Chapter Text
It was a miserable day on the storm coast when Dorian realized that he enjoyed following the Herald of Andraste. He was drenched to the bone, fighting darkspawn crawling out of tunnels, beating back spiders and trying hard not to slip on the wet rocks and plunge into the sea. Overhead the sky rumbled with thunder and the promise of worse weather yet and as the group headed towards blessed shelter Lavellan stopped when something caught his eye. Scrambling under a rock ledge he’d fished out what appeared to be notes, using the shelter of the ledge to examine them eagerly.
As they stood there, dripping and miserable, the elf had gotten excited. Spinning around he faced his companions and jabbed a finger at the notes with enthusiasm. “These were written by a dalish grey warden! She met a human in a settlement here, they became lovers!”
A scathing remark to complain about stopping to read illicit love notes while they were dodging darkspawn in the pouring rain died on the tip of Dorian's tongue when he realized there was no heat behind it. Instead he was happy, satisfied that they had helped the Inquisitor find something he could get excited over.
He’d follow this ridiculous elf anywhere, and probably thank him for the privilege when he was done.
So his criticizing complaint was replaced with a smile. Iron Bull made a terrible joke about bridging cultural gaps and swatted Lavellan's ass in passing. Cole took the notes from Lavellan to try and glean some emotional residue from them, and Dorian...Dorian assumed himself coming down with a terrible illness, to feel so warm inside when he was soaked and frozen on this god forsaken chunk of rock.
The next few months found Dorian watching the Inquisitor closer than before. The way he went out of his way to help those around him, to pick at little carvings and notes to learn more of the world he was changing. Even the way he dashed about Skyhold, always taking time to talk with his companions and help them in whatever way he could.
He'd found himself treasuring the friendship they formed, caring deeply about what the Inquisitor-- Lavellan, thought of him. Which is why he spent most of the night in their research wing preparing careful letters for those in Wycome detailing their progress. It was why he fretted while his thoughts tangled into themselves as he repeated the events of the tavern in his mind again and again. He cursed himself repeatedly for opening his mouth and destroying the first relationship in the south he really cared for.
It was in that state Lavellan’s arrival found Dorian. The slender man hummed a tune to himself while struggling to peel an orange as he hip checked the door to let himself in.
Dorian jumped to his feet to stand beside the table covered in notes and a barely touched breakfast. He didn’t know what he expected, but the cheerful smile Lavellan looked at him with wasn't it.
"Is there some kind of secret to these awful things? What's the point of being delicious if the skin is an impenetrable barrier of bitterness?" Lavellan complained as dull little fingernails dug into the peel, unable to pierce it.
Dorian froze in place as Lavellan walked up to him, staring at him blankly until the elf looked up at him expectantly, holding the orange out to him. Hiding his surprise at the elf’s demeanor he plucked the fruit from Lavellan's palm, clucking his tongue as he chuckled.
"If you didn’t cut your nails into blunt stubs they would be of some use for these things." He chided while digging a darkly painted fingernail into the peel of the fruit, the manicured tip sharply tearing into it. "The stronger the peel the sweeter the fruit, you know. Did you have these imported?"
"From Tevinter, actually. Leave it to the 'vints to grow a fruit that doesn't want to be eaten. The kitchens were all excited about their arrival. I bit into one and it was terrible, I haven’t the first clue--” Lavellan stopped his grousing when Dorian pulled apart the orange, peeled in record time, to release the smell of citrus in the area. It made the elf pause and lick his lips hungrily. "Oh." He said with a soft little sigh.
Dorian laughed as he pulled the now tender sections of orange apart, pinching one lightly between his fingers for Lavellan. To his surprise the elf leaned up on his toes to use his mouth to take it from Dorian's hand, the elf letting out a sound that was downright obscene when he began to chew.
"Good?" Dorian managed the word into a question as he stared, still unable to correlate the friendly creature in front of him with what he’d been expecting. Lavellan nodded enthusiastically, prompting Dorian to hold out another piece, this time schooling his reaction perfectly when the elf ate from his hand again. "You know it’s supposed to be peeled grapes eaten from the fingers of your adoring followers." He said with a haughty grin.
Lavellan paused to lick the juices from his lips, not missing how Dorian’s eyes followed the dart of pink tongue. "We're known for challenging the status quo, are we not?" He quipped with a raised brow, the total ease of their interactions making everything comfortable. Had Lavellan forgotten? Forgiven him already?
"About last night..." Dorian began, because he needed to address it one way or another. He had to make sure Lavellan understood how terribly Dorian had felt. "I wanted to apologize--"
"It's fine, Dorian." Lavellan said with a smile, shaking his head as he cut off the man's apology mid sentence. “Let’s just assume I misunderstood you terribly. Exhaustion and alcohol were probably to blame.”
Dorian’s blinked for a couple long moments, at a complete loss. This had not been one of the many possible outcomes he’d prepared for. “Oh.” He finally said, forcing a charming smile and a little dip of his head in thanks. “Well, I suppose that works too. Certainly saves me having to beg forgiveness, doesn’t it?” He offered another piece of orange which Lavellan accepted, the elf taking a moment to lick a drop of juice from Dorian’s fingertips. The ‘vint managed to look indifferent, like he hadn’t noticed. “What a shame,” He continued because talking was easier than digesting Lavellan’s clemency. “I spent most of last night practicing my grovelling. Was always rubbish at it.”
“You certainly don’t look like you got much sleep.” Lavellan said with a soft expression, watching Dorian’s face attentively. For the first time he was inspecting Dorian’s mask for cracks, little pin holes that he’d never noticed before. Of course the Iron Bull had, but he’d told Lavellan where to look and now he could see them too. For instance if he tilted his head back and swallowed Dorian’s eyes followed to his exposed throat and the bobbing of his adam’s apple. Or when he parted his mouth slightly to wet his lips with his tongue, Dorian’s gaze stayed transfixed. The tone of his voice never changing or the expression of his face, but his eyes gave away just how intensely Dorian was watching him.
He’d always been so dazzled by the charming mask that he’d missed the interest hiding behind it all this time. The discovery that Iron Bull was right made Lavellan giddy with excitement.
So he stood just this side of too close to Dorian, invading personal space as he examined the man’s face with obvious scrutiny. “Do you have a headache? Did you take anything for it?”
Dorian waved his hand dismissively. “Of course, I’ve never met a hangover I couldn’t handle.”
Lavellan grinned at Dorian as he let out a little laugh of amusement. “The ancient Tevinter cure of ‘drink more wine’ doesn’t count, you know.”
“Yes, you fiend. I’m fine.” Dorian chuckled as he let Lavellan pluck the remaining half of the orange from his hand without protest. “I was just...concerned.” His voice took on a more serious tone that caught Lavellan’s attention as he pulled pieces of the orange apart, enjoying the smell of citrus as much as the taste. “I had great expectations that you’ve so rudely ignored. You were supposed to come in yelling, I was to fall to my knees and plead for a second chance. It was all going to be very dramatic, you see.”
He was making light of his worry, but there was such tension across Dorian’s shoulders that Lavellan understood just how stressed he’d been. Instead of speaking right away Lavellan selected an orange wedge and raised it to Dorian’s lips, enjoying the way the man’s brow scrunched as he opened his mouth to accept it. While Dorian chewed Lavellan set the remainder of the orange on the tabletop and caught Dorian’s hand in his own.
"You're the best friend I have." Lavellan said with soft voice, painfully honest with an open expression. "I shouldn't have jumped to take offense, I know you're not guilty of the prejudice I accused you of." When Lavellan gave Dorian an imploring look the 'vint gave his hand a comforting squeeze, but before he could interrupt Lavellan continued. "I don't want you to think you have to tiptoe around me, have to worry about offending me. We're beyond that shit, we can be honest with each other."
Dorian swallowed and Lavellan could see the mask straining, pulling at the edges and threatening to break apart. Friendship was something both of them had been starved of throughout their lives, navigating the importance of it wasn't a painless subject. The man looked so openly touched that Lavellan couldn't help but break into a tender smile, Dorian mirroring it shortly after.
"You know," Dorian began, closing his eyes for a moment to dispel some of the emotion threatening to overwhelm him, falling back to playful teasing. "You may regret those words when I'm honest about your fashion choices."
Lavellan laughed, releasing Dorian's hand to swat his arm with a grin. "I'll have you know black and yellow are perfectly acceptable uniform colors, you wicked 'vint."
"Black and gold, perhaps. But plaidweave? Really?"
Lavellan had already tried and failed to defend the choice before, ‘It’s pretty!’ an argument that had fallen on deaf ears. Instead he just laughed and tilted his head back to let loose hair spill over his shoulder, watching Dorian watch him. He could practically feel the heat from Dorian’s eyes as it danced across his skin.
On the far side of the wing the sound of a door opening and closing echoed throughout the empty halls. The only other person allowed to pass the guards at the door would be Lavellan’s Keeper. It was an opportunity to test the waters and Lavellan decided to take it. Iron Bull had told him what to watch for, how to tug at Dorian’s resistance without tearing.
Lavellan closed the distance between them and pressed his body tight to Dorian’s as he tilted his head back to watch Dorian’s expression. Dorian’s hands settled tightly on Lavellan’s hips, perhaps intending to push him away though the did no such thing. Instead Dorian looked at him like he had grown three heads as Lavellan offered a wide, sultry smile.
“Lavellan?” Dorian asked, clearly confused with the sudden shift.
Lavellan reached up to hook his fingers in the front of Dorian’s robes, tugging at the leather straps there with an amused little smile. “I would really like my Keeper to catch us in the middle of something…intimate.” He kept his voice a low whisper to enjoy the way Dorian dipped his head to hear him which closed the distance between them further. It was a good sign Dorian wasn’t really uncomfortable with him so close. “If you’re capable of such a thing?”
The tease was breathed out as Lavellan leaned up on his toes, smiling when Dorian’s eyes darted to the door only for a moment before his entire attention settled on Lavellan. “If I'm capable.” He mimicked with a scoff, his gaze transfixed as Lavellan parted his lips and let out a happy sound. “The things you say.” He let Lavellan raise his hands to tug on his outer collar and pull his head down, squeezed the elf’s hips a little tighter as they fit their bodies together. Dorian gave Lavellan one last searching hook before he stopped hesitating, closing the distance between their mouths as he pressed his lips to Lavellan’s.
They were both holding their breath when soft lips met, a soft inhale as they kissed, warm air shared between their mouths. It was entirely different than Lavellan was used to, light and cautious as Dorian wavered. He longed to wrap his arms around Dorian’s neck, pull the ‘vint down and devour the man’s mouth. He smelt orange on Dorian’s breath and he wanted to chase the flavour with his tongue, wanted to show Dorian how good it could be.
“Don’t push him at first, let him choose what he does, let him set the pace. You go in too aggressive and you’ll scare him off. Work within the limits he sets.” Lavellan had given Iron Bull a suggestive grin and the qunari seriously wondered if Lavellan was capable of following his instructions.
He was. One of Dorian’s hands lifted to cup Lavellan’s cheek, running the pad of his thumb across a delicate cheekbone. Dorian was still cautious, clearly holding back, but Lavellan was fascinated by the way he felt wrapped up by a body that did not fully engulf him, the softness of lips that were not rough and scarred.
The tickle of Dorian’s mustache gained all Lavellan’s attention as the man pressed closer, spurred on that Lavellan had not balked or shied away. Lavellan let out a breathy little sound and smiled wide against Dorian’s mouth, tilting his head so he could nuzzle his nose and lips against the tickle of perfectly clipped facial hair.
“Lavellan…” Dorian murmured with a breathy chuckle, perhaps intending chastisement though it came out far too heated for that. Lavellan responded with a pleased hum as he finally lifted his hands to curl them around the back of Dorian’s neck, up on his tip toes now to access the mage fully.
His lips parted against Dorian’s and he smiled when he felt a sharp inhale, drawing the tip of his tongue across Dorian’s lip just to test, to taste. It was nothing more than an invitation, he didn’t push, just offered, but that was all it needed to finally break through Dorian’s reservations.
The hand at the side of his face slid up into his hair, seizing a generous handful and using it to pull Lavellan’s head back further. Dorian’s other hand gripped the elf’s hip, pulling him against the ‘vint’s larger body with an obvious hunger for friction.
The whimper that left Lavellan’s mouth was downright pathetic but Dorian didn’t seem to mind. He tested his tongue to his partners, leaving wet little presses all over Lavellan’s lips until the elf opened his mouth and they pressed their tongues together inside of it. The heat between them rose rapidly, Dorian groaned into Lavellan’s mouth as he explored, both of them tasting orange and spices.
When Lavellan arched into the firm hand sliding down his back he found himself being crowded, Dorian shoving him as the kiss deepened. His back hit the rough stone of the wall behind him and he let out a gasp, finally pulling away from the kiss to pant for breath.
Dorian's mouth turned to the side to attack Lavellan's ear, testing the lobe with his teeth, drawing the tip of his tongue across the delicate line of the shell making Lavellan shiver and moan. Dorian leaned into him, pressing his thigh between Lavellan’s legs to great effect, the elf rocking his hips against it and groaning at the delicious friction of the movement. When he lifted one of his legs to slide it up Dorian’s side he was rewarded when the other mage grabbed under his knee, hiking Lavellan up his body easily.
With little effort Lavellan's other foot left the ground and he was left with his legs wrapped tightly around Dorian's waist, neither man thinking too clearly as they lost themselves to the heat of the moment. Dorian's mouth had discovered just how sensitive Lavellan's neck was, how loud the elf could get when flat teeth sunk into the pale flesh.
Neither of them were thinking of Lavellan's Keeper sorting through the mail in the entry of the wing, too focused on grinding against each other and earning as many heady noises as they could. Lavellan's hands tried and failed to find a way to get beneath Dorian's clothing, the buckles, belts and straps far too complicated for him to process. Instead he focused on suckling Dorian’ neck, smooth dark skin that smelt like spices and soaps and tasted like sin.
The more sounds Lavellan made the bolder Dorian became. As he lost his reservations Lavellan discovered how skilled the man was with that mouth of his, Lavellan craving it in hundreds of places and barely able to remind himself that he wasn't supposed to be pushing Dorian too hard. When Dorian's hands dug into his ass, using that grip to control the slow grind of their groins, Lavellan's fingers tightened in Dorian's hair while he keened. The 'vints name became a mantra that spilled from Lavellan's lips as he squirmed under the attention, Dorian’s hot mouth attacking his neck suckling and leaving marks and bites behind to drive Lavellan to utter distraction. All the while the tickle of Dorian's mustache across over-sensitive skin made Lavellan squirm and whimper, the Altus absolutely merciless about exploiting how receptive Lavellan was to it.
"P-please, Dorian." He whimpered, begging already. Iron Bull would never let him live it down if he found out. "Kiss me, please."
They neither heard nor cared about the footsteps in the hallway echoing towards their door. Dorian didn't hesitate for a moment to give Lavellan what he wanted, a soft curse falling from his lips as he released Lavellan's neck to return his attention to his mouth. The easy way Lavellan tilted his head back to give Dorian full access pleased him, if the little groan of excitement that left Dorian's lips was any indication.
They kissed, so focused on devouring each other's mouths that all other constraints were forgotten. Lavellan's hands were making a mess of Dorian’s hair as they dug in to hang on, legs tight to Dorian’s hips as the two of them ground against each other. The Altus’s clothes were askew but in tact, though Lavellan’s jacket had been hiked up to give Dorian access to the smooth skin of his back.
It wasn’t until Istimaethoriel’s books clattered to the ground with a gasp that they noticed the door opening, so caught up in the needy little noises and the sweet taste of each other’s mouth. Dorian was the first to react, pulling his head up out of Lavellan’s reach as he twisted to look at her with surprise. The intention had been to put on a show and intentionally get caught, but Dorian had gotten so caught up in the moment he’d forgotten that.
“Oh! I’m so sorry! I didn’t know anyone was here! I’ll leave you two alone.” Istimaethoriel apologized hastily while scooping up her fallen books.
“It’s quite alright.” Dorian stammered out, still heated and flushed and slightly disoriented. He moved to take a step back and put some space between himself and Lavellan, but the elf was still thoroughly wrapped around his body. Lavellan pressed his face to Dorian’s throat, biting at it gently with a soft sound of happiness.
“You sure about that?” Istimaethoriel teased as she straightened her books, raising a suggestive eyebrow at Dorian. She chuckled as she watched Dorian realize he still had a firm grip on Lavellan’s ass, the flushing Altus releasing the elf and forcing the other man to drop to his feet. When Lavellan made to reach for Dorian’s shoulder the human caught his wrist and stilled it, giving Lavellan a thoroughly heated look.
“I’m sure we can focus on the task at hand and continue this later, isn’t that right?” Dorian managed to sound stern, but the pitiful little noise Lavellan made broke him. Still gripping Lavellan’s wrist he used it to pull the elf close for a moment, dipping to press another kiss to Lavellan’s mouth. It was a liberty he enjoyed the hell out of taking. The heated spark in Dorian’s eyes, the way his hair stuck up randomly from Lavellan’s fingers and the way his mustache curled all out of place made Lavellan all the more eager to forget their work and jump him.
The Altus who always looked so perfectly groomed, so completely dignified at all times was an absolute mess and Lavellan had been the one to make him that way. He’d been given a taste of the most enticing of delicacies and now he wanted to gorge himself on it.
“Do try and control yourself.” Dorian said to both of them, perhaps noticing the predatory gleam in Lavellan’s eye and returning it fully.
The Keeper chuckled as she walked by the two of them to set down the books and mail she’d brought up, testing the temperature of the tea pot on the table. Finding it cool she warmed it with a casual wave of her hand that activated the small fire rune at the bottom of the pot. “Don’t hold back on my account.” She laughed.
She stood back to watch as Lavellan fussed over Dorian, the elf doing his best to help put Dorian back together. He smoothed the man’s mustache and rearranged his hair as Dorian returned the favor, combing his fingers through Lavellan’s hair and adjusting the elf’s clothes to make him presentable. The Altus looked a little guilty as he fidgeted with Lavellan’s collar, a rather obvious mark left just above his collar, unable to be hidden. Lavellan could tell how nervous Dorian was becoming, so with a satisfied smile he leaned close and rubbed a hand across Dorian’s side. “As tempting as it is to give you a show, he’s right as usual. We should get to work.” When he let his hand slide down Dorian’s hip and thigh he turned to hide his grin as he practically felt the vibration up Dorian’s spine.
He was still grinning as he walked past Istimaethoriel to look at the letters she had brought, the other elf shaking her head at him. “You are like a cat that’s been into the cream.” She chastised with a smile on her face.
Lavellan laughed and managed to withstand the urge to tell her ‘You have no idea.’
He’d gotten under Dorian’s shields this time, the Altus hadn’t expected him and had been totally unprepared. No doubt Dorian would not make that mistake again, he’d be determined to remain on his guard, to keep himself reserved and controlled. Unfortunately for the poor ‘vint, Lavellan had seen what something primal looked like on the man. Like a shark lured in with blood in the water he’d been tantalized, all the more motivated to pursue more.
The look he gave Dorian was remarkably predatory as he watched the ‘vint compose himself out of the corner of his eye. Dorian being off balance and confused by the whole display just made him deliciously easy prey.
Turning his attention back to his letters, Lavellan gave a miserable little sigh as he forced himself to focus on the matter before them. Dorian wasn’t going to be the only one distracted -- it was going to be a long few days.
Their patient had a problem deciding which carving was her favorite. It certainly helped distract her from the examination -- Lavellan’s prodding hands were practically ignored as he tested her for reactions to their magic, the girl far too busy examining Cole’s gifts closely with Dorian at her side.
She admired the bright colors and the careful details to each one. Then she began to tell Dorian stories of the pets she grew up with, asked excitedly if Cole could make a fennec fox carving too, because she quite liked those. To Lavellan’s surprise Dorian not only entertained her little ramblings but also shared stories of his own. Of a little bird he’d found that had struck a window and dazed itself, how he’d nursed it back to health before watching it fly away. He told her of how many fennec foxes ran around them when they went outside, about the little noises they made as they ran. He thankfully left out the parts where they often got caught in the crossfire when fighting broke out.
When Lavellan was done he stood back and watched as their little patient picked out her favorite book to show Dorian, Istimaethoriel joining him at his side as she finished her work. “He’s quite something, isn’t he? Can you imagine meeting him when we were that age? Might have changed our minds about Tevinter, you know.”
“The number of his countrymen rushing to meet their death at our hands shows just how rare he is amongst his country.” Lavellan said with a sad smile. “Probably for the best we don’t go trusting ‘vints without cause. However...He wants to change things, you know? He wants to make a difference, redeem his homeland.”
“Return to Tevinter?” Istimaethoriel said with a frown, clearly displeased by that news. “Tevinter doesn’t deserve him.”
“I’m sure he’ll be thrilled to know how taken you are by him.” Lavellan teased, though he couldn’t help but agree with his Keepers opinion.
The girl suddenly burst into giggles as she showed Dorian whatever it was she had been searching for, Dorian looking a good manner of amused and embarrassed all at once. “He looks nothing like me!” He protested.
“Does too! Identical! You’re definitely him.”
“He’s a villain. A scoundrel.” Dorian argued, which only seemed to make his pint-sized more determined.
“Nuh-uh! He’s good in the end! In book three he helps the King rescue the Princess and then he’s a hero of the whole kingdom!”
Dorian looked up at Lavellan suddenly. “Lavellan, tell this lovely lady that this character looks nothing like me.” He demanded. Grinning Lavellan moved to his side, looking over Dorian’s shoulder at the book spread out in the girl’s lap. Lo’ and behold the illustration it was opened to was opened to was of roguish looking man with a long coat and a rapier in one hand, long black hair pulled back into a half-bun. The defining feature however, the final nail in Dorian’s coffin, was that the man had a mustache almost exactly like Dorian’s, carefully trimmed and curled and so completely villainous that Lavellan could do nothing but laugh.
His Keeper had joined them when Dorian growled at the laughing elf, seeing the picture and immediately giving a soft little chuckle, trying to turn it into a cough and hide her smile with her fist when Dorian glared. “Nothing like me!” Dorian insisted, and she gave him a humoring smile, patting his shoulder gently.
“Don’t worry, gorgeous. It looks far better on you.”
Lavellan was laughing too hard to breathe properly, which Miss Frost found absolutely hilarious, and soon the two’s infectious laughter had seeped into all four of them.
They stayed with her a while longer, taking the time to play a board game with her that she rather fancied, something silly with rules that seemed to change to suit her, but none of them really minded. It helped cheer her up and when she smiled it hid the fact that her face was gaunt and pinched with sickness. When they left she had fallen asleep, far too exhausted by all the visiting but still with a happy smile on her face. Atop her night-stand were the three little carvings Cole had made, watching over her bed. Dorian assured her that they would join her in her dreams.
Lavellan’s Keeper went on ahead to return their implements to their room. Now they were left to their own devices for a while, only having to check back in on the girl every couple of hours to mark her progress, check to see how she was reacting to their first attempt at a cure.
As Lavellan leaned against the doorframe waiting for Dorian to exit he was surprised when the Altus stopped next to him after closing the door behind them. He paused when he saw the flush of heat across Dorian’s face before the other mage reached out and tugged up on Lavellan’s collar. “Pull this up a bit, will you?”
Lavellan raised a brow as his hand replaced Dorian’s, attempting to adjust the collar to hide what he realized were love bites from Dorian’s attentions to him earlier. Judging by the way Dorian’s brows furrowed as he watched, it wasn’t doing any better a job of hiding the marks.
“Fasta vass.” Dorian cursed, crossing his arms in a clearly unhappy gesture. “Iron Bull is going to kill me.”
Lavellan tilted his head in a questioning manner, a smirk pulling at his lips as he considered it. “Oh, don’t worry about that. Iron Bull leaves marks all the time. He probably won’t even notice another one.”
Dorian let out huff, clearly not impressed by Lavellan’s attempts to reassure him. “You mean the man who keeps track of where he’s left some kind of bruise behind so he can squeeze them later to make you squirm and whimper?” Lavellan flushed right up to his ears, no doubt Dorian’s intention, as he considered how many times Iron Bull had done that exact thing when Lavellan thought no one watching. “The qunari who enjoys marking his territory will surely not notice another man’s mouth bruised into your neck. Kaffas.”
Flustered as he was Lavellan couldn’t come up with a proper argument. Instead the blushing elf took a quick couple of steps into the ‘vint’s personal space, jutting his chin in challenge.
Don’t let him focus on my relationship with you -- he’ll latch onto that and deny himself everything if you do. Instead show him you’re offering him the chance at that relationship. Focus on what you’re building together, I’ll deal with the rest later. Damn good thing Iron Bull had forced him to repeat most of his instructions, it had been enough to drill them into Lavellan’s head so he could recall them when he needed.
“What about you, Dorian?” He countered, grinning when the Altus’ attention snapped onto him, Dorian raising an elegant brow as he listened. The happy little smile Lavellan shared with him became more intimate as Lavellan pressed against him as he tipped his head back enough that his hair fell down his back, away from his neck exposing the marks all the more. “Do you enjoy marking your territory? Leaving bruises behind?”
Dorian gave Lavellan a half hearted glare before glancing around to see if anyone was watching them. The hallway was completely deserted, however servants and workers did pass through now and then, only one room of the wing kept under quarantine. The chance of being caught was obviously an issue for the ‘vint. “You know your Keeper is nowhere near to catch us.” He pointed out with a question in his tone, as if hoping that reminder would somehow be news to Lavellan.
Instead the elf attempted an innocent smile that fell short of innocent and fell more into downright wicked. He’d have to work on that. “That’s true, but don’t you think that’s something your lover would know?” He shifted closer yet, leaning up on his toes to shorten the distance between them, easily in kissing range now if Dorian would only to dip his head for a moment.
“Kaffas, what’s gotten into you?” Dorian hissed, his voice low and tense, protesting verbally even as his weight shifted towards Lavellan. His silver eyes darkened as he considered the elf before him with obvious heat to his expression.
Lavellan let out a soft little whimper when he realized that Dorian’s eyes kept falling to his mouth, parting his lips and wetting them with his tongue just so he could watch the mask Dorian wore crack a little further. “Nothing, yet.” He finally managed to speak, his voice teasing and light despite how suggestive he wanted the words to be. Important to keep things from getting too weighted at this stage. “We could work on that, though.”
He snickered when Dorian gave a frustrated groan, the tension between them diffused completely by the familiar humor of their flirting. Lavellan unconsciously leaned forward as he laughed, Dorian dropped a hand to the elf’s hip in the same comfortable way. Perhaps it was to prevent the elf from pressing any closer, the distance between them certainly not platonic if anyone were to catch them now. Instead he ended up squeezing the elf’ hip experimentally, apparently pleased by the way Lavellan felt under his hands if the gentle smile pulling at his lips was any indication.
“There’s plenty easier ways to get me killed, you know.” Dorian managed to sound indifferent, as if it was no more an important topic than the weather or the progress of the crops in Antiva. While he drew upon his composure Lavellan couldn’t help but notice how Dorian’s other hand had fallen to his other hip now, rings grazing against the leather of his belt as the larger mans hands tensed in restraint.
“I’m sure there are.” Lavellan said with a lazy smile, still leaning his head back and watching Dorian with his full attention, fascinated really. “However none of them involve kissing you.”
“And that’s something you want to do, is it?” Dorian sounded surprised, a crack of self consciousness in his usually haughty tone, in the way he kept his expression schooled. In fact, there was an underlying amount of something that Lavellan couldn’t identify, nevermind know how to fix. He’d work on that, too.
“Absolutely. Can you blame me?” He pet Dorian’s ego instead, stoked his confidence to admire how the man flourished under the compliment, how his grin came back full strength, how his posture straightened and he squeezed Lavellan’s hips with assurance in his grip.
“I suppose not.” He said with a final glance around, confirming that they were still alone in the hallway. Once he was certain he scooped one arm around Lavellan’s waist and pulled him close against him while the other hand reached for Lavellan’s collar, pulling it back carefully. In one smooth motion he dipped his mouth to the tender skin exposed, pressing his lips chastely to the mark he’d left on Lavellan’s neck.
The press of warm lips and the tickle of a mustache against sensitive skin made Lavellan shiver. His slender hands settled on Dorian’s shoulders and he leaned his head back, a soft moan escaping that he couldn’t have suppressed if he’d wanted to. Dorian made a gentle hum as he tested the tenderness of the bruise with his lips, the hot wetness of his tongue and the soft noise of Dorian’s attentions so close to Lavellan’s ear left the elf a mess in moments.
“Creators.” Lavellan whimpered when Dorian pulled away, the elf leaning up to chase after the man’s mouth, completely focused on the way Dorian’s lips glistened and how fucking much he wanted to muss his mustache with a few good kisses. Instead Dorian pressed a ringed finger to Lavellan’s lips, giving the elf a soft smile even as he refused him.
“Not here, too many curious eyes around every corner. I’d rather not be accused of trying to suck out the Inquisitor’s soul.” He teased, though Lavellan could see the resolve there.
He nodded instead, gave Dorian’s finger a gentle little kiss before he stepped back and let cool air flow between them again, some of the heat dispersing when they weren’t pressed against each other. Dorian had limits -- he was happy to give kisses, just not in public. Lavellan could most definitely work within those parameters. He stayed at Dorian’s side as they left the wing, the two of them falling back into comfortable rhythm that it made Lavellan warm inside.
“And for the record, Inquisitor?” Dorian said after a few moments, his voice lowering after he’d gotten Lavellan’s attention. “I prefer to leave marks on much more intimate areas.”
Lavellan laughed, eyes dancing devilishly as he considered the man at his side. “Very good to know.”
They had been hoping for a cure. They wanted to see young Miss Frost the next morning and find her completely better, no longer afflicted by the disease in any way. Instead they found marked progression. They found improvement -- her blood seemed to carry enough nutrients that food had a positive effect on her, her breathing was less shallow, her color improved substantially. However she was still weak, her blood was still affected by the disease, the veins visible under her skin far too dark to be healthy. She wasn’t cured.
They gave her another treatment and returned to their research area, the three of them pacing as they considered this new development. The cure they had produced would work, it would simply need multiple treatments. However just the two doses they had created had taken a couple of days to grow under Istimaethoriel’s care. It required treated blood samples and a not insubstantial amount of mana to produce, not to mention a spirit healer.
They had been hard pressed to come up with a way to produce enough of the cure to treat everyone in Wycome already, the fact that each of them would need two, maybe three treatments depending on how long they’d been infected left them arguing amongst themselves.
“We could strengthen the magic we’re using with a foci of some kind. Less magic would be required, it would make it easier to produce.” Lavellan spoke while he leaned over the table, glaring at the numbers in front of him. The number of spirit healers they had access to and the amount that were able to go to Wycome when instructed. The number of doses they suspected they would need, minimum. The number of days they had to do all of this before people began to die in droves.
Istimaethoriel was already beginning to prepare several more doses as they discussed what to do next, the pile of empty lyrium bottles growing larger as the day wore on. It would only be enough to give to those most gravely ill in Wycome, the ones who would not live to the end of the week. However it was taking a toll on her, Lavellan’s Keeper was growing more exhausted by the minute, pushing herself too hard.
Dorian sat in a chair next to Lavellan, feet crossed casually at his ankles while he poured over several reports in one hand, a glass of wine in the other. There were several books stacked on the wide armrest of the chair however he’d stopped flipping through those when he hadn’t found what he wanted.
“If we strengthen the magic we risk the formula itself. It must stay within parameters or else the final product will do us no good. Worse case scenario it actually does harm.”
“Or, it works out, and we’re better off for trying. It doesn’t hurt to look over the formula again and see if there’s a way to tweak--”
“Your poor Keeper is barely keeping her feet as it is, and you want to waste her power on more experiments when she could be producing the actual cure?”
“I want to find a way to solve our problem.” Lavellan said with a raised eyebrow, turning away from the papers that were screaming at him to give Dorian his full attention. “Perhaps you could help, instead of simply poking holes in my solutions.” He crossed his arms across his chest and did his best to look annoyed. That failed when Dorian looked up at him with an arched brow and an amused look, Lavellan couldn’t help but mirror the smirk he was given.
“Your solutions are leaking quite well enough on their own, my dear. Why don’t we come up with good ones.” Despite the snark that was passing between them, Dorian seemed to notice how tired Lavellan was, how much the need to come up with a plan was weighing on him. Without changing the subject or breaking a stride, Dorian set his wine down on the table and extended an arm to Lavellan in invitation. Without question the elf settled himself onto Dorian’s lap and smiled when an arm wound around his waist to hold him comfortably. Dorian studied him from his new, closer vantage point. “Fortunately, I’ve already told you a good solution.”
Lavellan made a face even as he reached out to straighten Dorian’s collar, not that it was out of place, but he enjoyed the chance to brush fingertips across Dorian’s clavicle, watching for the tiniest signs of response. “I don’t think Dagna’s very experimental foci counts as a good solution, no matter how charming you may look when you insist it so.”
“It doesn’t strengthen magic, it multiplies it. Stronger magic damages the cure, multiplying the cure is exactly what we need. It’s brilliant and it would work splendidly.”
“Or explode and destroy Undercroft. You’re forgetting that possibility.”
“We’d tweak it of course, I’m sure we could lower the risk to m-manageable levels.” Lavellan grinned when the Altus’ stuttered, his expression positively wicked. Settled as he was in the man’s lap he only had to squirm and arch justright to grind against the Altus in the most satisfying of ways.
Dorian of course could not protest this with Lavellan’s Keeper only a few steps away. She wasn’t as focused on her work anymore, finally done pouring out magic and instead insuring that all the vials were properly sealed and marked. She glanced up regularly to grin at the two as they bickered, keeping her comments to herself.
“I don’t see how re-examining our formula is considered ‘wasting time’, while tweaking an experimental foci that could very well do nothing for us is perfectly acceptable?” Lavellan asked with a mock offended tone as he squirmed again, watching the heat rise up Dorian’s neck. The man didn’t blush per say, nothing like the bright red that covered Lavellan’s face right up to his ears. He did however get significantly rosier under all that caramel skin, easier to miss but so damn attractive.
The way he enunciated his words, licked his lips and kept his mouth slightly parted could also have something to do with Dorian’s fraying focus. To the man’s credit, he was exceptionally good at keeping it together under such brutal working conditions. “If we’re capable of multiplying the cure, that means we don’t have to exhaust spirit healers, the foci could do the work for them. It cuts the work, but it also means that we can keep a few doses on hand and be able to mass produce the cure again should something like this pop up in the future. It would do wonders for advancing the medical field.”
All damn good points, but the man looked far too smug as he preened underneath Lavellan. Dorian’s hands had moved as he spoke, dipping low on his hips until warm fingertips were teasing under the ornate fabric of Lavellan’s shirt. The rotten ‘vint knew how responsive Lavellan was to skin-on-skin contact and he was using that knowledge for evil. Lavellan forced himself to focus on his argument even when Dorian let explorative fingers tuck under Lavellan’s belt to trace the curve of Lavellan’s hipbone, managing to still Lavellan’s suggestive squirming.
“You talk a good game, ‘vint. But the clock’s ticking and we need to focus on the short term. We have access to Lyrium, if we bring in more spirit healers we can both test changes to the formula and produce useable dosages for Wycome at the same time. There has to be a way to strengthen the final product so that a single dose would be all a patient needs.”
Lavellan shifted in Dorian’s lap as he spoke, moving to straddle Dorian’s thighs so he could lean ever closer, nose to nose. It was vastly more intimate, especially when Dorian’s hands settled on the swell of Lavellan’s thighs and Lavellan rested his on Dorian’s shoulders. The space between their bodies was barely respectable, Dorian was becoming infinitely more comfortable with displays of affection in front of Lavellan’s Keeper. They were still very focused on arguing with each other -- it was just becoming a progressively more pleasurable experience for them both.
“The amount of time needed is the same, it’s better spent focusing on a long term solution.” Dorian pointed out with a haughty tone, as if Lavellan’s gaze wasn’t currently focused on his mouth with an expression lustful enough to make a chantry mother swoon.
“Not to interrupt,” Istimaethoriel chipped in as she walked away from the table covered in glowing vials to join them at theirs, watching the two of them with open appreciation. “Because really, I’d hate to stop such a show.” Dorian grinned devilishly and quirked a brow at Lavellan, the elf in his lap flushing nicely under the praise. “We have three spirit-healers expected to arrive in Skyhold by morning. With their help, and the Inquisition’s lyrium supply, we will be able to create enough doses to treat everyone in Wycome at least once and have it in their hands before another need die. It’d buy us a great deal of time -- enough time to come up with a way to fully cure everyone. For whichever of these long term solutions you two can agree on.”
She was absolutely right, of course. Both of them conceded to that immediately.”I’ll make sure there is enough Lyrium provided to see it through.” Lavellan said quietly, looking over his shoulder and giving his torment of Dorian a rest while he reached up to snag a fountain pen and jot down notes for things to do.
“The Commander will no doubt insist on a Templar presence.” Dorian reminded. “Have him send the one he keeps sending to watch us, get her out of our hair.”
“She’s a sweetheart.” Lavellan’s Keeper said with a smile and Dorian huffed out his agreement.
“She has a certain puppy-like quality yes. Horribly manipulative, our dear Commander. He sends her because he knows we’re all too soft-hearted to tell her where to shove her concern.”
“None of the Spirit-Healers coming were rebel mages, they’ll do fine with a Templar watching them. We’ll assign her as their guide, she can see to their care. They’ll need support. Belinda...Darrow? That was her name, right?” Lavellan was scribbling another missive, signing them messily. Part of his messenger's job was deciphering his chicken scratch.
Istimaethoriel poured herself a glass from Dorian’s wine, making a face as she took a sip. “This tastes terrible.”
“It’s the lyrium.” Dorian chuckled, motioning for her to drink more. “Once it stops burning your tongue you’ll be able to taste things properly again.”
“Awful stuff.” She sighed, swishing the wine around in her mouth nonetheless. “Takes you from exhausted to hyper so fast my body can’t keep up, when I finally crash I’m going to sleep like the dead.”
“You get used to it, eventually. With your low tolerance for it you’ll probably collapse some time tomorrow afternoon.” Dorian offered the information freely while he sipped from his own wine glass, eyes on Lavellan as the elf sealed the messages Lavellan managed to burn himself on the wax for a change which deprived Dorian of his chance to make a snarky remark.
“Dagna’s Foci won’t work.” Lavellan said as soon as he pushed the finished messages out of the way, acting as if their argument hadn’t taken the companionable pause it had. Istimaethoriel laughed into her wine as Dorian gave a dramatic sigh.
“You realize you have to explain your thought process if you’re going to make wild declarations such as those.” Dorian drawled as he arched a shaped brow over his wine glass. Lavellan’s eyes flashed with the challenge. Istimaethoriel was grinning ear to ear as she watched the two of them puff up and posture.
“Her foci can multiply magic, experimentally. But our cure isn’t magic. It couldn’t be, or else the disease would attack it like it does any other kind of magic. It’s a living thing of it’s own. Which means we couldn’t multiply the final product, we could only multiply the magic that is used to make the final product. I’m not sure a Spirit-Healer would be able to focus multiple procs of the same spell.”
“That’s why we tweak it. I already asked Dagna if she thought it was possible and she gave positive feedback. If w-we…” Dorian glared when Lavellan leaned forward close enough to squirm enough to not so subtly grind against Dorian, completely ruining the other man’s train of thought. Istimaethoriel snickered despite her best efforts to hide it. “If we focus,” Dorian emphasized as he set down his wine to wrap a tight grip around Lavellan’s hips to still him, “On altering the foci to suit our needs, we’ll have created something extraordinary.”
“You’re going off of Dagna’s theories, though. She theorized she could make a rune that enchanted weapons to sing the chant.” Lavellan said dryly. His attempts to squirm his way into winning the argument had failed, so he instead focused on sliding his hands across Dorian’s bare arms, tickling the fine, dark hair dusted across forearms with the lightest plucks of his fingers. It was amusing to feel goosebumps rise up under his fingers as he did so.
“Don’t discredit her real work with her hobby work, you fiend.” Dorian hissed, realizing he was at a disadvantage because he had to use both hands to keep Lavellan from squirming, unable to defend himself from tickling fingertips. The look he gave Lavellan threatened a lot worse than tickling, which was Istimaethoriel’s cue.
“I think I’m going to pass these off to the messengers.” She said as she picked up the sealed notes and waved them lightly in order to draw the other mage’s attention away from each other momentarily. “Maybe grab a bite to eat and try to sleep off the Lyrium-high if I can. You two obviously need some privacy to uh...debate your theories.”
“Yes.” Dorian said giving Lavellan a pointed look.
Lavellan returned it by grinning innocently as he tossed a look over his shoulder to his Keeper. “I had some books delivered to your room, if you can’t sleep hopefully they’ll be of interest.”
“Thank you, my little Wildfire.” She said, smiling as she stooped in front of him to press a kiss to his forehead. “Don’t fight too dirty. We can’t let word get back to Tevinter about how cunning the Dalish are.”
“Too late for that, I’m afraid. I can’t wait to see the Magisterium copying your debate tactics in the upper floors. There will be a sudden boom in new births nine months from now I’m sure.”
Istimaethoriel laughed as she headed out the door, Dorian belatedly realizing that she had snagged the wine bottle as well, no doubt using the distraction of kissing Lavellan’s forehead to swipe it.
Once she had left they only spent a short moment making sure she didn’t return before their attention settled back on each other. “I think we should focus on making the cure last longer. If it can remain in the blood longer it can remain within parameters but still cure a person in one dosage.” Lavellan pressed his chest to Dorian’s as he spoke, putting his arms casually around Dorian’s shoulders before he pointedly pressed a soft little kiss to the man’s jaw, feeling positively bold.
Dorian let out a mixture between a tevene curse and a laugh as he used his grip on Lavellan’s waist to pin him still against Dorian’s front. “You think that if you are tempting enough I’ll agree with you?” Dorian asked incredulously, finally able to show his exasperation and confusion at the actions of the wicked elf in his lap.
Lavellan was completely unphased by the accusation. Instead he tilted his head to the side to let dark hair spill over his shoulder, biting at his lower lip in what could be considered a shy manner if you didn’t know how devious he was. Dorian did. That didn’t stop him from staring. “You think I’m tempting, Master Pavus?” Lavellan practically purred against Dorian’s jaw as he arched and squirmed the best Dorian’s grip on him allowed. “You know, there’s no one around now if you want to properly persuade me.”
“Fasta vass.” Dorian whispered as he froze beneath Lavellan momentarily. The elf could see he cracks in the man’s demeanor, could see him calculating wildly as he restrained himself, barely. He half expected to be knocked out of Dorian’s lap and pushed away, but finally Dorian seemed to settle on a course of action, leaning down to put them nose to nose. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?” He asked in a low voice as he lifted a hand to wrap it firmly around the back of Lavellan’s neck. When he squeezed experimentally Lavellan let out a contented hiss. “You’re just going to keep pawing at me until I give in to your lascivious desires?”
The pressure on the back of his neck was making Lavellan’s breath come significantly faster, his lips parted as he tried very hard not to moan. Alarm bells were going off and he had to focus. He could not let his dick make decisions, treacherous as it was. He had to make sure he put Dorian first. “No.” He managed to whimper, and he was given a little easement when Dorian’s grip on the back of his neck slackened in surprise. “You tell me to stop, any time, and I will. No questions, no consequences.” It was one of Iron Bull’s biggest rules, and having it in place felt so absolutely right that Lavellan felt a great deal of warmth from watching the surprise dawn across Dorian’s face.
He had to make sure the Altus knew he didn’t have to do this. Had to make sure that it was want that drove him. He gave the man an open, earnest expression as Dorian considered this development.
Instead of telling Lavellan to stop, commenting on the rule or questioning Lavellan’s honesty, Dorian sidestepped it entirely. His other hand lifted to Lavellan’s face where he drew manicured fingernails across Lavellan’s temple into his hairline, tugging lightly on long hair as he did so. It was Dorian’s way of saying No, I don’t want to stop. It was clear enough Lavellan didn’t push it further.
“Just how much controversy do you want to cause?” Dorian asked seriously as he teased his thumb on the side of Lavellan’s neck as he pushed more of Lavellan’s hair back behind his shoulder, exposing his neck and shoulders fully. “The Inquisitor is already a Dalish savage sleeping with a former Ben-Hassrath spy twice his size. That’s not enough? Want to add salacious activities with a member of Tevinter Nobility to the list to ensure that Josephine ends up murdering you in your sleep?”
Dorian kept his voice light and pleasantly conversational, but Lavellan could see how much it was weighing on him. Lavellan didn’t know how to explain that he wasn’t pursuing Dorian as some kind of twisted political scheme, he didn’t know the words to settle Dorian’s mind and assure him that what they were doing was safe. Iron Bull’s plan was to keep meeting Dorian’s concern with absolute certainty, to assure Dorian with signs of affection that could not be misunderstood. The rest would fall into place later, there would be time to show this gorgeous man that it was okay to be foolish and daring.
“I think they’re all still rather hung up on the whole ‘dalish elf sent to punish shems for the mistreatment of the People.’” He pressed a slender hand to the side of Dorian’s face, cupping it gently as he ran his thumb across Dorian’s soft lower lip. It was clearly inviting without actually pushing. He didn’t move any closer, left the distance there for Dorian to close, Lavellan making sure he wasn’t the one making the first move, that he wasn’t taking the choice away from Dorian. “Anyone who would speak ill or harm anyone in my inner circle answers to me.” He whispered fiercely, suddenly grinning at Dorian. “Remember when we first worked together in Redcliffe, in that awful future? “I’ll protect you.”” He mimicked Dorian’s tone the best he could, drawing a low laugh out of the man who loved impersonations.
Dorian warmed to him at this, the way his expression softened and some of the defensiveness fell away from his posture revealing how touched he was. He pressed his cheek into Lavellan’s hand and let his eyes flutter shut for a moment, tensions draining away as he shifted his grip on Lavellan thoughtfully.
This time the hand on the back of Lavellan’s neck was used to tug him forward, claiming Lavellan’s lips in a kiss as Lavellan melted into him. There was none of the teasing or hesitant tasting from before. This time Dorian was giving Lavellan what exactly what he wanted, perhaps thinking that the elf would let up once he thought he’d won.
He made Lavellan moan as he took control of the kiss, swirling his tongue expertly into Lavellan’s parted mouth leaving the elf a breathless mess as he tried to keep up. Dorian was a fantastic kisser when he wanted to be, his tongue agile and skilled enough to destroy Lavellan’s focus while the elf whimpered helplessly into Dorian’s mouth. When they parted it was only for a few moments to pant for breath, Lavellan nuzzling into the human’s mustache while Dorian teased Lavellan’s lips with his teeth.
Lavellan’s hands found themselves in Dorian’s hair, dragging fingertips through it before gripping it tightly as Dorian’s hands went to his thighs. Apparently the leverage of the position was not enough because Lavellan found himself being lifted out of the chair, his legs immediately tightening around Dorian’s hips as he was swung around and deposited messily on the top of the desk. They knocked over Dorian’s empty wine glass, scattered notes everywhere, but neither of them cared a whit as Dorian covered Lavellan’s body with his own.
When they parted Dorian pulled back enough to look down at Lavellan. His cheeks were flushed and his hair was everywhere and Lavellan grinned at him like he hadn’t seen anything more beautiful in his life. “You like tossing me around?” He asked breathlessly as they fit their bodies together, Dorian guiding Lavellan’s legs to part and bend to lift up along his sides.
“You are very light.” Dorian teased while leaving open-mouthed kisses across Lavellan’s ear and neck.
“I’m portable, for your convenience.” Lavellan whimpered, arching his back so their hips ground together and Lavellan’s chest pressed up against Dorian’s.
“Kaffas.” Dorian cursed breathlessly, “You’re truly mad.” He laughed then, like maybe Lavellan’s madness was contagious, before they kissed again.
Dorian slid his hands to Lavellan’s thighs as they squeezed at his waist, testing the feel of muscle wrapped in supple leather before he broke away from Lavellan’s mouth and attempted to pull himself away. Lavellan was having no part of it, too eager for more contact to let the man regain his composure in any way. So he tightened the grip of his legs, crossing his ankles above Dorian’s ass and wrapped hands around the back of his neck, keeping them pressed tight together.
Simple little things he could appreciate, like how much strength the grip of his legs had around Dorian’s hips, human bone structure so much slimmer than qunari. Also if he stretched he could reach Dorian’s mouth with no real strain, making it incredibly easy to bite at plush lips with sharp little teeth, enjoying the way Dorian’s breath hitched.
Realizing that he was getting nowhere separating their bodies Dorian growled and shoved both of them back down against the table, pinning Lavellan with his weight as he kissed hungrily under Lavellan’s jaw. “Are you always this pushy?” Dorian chuckled when Lavellan’s hands slipped between them, clawing at the buckles and belts that separated them. He managed to get the biggest buckle detached, letting their groins grind together without hard metal between them, but to Lavellan’s frustration it did absolutely nothing to aid the removal of the rest of Dorian’s clothing. Couldn’t even find a place to fit his hands underneath fabric. He let out a frustrated little noise from the back of his throat and Dorian chuckled deeply into a pointed ear. “Having problems, Inquisitor?”
“If I ever meet the asshole that designed your goddamn clothing--” Lavellan’s snarl was abruptly cut off when warm, skilled hands slid underneath the hem of his shirt and slid up sensitive sides. Moaning he arched helplessly into them, rewarded when Dorian rocked against him as his hands roved across Lavellan’s skin. With buckles no longer catching Lavellan could feel the hard line of Dorian’s cock through his pants, angling it up against his so that their eager humping had the greatest effect.
Unable to get his hands under Dorian’s clothes to return the favor, Lavellan focused on rocking eagerly against the other man, guiding Dorian into a smooth rhythm with the most friction. They panted into each other’s mouths, all teeth and tongue and groaning little whimpers. When they weren’t kissing Lavellan was burying his face into Dorian’s neck, kissing and sucking dark skin that smelled like spicy cologne and tasted like sin, whimpering sweet little sounds, panting Dorian’s name and begging him for more.
Dorian’s composure was long gone, his eyes fluttered shut as he muttered tevene curses and let his hands grip and claw at Lavellan’s skin after roughly shoving the elf’s tunic up. He hadn’t intended to let this happen -- he’d expected to exchange heated, lazy kisses before sending the Inquisitor on his way. Hadn’t expected to be working himself into a frenzy humping the man, that he’d be slipping his arms under the man’s legs, getting a knee up on the table so he could bend the delicious creature in half and grind his cock against a firm, leather clad ass in a desperate likeness of sex.
“Flexible little thing, aren’t you?” He said into Lavellan’s ear. He expected his voice to sound aloof and amused, though it came out more wrecked than he cared for, eager and needy. Lavellan didn’t seem to mind as he let out a heated laugh, humming his agreement as he wiggled his body against him. The heat of Lavellan’s body, the slender hands roaming all over him, one of them finally gripping his hip, trying to dig into his ass to urge him on, the desperate little sounds and the scent of sex and arousal that was cloaked over them, all of it was driving Dorian wild. It’d been too long since he’d had anything than the squeeze of his own hand, and with a pathetic sort of clarity he realized that what he’d been craving more than anything was intimacy. Curse Lavellan if he wasn’t offering it in spades.
The way Dorian’s body had tensed up overtop of him and the way the man suddenly refused to meet his gaze tipped Lavellan that something was wrong. Pulling his hands down Lavellan smiled as he cupped Dorian’s face between gentle hands, guiding him to turn and look at him as they rutted. “Dorian.” He breathed, lighting up when the Altus met his gaze, face flushed and eyes dark with lust and need and worry. He pressed a soft kiss to Dorian’s lips, the other mage letting him set the pace, licking into his mouth and tugging his lips with teeth, slow and easy while the heat between them grew, a steady assurance that everything was okay.
“You look so good like this, Dorian. Do you have any idea how sexy you are right now?” Lavellan whispered. To his delight Dorian’s body tensed and jerked above him, the words having such an obvious reaction on the poor ‘vint that Lavellan grinned in salacious delight. Iron Bull had mentioned that Dorian would likely crave praise, Lavellan wondered if the qunari had any idea how right he’d been.
“I always look good.” Dorian panted against Lavellan’s mouth, his voice missing all of it’s smugness, unable to salvage the arrogant mask. “We could make artists--” His words were interrupted with a bit off groan when Lavellan’s heels dug into Dorian’s ass as the elf bit lightly at the dark skin of Dorian’s neck. “Ah! Make artists beg to paint us. The two of us…”
His words trailed off into broken little sounds as Lavellan grinned and lifted his lips to the man’s ear, kissing and tugging at it eagerly. “They’d line up to see the sexiest man to come out of Tevinter, yeah?” Lavellan hissed, his voice low and sultry, knowing what range he could speak evenly without his hitching breath to ruin the words. This was far different from the usual filth he was used to spouting in the middle of sex, but he was improvising well. “You’re doing so good for me.” He whispered, smiling when Dorian jerked hard against him, the thrusts of his hips growing rough and twitchy. “You feel good Dorian?” He hardly needed to ask, judging by the string of Tevene that was starting to fall from the mage’s mouth. “You’re gonna come so hard for me, aren’t you? You’re gonna feel so good, gonna look so good when you let it all go.”
“Fasta Vass, y-you…” Dorian groaned, his grip on Lavellan’s middle tightening enough to bruise, burying his face into the elf’s shoulder and biting down hard into his neck as his drove his leather covered length harder against the curve of Lavellan’s ass, sputtering towards his end with desperate little sounds. “Lavellan!” The words were muffled into the inquisitor’s neck as he came, his whole body seizing up as he let out a choked off noise, breathing ragged and loud as he came undone with manicured nails digging into Lavellan’s skin.
Lavellan loosened the grip of his legs around Dorian’s hips, still rocking against him but not near as hard, just a gentle motion to milk out the afterglow as he felt Dorian slump against him. The man’s tension disappeared as he relaxed into Lavellan’s embrace, his breathing slowly evening out into Lavellan’s shoulder. With some effort Lavellan got Dorian to lift his head enough for gentle kisses across his brow, his cheek, his nose, his mouth. He whispered soft little words of praise while he rubbed his hands across the human’s back, so utterly content as Dorian collected himself.
It was almost painful to see some of the man’s composure return, a thin little mask returning as Dorian took some of his weight off Lavellan and looked down at him with bright silver eyes. He’d seen Dorian completely unguarded and now he craved it like water in the desert. He wanted Dorian to know it was okay, wanted to show him that he didn’t have to hide, but all he could do was return the man’s bright smile and lean up for a kiss.
To his surprise Dorian collected Lavellan’s hands and pinned them above his head, leaning his weight onto them as he hovered his lips over Lavellan’s, a teasing little smirk pulling at his lips that made Lavellan squirm underneath him. “Your mouth is terribly sinful, you know that?” Dorian asked, letting his mustache skim across Lavellan’s upper lip as he spoke, smiling when the elf nuzzled into him automatically.
Lavellan nodded before he smirked himself, more than willing to play this game if that’s what the ‘vint wanted. “You can have my mouth anywhere you want it, pretty.” Maybe his voice was a little breathy, but Dorian seemed satisfied enough with how pliant the elf was being.
Grinning the ‘vint left only one hand to pin Lavellan’s wrists as the other trailed down Lavellan’s chest to the exposed skin of his middle, dragging dark fingernails across pale flesh to leave the lightest of marks behind. “I rather think we should take care of some unfinished business instead, hm?” He teased Lavellan’s mouth with his own, now standing between Lavellan’s parted legs that dangled off the table. “I can’t have you thinking me anything but a considerate lover.”
The words were teasing and Dorian’s voice was steady and unaffected, but there was so much heat in his eyes Lavellan could see how thin the mask was. As easy as it might be to break it, it wasn’t the time for that. It would do no good when Lavellan didn’t know how to put the pieces back together afterwards.
So instead he moaned and arched against Dorian’s hand. While Dorian had showed restraint, managed to keep his noises mostly muffled, Lavellan had no such skills. When Dorian’s hand cupped the straining tent in his leathers he moaned loudly into Dorian’s mouth, the sound stolen away by rough kisses.
He kneaded with the palm of his hand, squeezed and rubbed until Lavellan was a needy mess arching and squirming against him. It was when Dorian had complete control of Lavellan’s mouth that he filled his fingertips with magic, passing it through the smooth leather of Lavellan’s trousers like it wasn’t even there. Lavellan’s entire body seized and trembled in a spasming arch as he wailed into Dorian’s mouth. Hot, then cold, then electric, all of it teasing and dancing across his aching cock in seconds.
“Holy fuck!” Lavellan shouted when Dorian pulled away from his mouth with a wicked grin, nipping at the elf’s jaw as he hummed his approval. “What in the void--”
Dorian cut him off with a slow squeeze of his hand, sinking a light flow of electricity that travelled through Lavellan’s body and left him writhing and straining against the weight of Dorian’s body. “You like that, I take it?” He asked, squeezing again and making Lavellan absolutely collapse into the table as he squirmed helplessly. Any further talking was cut off by fierce kisses, Lavellan rocking his hips up into Dorian’s hand with complete and utter abandon.
He only lasted a handful of agonizingly delicious seconds before he came, crying out into Dorian’s mouth as he shook and thrashed. When he tipped over the edge Dorian released the restraint on his hands, letting the elf clutch at him tightly, pulling Dorian down ontop of him as they rubbed their bodies together and rode out the afterglow.
“Sweet holy fuck.” Lavellan finally moaned against Dorian’s mouth, finding his breath enough to speak, his body a sweaty mess that could only slump against his partner.
“Never done that before?” Dorian asked with amusement as he lifted his hand to push sweaty hair back from Lavellan’s forehead in an entirely affectionate gesture.
“Never through clothes.” Lavellan whimpered as he settled his hands into the front of Dorian’s robes, clutching him close. “Never to me.”
“Now that’s a shame.” Dorian grinned against Lavellan’s forehead as he pressed a kiss there. “You’re so responsive to it. Southern mages are never taught about all the fun one can have with magic, I suppose.” As he spoke he lowered a hand from Lavellan’s hair to stroke ringed fingers down Lavellan’s neck. With a bit of concentration he dragged his fingers down the lean tendons there, leaving beads of chill water in the hollow of Lavellan’s throat that made the elf moan at the cool against heated skin. “Kaffas, the things I could show you.” Dorian whispered as he lowered his mouth to lick at the water with close to burning heat, fire on his tongue.
Lavellan couldn’t withstand it, moaning as he arched and writhed under the attention. “Yessssss.” He practically purred. “I want you to teach me.”
They fell into easy kisses then, warm bodies rocking against each other but with none of the urgency. Intimacy as a balm for their rushed nerves, soothing away the residue of their desperate lust and leaving warm affection in its place.
Eventually Dorian lifted himself off Lavellan, straightening up and stretching his back with a contented noise. He dipped his hand to the front of his trousers after, fixing the belt Lavellan had undone and adjusting himself awkwardly. “Well, that’s uncomfortable.” He said with a bit of a laugh, though the look he gave Lavellan was complicated. “I’m going to go change into something less...messy.”
Lavellan sat, managing to pull down his shirt as he did before reaching for Dorian with a little grin. He looked completely dishevelled, face and ears still flushed, hair everywhere and lips swollen and slick, neck and exposed collar bone covered with bites and marks. Dorian’s extra collars and dark skin certainly did a good job of hiding away his sins. “It’s okay, Dorian. I can have fresh clothes sent down for us.” He said easily, tugging at Dorian’s hips to draw him in for another kiss.
The Altus didn’t deny him, giving into the gentle kiss but refusing to fall into the trap Lavellan had set by lingering over much. “I’d rather avoid having the servants start rumors.” Dorian said with an easy flash of smile that was far too glittering with glossy beauty to be sincere. Lavellan watched carefully as Dorian went back to straightening himself, smoothing his hair and fixing his mustache with quick tucks of his fingers, adjusting his clothes back to proper formation. The fall of his outfit hid any conspicuous patches in his pants, Lavellan couldn’t help but be amazed at how fast Dorian made himself presentable, how quickly and completely he rebuilt his masks once he was no longer wrapped up in Lavellan’s arms.
“How do I look?” Dorian asked with a charming smile. There wasn’t a trace of the self conscious man who was unwilling to let himself go without his lover’s assurance that it was okay. Of the man so starved of praise and intimacy that he could be undone with the simplest of heady compliments.
“Absolutely spectacular.” Lavellan answered back, the flirtatious charm that they practically drowned themselves with back full force. They grinned at each other before Dorian stepped forward to assist Lavellan, smoothing the wrinkles in his clothing and fixing his hair as easily as he had his own, tucking up Lavellan’s collar and fastening it with a warm expression on his face.
“We’ll meet with Dagna in an hour? To discuss with her the possibility of the foci she has multiplying our cure?”
Lavellan laughed aloud when he realized Dorian was claiming victory in their argument, giving the Altus a half hearted slap across his hip, though he didn’t disagree with him. Far too satisfied to debate any further, he had indeed been persuaded by the ‘vints charms. He beamed at Dorian to let the man know he’d won. “I’ll be there.” He assured as Dorian pressed a soft kiss to his forehead before leaving him and whisking out the doorway. The man’s stride was strong and confident, nothing giving away how uncomfortable the slick mess in his underthings must be.
In his comfortable daze Lavellan’s smile eventually faded when he realized that he’d become exactly the lover Dorian was accustomed to. Someone for hushed, hurried little bursts of sex, tucked away in dark corners or out of the public eye, always ready to return to the party in a moments notice without anyone the wiser. Opportunistic sex without any sort of commitment or attachment.
Dorian had made a conscious decision to go back to the way things had been for him in Tevinter, if only to satisfy Lavellan’s sudden interest. He probably hadn’t even considered for a second that Lavellan wanted anything more than a dirty little secret, nothing more serious than two nobles making a game of not being caught, doing his best to protect the Inquisitor’s reputation.
Lavellan let out a groan as he scrubbed his face with the palms of his hands, at a complete loss. He was out of his element, in over his head and falling deeper by the second. Iron Bull had explained this all to him, had told him that Dorian’s background and the general shitines of Tevinter would be an issue. Running the plan through his head over and over, Lavellan reminded himself that there was hope. There would be a time when he would be able to pin Dorian down and make him see the entirety of what was being offered. No bloody wonder Iron Bull had been so determined to make sure Lavellan was willing to give Dorian everything. The idea of anyone using the ‘vint he’d grown so protective of like this made Lavellan’s stomach churn.
For now he had to stick with the plan, he was to show Dorian how desired he was. Lavellan decided that the next time he’d make sure Dorian knew exactly how much Lavellan wanted to take care of him, and how totally unashamed of that he was.