Lasulahn, for his part, has never experienced the intimate company of someone, despite reaching his twenty-fourth summer. Certainly he's had crushes; even as part of the Inquisition. (He keeps his early infatuation with Cullen close as a secret. Sera would never let him hear the end of it, and he wouldn't put it past Varric to end up in a story.) He thinks he's mentioned it at some point in their travels, to one of their companions in idle conversation, if not to Solas directly - but even if he hadn't, the elf is aware it must be obvious.
The Creators had seen fit to thrust upon him a great many new experiences these past months. Many were painful and trying, even overwhelming, but many were joyful and wondrous. The unexpected love that had blossomed for Solas made him happy in a way that he'd never really experienced, and it was something sorely needed now, more than ever. Perhaps it was the bitter with the sweet that made his feelings all the more poignant.
To Lasulahn, Solas is not trapped. He thinks the man has chosen to stay here of his own volition and good will, and several of his companions had marvelled in the same way. As Inquisitor, he tries not to consider himself trapped, but it is sometimes hard to do so, faced with the decisions of people he had nothing in common with, little knowledge of, who treated him based on his appearance, or his title, rather than who he was as a person. The Inquisitor makes a valiant effort to not consider himself trapped, because he would want to help regardless, but it's a bit difficult sometimes.
His eyes fall closed with a peaceful, quiet exhale as Solas rests their foreheads together, and he smiles briefly.
Nervousness flutters in his stomach at the suggestion that he should put voice to these inappropriate thoughts. Well, perhaps they weren't inappropriate, but they were more colourful than he'd be able to comfortably voice aloud. The press of lips against his forehead serve to ground him, at least a little.
"I was thinking I would like to lie with you," he says in a voice so quiet it was as though he were afraid the walls themselves could hear. He lifts his gaze uncertainly. "To be able to please you."
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The Creators had seen fit to thrust upon him a great many new experiences these past months. Many were painful and trying, even overwhelming, but many were joyful and wondrous. The unexpected love that had blossomed for Solas made him happy in a way that he'd never really experienced, and it was something sorely needed now, more than ever. Perhaps it was the bitter with the sweet that made his feelings all the more poignant.
To Lasulahn, Solas is not trapped. He thinks the man has chosen to stay here of his own volition and good will, and several of his companions had marvelled in the same way. As Inquisitor, he tries not to consider himself trapped, but it is sometimes hard to do so, faced with the decisions of people he had nothing in common with, little knowledge of, who treated him based on his appearance, or his title, rather than who he was as a person. The Inquisitor makes a valiant effort to not consider himself trapped, because he would want to help regardless, but it's a bit difficult sometimes.
His eyes fall closed with a peaceful, quiet exhale as Solas rests their foreheads together, and he smiles briefly.
Nervousness flutters in his stomach at the suggestion that he should put voice to these inappropriate thoughts. Well, perhaps they weren't inappropriate, but they were more colourful than he'd be able to comfortably voice aloud. The press of lips against his forehead serve to ground him, at least a little.
"I was thinking I would like to lie with you," he says in a voice so quiet it was as though he were afraid the walls themselves could hear. He lifts his gaze uncertainly. "To be able to please you."