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.
So responsive he was! Was this because of this body? Enhanced by her absence? It was very curious and she would’ve indulged in experimenting further with touches and caresses had he not simply lifted her up into his arms. Mythal let out a breathy sound, a placed gently into a sort of swing made of magic next to him.
Her smile was radiant as his forehead rested against hers for a moment. Then, he commanded her to stay! Her! Such audacity! A laugh came because of it and she did, a coy little smile on her lips as he watched her while opening one of the paints and choosing a brush.
Thirty.
Oh very well.
Another quiet laugh, but she did as he said. He started at the soles of her feet, her ankles, as she began counting. The strokes were teasing, featherlight, and it was a marvel to discover that along some places, the brush against her skin made her body twitch involuntarily. The closer she got to thirty, the closer he came to directly touching her. Swirls around her breasts, lines and waves along her inner thighs, pausing every now and again as he redipped the paint brush.
Thirty.
Feredir… she gasped as he touched her, a single stroke along where she ached. Then, another breathless sound, accompanied by a laugh. Oh. It seems I wasn’t able to keep quiet. But if she could not, she had every intention of seeing to it that he didn’t as well. Reaching out, she grabbed a shoulder and yanked him to her, her mouth going to cover his.
Solas was clearly enjoying himself, his lips pulled into a smirk — so focused on his artowrk, his canvas, that when she yanked him to her he was startled. Laughing into the kiss, that laughter eventually faded as he let the kiss deepen. Breathlessly, he'd murmur as their lips parted, Vixen, he whispered, placing another kiss upon her lips, much more gentle in nature.
Show me what you can do with a paintbrush, ma vhenan.
