on the phallus. “You won’t hurt me. I need— more . Kaaras. Aevalle— vhenan .”
Kaaras curses. Solas feels fleeting touches, fingertips running all up his body, as the mattress shifts, and Aevalle is suddenly in front of him. Her pupils blown wide as she draws his gaze up to hers.
They share a brief, urgent kiss—Solas has lost all semblance of patience, and Aevalle’s never been one to delay things when someone starts begging. She breaks it with a grin, and then, with a grace he once complimented under snowfall at Haven, slips down beneath him.
While she and Kaaras get comfortable—and all their legs in order—Aevalle holds him and presses kisses to his skin that are in the shape of words, but none he has the frame of mind to understand at the moment. His chest is heaving against hers, her nipples rubbing against his skin with every breath, and his cock keeps brushing against the soft curve of her stomach.
“ Vhenan ,” he says, unsure whom he is speaking to. “I need— you — please .”
Aevalle kisses him again—fiercely, her breath hot in his mouth—and then she pulls back, even as he reaches for her.
She takes hold of his cock—and he startles, a little, as the softness of her hand around him. Still slick with oil. He trembles in place as she gives him a few gentle pumps up and down—and then she begins to guide him into her.
She is… surprisingly slick, for how little attention she’s received from either him or Kaaras.
When she has completely enveloped him, she pauses to kiss him again. And then her lips wander to his chin, to his neck, to the lobe of his ear…
And then Kaaras leans down, and presses Aevalle closer to him—and Solas closer to them, in turn.
“ Ah ,” he breathes. Aevalle flush underneath him, Kaaras at his back, hardly a space for breath between them… He can feel their chests heaving against his skin, feel every tremble of flesh among them, the slick of sweat and oil and the smell of sex heavy in the air.
Kaaras leans over his shoulder. Aevalle nips his neck once, quickly, before she lifts her head and her lips meet Kaaras’s.
The movement presses them yet closer together—and Solas’s breath hitches, at both the closeness and the sound of their lips sliding against each other, right next to his ear.
Kaaras hums after a moment, and they both pull back. Kaaras’s hands slip down to Solas’s hips, and Aevalle’s slide up to his shoulders, and Solas watches Aevalle shake some stray hair out of her face, smirk, and nod at Kaaras.
Aevalle begins to pull herself off of Solas at the same time Kaaras begins to pull out.
He gasps—and he writhes in place, as his hips move, caught between them, being pulled towards them both by the press of bodies and his own want, so he clings to Aevalle, twitching, his legs curling under him, and he ducks his head to press her face into her neck, and to arch his back into Kaaras. Every gasp that escapes him is nearly a moan, burning low in his throat.
Kaaras kisses the back of his neck, and Aevalle digs her nails into his shoulders, as she slides down and they push in again.
He curses. It comes out as a whine—and it comes out in elvhen, though it’s a poor jumble of ancient, ancient words. Utter nonsense passes through his lips as Aevalle’s teeth dig into his shoulder and Kaaras pants heated breaths on the back of his neck.
They move again, and he whimpers. Every inch of him feels like it’s covered in fire—and every place he is pressed against either of his lovers, nearly every bit of him, burns hotter still. Every touch is too much—every breath that ghosts across his skin has him biting his lip, to keep him from begging for more.
He cannot say how long this beautiful state of limbo lasts. How long he is pinned between them, whining, whimpering, moaning, his hips jerking erratically as they move, slowly, deliberately, in and out, as they kiss him, as Kaaras whispers broken endearments against his skin, as Aevalle digs her fingertips into his flesh and does not let go—
“Vhenan,” he chokes out, at length. “Vhenan, I’m— please .”
He feels Aevalle smirk against a bruise she is sucking into his neck.
Her hips snap, and Solas jerks forward to meet her out of sheer reflex. Kaaras lets out a soft, rough gasp, and their hips jerk shortly after.
And just like that, it seems, they abandon slow and steady.
Aevalle begins to fuck him harder, faster, increasing the pace of their lovemaking in rapid, frantic movements with her hips. Kaaras begins to follow suit, failing to keep up as Aevalle moves, but they have more power in every thrust—they moan every single time they thrust forward, every time their flesh and the leather slaps hard against Solas’s ass, spread wide and slick with oil for them.
Every time, Solas is pushed forward into Aevalle—and he clings to her as she bucks against him, even as he leans back into Kaaras, relies on the steadiness of their hands on his hips to keep him from toppling over Aevalle in a mess of limbs and slick. He is pushed and pulled between them, Aevalle’s breasts rubbing against his chest while Kaaras’s press into his back.
“Fuck,” Kaaras says, over and over, under their breath. “Solas. Solas —Kadan, you’re so good—you’re so good—please don’t stop—you sound so good —feel so— fuck.”
He is stuttering out curses that have not been spoken in millennia, lost in the press of bodies and the overwhelming want within him, and cannot answer them.
“Please,” he says, frequently, in a language that one of his lovers does not speak. “Please. Don’t stop. Don’t ever stop— please. ”
At some point, Aevalle shifts her grip—one hand pressed flat against his chest to steady herself, as the other reaches down, into what very little space there is between them, and begins to rub her clit. Hard and fast, the back of her hand pressing into Solas’s skin with every motion.
She pushes him closer to Kaaras, who tightens their grip to compensate—and as Aevalle begins to clench around him, as she begins to come, Kaaras thrusts hard into him, brushing up against that spot within him that makes him see white.
He comes, crying out in a dead language.
He thrusts into Aevalle, and ruts back against Kaaras with reckless abandon. His body moves erratically as every nerve burns white hot with release—he spills into Aevalle, crying out, unable to choke back the raw sounds of pleasure that escape him.
Kaaras keeps going—and Solas burns hotter with every thrust they give, their fingers digging into his hips, his hips echoing their thrusts into Aevale as she writhes above him, broken sounds of pleasure escaping her throat in rough, uneven gasps.
It doesn’t take long for Kaaras to follow their lovers over the edge—and they shout when they do, their hips jerking erratically a few more times before they eventually still. Solas thrusts into Aevalle a few more times, weakly, and rocks back against Kaaras as they writhe, as they pull him in closer still, bury their face into his neck to muffle their cries of ecstasy.
It’s hard to say who loses their balance first. All three of them seem to topple sideways at the same time—Kaaras laughing a little, so soft and warm that Solas can’t help but join in. Aevalle kisses him, lazy and fond, before burrowing her face into the crook of his neck. Solas’s hands wandering up to her neck, to the old scar there, as if he can tell If she’s strained herself just by touching.
She catches his hands and pulls them back down—to sling one lazily over her waist, and to keep the other between them. Then he can feel her find one of Kaaras’s hands, and gently pry their fingers from his hip so she can twine hers in them, and rest their joined hands on his hip.
A contented air washes over the three of them as they lie there—still joined, Solas softening within Aevalle, the phallus half withdrawn from Solas just by the nature of their movement as they fell. He is still a little dizzy from his climax, so it’s not uncomfortable just yet—and there’s something about this moment that he doesn’t want to end, right now. All three of them joined, pressed against one another…
He kisses Aevalle’s hair, then turns his head until Kaaras’s lips find his. They kiss, slowly, without heat, for a while—lazy and warm, when they break they linger a moment, just breathing the same air. It feels not like something ending, but simply continuing in some other way.
“Vhenan,” he whispers, and his lips brush theirs.
Kaaras laughs, breathy and low in return. “I never get tired of hearing that,” they murmur back. “Kadan.”