gentleman, is she rly your wife if you don't kill her once?

Solas grinned, a wicked smile as she teased him with her words. And her arms settled around his neck, her body against his, and he growled under his breath. Lips pressed underneath her ear, he hissed, I suppose we'll find out.

Firm fingers settled on her thighs, just under her buttocks, and he lifted her into his arms. He shifted as a swing made of magic formed next to them, placing Mythal delicately into it.

He stayed close enough to press his forehead to hers, inhaling her scent. Stay. He'd step back from her, watching her upon the mana swing, as he carefully opened one of the paints. And claimed a brush.

Count to thirty. He ordered, softly. With each number that she counted, Solas delivered a light stroke of the paintbrush, dipped in the edible paint. The nearer she got to thirty, the nearer he came to touching her. His brush painted her breasts, painted her inner thighs, along her ankles and the soles of her feet... Teasing, featherlight. Every-so-often he'd redip the paintbrush.