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The Wolf In His Eyes

Interesting one this as it’s fan fiction, which I don’t normally write. However, I have some friends who are big fans of the video game Dragon Age Inquisition. They particularly like the character Solas, who is an Elven mage. It has become something of a running joke among them how their characters in-game always lust after this particular character. As a gift and writing exercise, I decided to write some pervy fanfic featuring Solas for my elf-fancying friends, and I present it here for your delectation. It’s not hugely intense, with the fetish elements being relatively mild, but they’re certainly present. Also, I had fun coming up with as many euphemisms for genitals as I could.


‘Nothing more than a childish prank,’ said Solas, somehow maintaining his dignity of poise even in the circumstances. ‘Harmless. Nothing more.’

‘Still, rather inconvenient for everyone concerned,’ replied the Inquisitor. She tested the chain’s mountings on the dungeon wall. Though the fortress at Skyhold was ancient and in parts crumbling, these dungeons beneath the forge were as sturdy as the day they had been built. The chains held fast.

‘I cannot begrudge the other companions their fun,’ said Solas. ‘Times are hard. There is fear and doubt. They must find a release from such things.’

‘Of course, such fun is far beneath you, Solas,’ said the Inquisitor.

‘I find release in my own way,’ replied Solas, with the ghost of a smile.

Solas was chained spreadeagled to the wall of the dungeon by sets of manacles around his wrists and ankles. From what the Inquisitor had heard from the wagging tongues in the fortress’ inn, his fellow Companions - which ones were not named but she could certainly guess - had conspired to render Solas insensible and carried him down to the dungeon to leave him in his current predicament. Presumably they were going to release him soon, when they had grown tired of laughing at his incarceration.

‘How did they manage it?’ Asked the Inquisitor. ‘I cannot imagine the masterful Solas being tricked by anyone.’

‘Something in my drink,’ replied Solas. ‘A regrettable oversight on my part. I shall not be so lax in my attentiveness again, Lady Lavellan.’

The Inquisitor could not resist touching a finger to Solas’ chest, Beneath his robes she could feel his slender ribs, the body of a mage sure enough, but not flabby or weak - wiry, toned, no more than it had to be. ‘One elf to another,’ she said, ‘it’s something of a novelty to see you helpless like this. You;’re always so assured. Always in control.’

‘Perhaps it does me good to see things from a different perspective,’ said Solas. ‘One must maintain absolute control to weave magic. To lose control is… different.’

‘A curios thing,' said the Inquisitor. She touched the elven mage again, this time lightly, on the throat. He flinched very slightly. The Inquisitor stepped closer to him, face to face, taking advantage of his immobilisation to be closer to him than she had ever seen anyone get.

He stayed locked in place as her lips brushed against his.

It was foolishness. Madness. Solas’ past as an apostate mage was something she didn’t fully understand, and there were whole swathes of his past he had kept hidden from the Inquisition. His precise mannerisms, his lofty talk of magic and the Fade, had set him apart from the earthier denizens of Skyhold, the warriors and rogues, blacksmiths and spies.

But it felt so completely, so inevitably right. Nothing felt more natural in that moment than for the Inquisitor, the Herald of Andraste, to run a hand over Solas’ perfectly smooth scalp and feel his heartbeat flutter against her as she clutched him close.

The chains clinked as Solas moved against her.

‘You are the most powerful sorcerer I have ever encountered,’ the Inquisitor whispered. ‘You know secrets you have not yet told me. A past you have yet to reveal. Nothing, I fancy, is beyond your power. You could conjure these chains away with a thought, couldn’t you?’


‘But you’re not going to.’


Solas’ robe came away easily. Beneath, his chest was smooth and taut. He was not as muscular as the Qu’nari mercenaries who wrestled and brawled in the fortress’ in, or as well-scarred and grizzled as the Inquisition’s battle-tempered knights. But there was a power there, and she felt it crackling as she ran her hands over his chest and belly. Her fingers dithered at the waist of his underclothes.

Solas’ lips parted and he took a quick breath. He pulled against his chains as if trying to free himself, but she knew his real desire was the opposite.

He was so powerful. He could do anything. But here, she could feel he was helpless, and the thrill of it flowed through him and into her.

The Inquisitor pulled at his breeches and they came away, Solas’ maleness was as slender and hairless as the rest of him, but like him it was tall and proud, defying anyone who might doubt its potency. Solas gasped, momentarily disarmed by the feeling of the chill dungeon air on his glistening stallion-head.

The Inquisitor could not help but noticing the clear drop oozing from the sorcerer’s tip. Though he kept his emotions behind a placid mask, his body was betraying him.

The Inquisitor dropped to her knees. The stone was cold through her robes. She looked up at Solas with a smile, and saw a hunger in his expression, as if the wolf in his eyes was struggling to breach through to the surface. Without breaking eye contact, she took the pinnacle of his lust in her mouth, tasting the salt of his passion.

Solas gasped. It gave the Inquisitor a rush of pleasure to know she had drawn a reaction from him. He was so unmovable, his depths so impossible to plumb, that it was a mighty victory to feel him swell and quiver between her lips. His breath hitched as she ran her tongue around his the hardening warmths of his shaft. She stroked that sceptre of passion with one hand while gripping his thigh with the other, digging her fingers deep, revelling in his moan at the combination of sensations pulsing through him.

‘Ar lath…’ breathed Solas, lost in the moment of pleasure.

It was wonderful, that feeling of holding the all-powerful sorcerer in her thrall, having him writhe and shudder at her every stimulation. But if she kept on like this he would spend his passion too soon. That would be no good. She had to exploit this rare weakness while she could, and prolong Solas’ predicament for as long as possible.

The manacles in the dungeon were attached to rails that ran along the walls, floor and ceiling, so an inventive gaoler could manipulate his prisoners into all manner of positions. The Inquisitor let Solas slide out of her mouth, and turned her attention to the cranks and pulleys set into the walls. She selected one and turned it, and was rewarded with a breathy moan from Solas as he was pulled away from the wall, still spreadeagled. After some experimentation she found another crank that rotated Solas around to horizontal and lowered him to the ground.

She took a new kind of pleasure in manipulating Solas at her whim like this. He stayed firm and shaking with passion as he was moved into the place and posture of her choice. This elven mage who could immolate a host of enemies or freeze a waterfall with a thought, whose knowledge reached from the mysteries of the Fade to the long-fallen lands of a forgotten age, was utterly helpless and moulded by her desires. She took her time to savour it, along with the sight of Solas’ robes falling away completely and rendering his lean but taut body fully naked before her sight.

The Inquisitor gathered up her skirts in one hand and pulled them to the side. They fell away where they wrapped around her body, revealing the dark curls between her thighs. Solas’ eyes ran up and down her, and she felt a blooming warmth deep in her sex when she saw his gaze fall upon her most private realm. She straddled him, smirking as she looked down at his trembling body. She wondered if the elven mage had ever been in such a position, with someone literally standing over him like a conqueror or a hunter with a trophy.

‘There is no magic spell,’ she said, ‘that can make that disappear.’ She glanced down at Solas’ hard stallion-head, still wet from her mouth.

‘The magic is all yours, ma vhenan,’ replied Solas. He was fighting to keep his composure, but he could not quite hide the quiver in his voice.

The Inquisitor lowered herself onto him, slowly, teasingly, sighing as the hot tip of his lust touched the outer petals of her sex. She raised herself up again just a little, thrilling to the frustrated moan Solas could not help but let out. Then she slid all the way down on him, feeling the warm hardness of him travel up onto the innermost reaches of her femininity.

She put both hands on his slender chest and rode him like her Dalish steed, unable to hold back any more the wanton impulses that demanded to be indulged. She leaned back, then threw herself forward and clasped Solas close, feeling the intense waves of pleasure that pulsed up from her sex with every new angle.

She was suspended in a sea of lust, her whole body washing over with joy. The key to her pleasure was surely locked away in Solas’ magical heart, in the connection between him, the Fade, the magical threads of the world around them. She felt them now connecting her to everything, but most of all to him, as if her body was conduit for the power he could not keep from flooding out of him.

‘Vir summeil…’ gasped Solas. ‘My heart… I will spend, my love…’

The Inquisitor slid off Solas, moaning involuntarily as the sensation of his rigid passion sliding out of her. She fettle sweat-dampened hair cling to her face. She could not let his passion run its course, not while she was in control of him. She slid her body up his, revelling in the sensation of the perspiration between them. She stepped over his chained arms so her feet were either side of his head.


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