Lasulahn hums idly at that thought, a dry sort of humour colouring his tone. "That would not be so different from usual," he muses, and though it is a jest, there is truth behind it that they both know. Humans have disdain for their kind, and though that perception has shifted for some with a knife ear at the head of their religious army, for many it has not.
But enough of that. They, both of them, deal with prejudice enough in the day to day. Lasulahn is grateful that he has these moments away from all of that, stolen whether or not he deserves them, whether others think he deserves them. Solas knew so much, shared his knowledge freely and, in moments like this, more of himself than he shares with anyone else. It is special, more than Lasulahn could ever put into words.
He bites at his own lower lip, an idle sort of fidget that betrays his inexperience, the undercurrent of nervousness that runs along excitement and he is unsure where one begins and the other ends.
A breath drawn in, shaking but meant to be steadying, and he leans suddenly forward. He captures Solas's mouth with his own, lips parted and inviting. He hasn't the experience to lead, not really, his only guide the whispered words of other conversations, and silly romance novels. But there is passion, the desire to please. His hand draws beneath the soft, plain fabric of his shirt, and fingertips brush the bare skin of his side. The touch is light, tentative, like a woodland creature ready to dart at the first sound. Slowly, he grows a bit more bold. The caress becomes firmer, palm against warm skin, and he holds himself closer as they kiss.
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But enough of that. They, both of them, deal with prejudice enough in the day to day. Lasulahn is grateful that he has these moments away from all of that, stolen whether or not he deserves them, whether others think he deserves them. Solas knew so much, shared his knowledge freely and, in moments like this, more of himself than he shares with anyone else. It is special, more than Lasulahn could ever put into words.
He bites at his own lower lip, an idle sort of fidget that betrays his inexperience, the undercurrent of nervousness that runs along excitement and he is unsure where one begins and the other ends.
A breath drawn in, shaking but meant to be steadying, and he leans suddenly forward. He captures Solas's mouth with his own, lips parted and inviting. He hasn't the experience to lead, not really, his only guide the whispered words of other conversations, and silly romance novels. But there is passion, the desire to please. His hand draws beneath the soft, plain fabric of his shirt, and fingertips brush the bare skin of his side. The touch is light, tentative, like a woodland creature ready to dart at the first sound. Slowly, he grows a bit more bold. The caress becomes firmer, palm against warm skin, and he holds himself closer as they kiss.