Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Red Lyrium in the wells of Wycome had been a terrifying thing. It had turned otherwise sane people into monsters, had ripped apart an entire city and nearly wiped out Lavellan’s clan completely. His Keeper was strong and clever and his advisors had put every care and effort into bringing his people out of the explosive situation safely. Lavellan was certain it was only due to their efforts that he still had a clan to receive letters from.

Vir Tanadhal.

Fly straight, and do not waver.

Bend, but do not break.

Together we are stronger than one.

You might feel you have lost your way Da’len, but we will not lose our faith in you. The People are just as lost, we drift from day to day, clawing our way forward to survive. We must find strength in each other. We must continue to honor our past, while we reach for our future.

You have shown us the way to change this world. We will follow your example, we will honor you, even if you are not among our ranks.

You site your choice in lover as grounds for exile. As your Keeper, I reject this. You are no shem’len, my sweet Da’len. If you find peace amongst the arms of a human it is no care of mine.

The humans revere you but you are always welcome back in your clan should you wish to return.

Dareth Shiral, Da’len

Lavellan had carefully folded the letter and stored it away for safe keeping. He told nobody of it, or his previous correspondence. He liked to think he had saved his clan, even though it was others in the Inquisition that had done the work. He’d taken satisfaction in the death of his First. He’d felt relief, like he could find closure and forge a new life ahead, leaving his past, his clan behind.

Dalliances amongst outsiders was often a serious concern for Dalish. Not that it happened much, humans hunting them rarely opened the avenue for romance. Yet Lavellan had since heard of elves who had been exiled from their clans for the crime of loving a human. He had decided that the best way to bring closure would be to sever all ties.

Perhaps he should have mentioned that it was a qunari that he was bedding, instead of leaving his letter so vague. Maybe that would have scandalized his Keeper enough to take his declaration seriously.

Instead she had doubled her efforts to console him. She wrote many letters afterwards, detailing her efforts in Wycome, the struggles that his clan faced and the joy they found in their victories. He’d read every letter dozens of time, followed news reports from his men closely, spent night after night at the war table arguing with his advisors over how to best root out the Venatori influence, how to keep both the humans and the elves of Wycome safe.

He hadn’t responded to a single letter. Somehow, his Keeper knew that he continued reading them. She continued to extend her hand even as he refused it. As the world spiraled out of control Lavellan refused to take it for fear of bringing her and his clan down with him. There was an anger inside of him that was not healthy, he knew it. He didn’t wish to expose her to it.

The books he read from his own library were bathed in the Chantry's views. The elves were heathens who had brought their own destruction upon themselves. Only the kindness of the Chantry gave them the sweet gift to build homes in human slums, though only if they abandoned their pagan gods and submitted to the whim of their human overlords. His people were slaughtered and hunted in their own homes, their lands ripped from them, yet as the humans saw to it that their culture was destroyed once again they claimed that it was the elves who were the savages.

It made Lavellan angry. He was expected to fix the Chantry but he saw nothing in it worth saving. He played his role and the anger inside brewed because he was supposed to treat everyone with mercy when the very system he was rebuilding was the one that had spread hate and discrimination under the guise of faith for years.

It came to a head on the Exalted Plains, where he had carefully examined every carving in the bottom of statutes as he was prone to do. Revered in stone were the humans that had commit genocide upon an entire race, praised as heroes of their golden prophet. They’d forgotten that it was Andraste who had given the elves the land that had been pulled out from under them. Heresy to recall such things.

With a growl Lavellan slammed a fiery fist into the stone, a heavy barrier protecting his slender hand and giving it enough force that the whole statute trembled. The blow was followed quickly by another and soon Lavellan was trying to knock down the statue with his bare hands, screaming the vitriol and rage that had built up for too long.

His companions watched in shock, Cole staring but failing to speak up, unable to find the words that would help. Dorian looked sad, guilty even. Like this was the first time he realized that what he'd been taught as a child and forgotten with the same nonchalance was the destruction of everything Lavellan's people had.

Suddenly the large stone carving shifted, threatening to topple over and crush the raging elf beneath it. Iron bull finally moved from where he'd stood to grab Lavellan under his arms and drag him out of harm's way, the elf clawing and kicking and shouting the whole time.

"They say we're stuck in the past, that we're foolish to chase old stories and try to keep the old ways! When it is their fault! They destroyed us! They took away everything and left us with nothing but scraps! They mock us as we struggle to rebuild and remember, and now they want our help?" He was yelling but Iron Bull’s grip was too strong to escape, holding him in place while he got it out out his system. Dorian lead Cole away, the 'vint probably knowing full well that any comfort either of them could offer would not be well received in Lavellan’s current state of mind.

They stayed within earshot and when none of his companions, including the qunari restraining him spoke up to argue, Lavellan's anger began to fade, replaced with exhaustion and sheepishness at his outburst. The big hands on him finally pulled him tight against Iron Bull's chest, where the steady heartbeat that simply radiated calmness soothed him.

"People are assholes." Iron bull said simply, his voice a balm across Lavellan's frayed nerves. "But if you hate everyone all at once, you'll burn out. Settle on finding a solution instead of focusing your energy on the past. You don't like the system? Then change it. You're the only one who can."

They'd been simple words, simple instructions. Yet Lavellan was hit with a dawning realization that had rocked his faith in the way his people lived. Clinging onto the past that had destroyed them would cause them to stagnate forever. Instead he had been given a chance to rescue the humans from their destruction. Fix the very same structure that had destroyed his people so many years ago. Leave his mark on human history in a way that would not be easily forgotten.

Make sure that his people could not be wiped out from human concern any longer.

His Keeper, he realized, was following his example. She was looking to him for guidance and she wasn’t even the only one. Her actions in Wycome were beginning to form a ripple effect throughout the area. People were talking, word was spreading, it was a good thing and in her letters his Keeper credited him for being the inspiration that drove her -- that if he could move forward while still honoring the past, so could she.

However her newest letter had been more than a simple status update. Instead it had been a plea for help, a request for Inquisition resources to aid her. Many people both elven and human had began to fall sick to an unknown disease. It was proving to become steadily more lethal, the symptoms becoming progressively serious as the infection spread.

Healers had discovered that it was not a regular disease of any kind. It seemed to be based in some kind of entropic magic, feeding off of the weakness left behind by the red lyrium poisoning so many had faced. Anyone who had been exposed to red lyrium was at serious risk of infection. They were managing to treat it for now, but they would have to find a way to unwind the spell’s hold on a body before more people got sick.

His Keeper was at a loss and there was little to no information in Wycome that proved to be helpful for her research. She had enclosed everything she had discovered so far, along with a heartfelt plea for aid.

With their scouts spread across Thedas looking for signs of Corypheus’ current movements, soldier’s sent to uproot Venatori and Red Templars in various locations and talks with the upcoming decision of the Divine, Lavellan found that the Inquisition was a flurry of activity. Unwilling to draw healers away from their tasks, Lavellan decided to forgo his excursion to the Hissing Wastes to pursue what leads he could personally.

Morrigan was kind enough to lend him some books to read through, the Inquisition’s library offering the rest which was far more extensive than his Keeper would have access to in Wycome. Soon he was beginning to make progress on a couple of theories, wondering how to go about testing them.

In the night he found himself crawling out of the cocoon of warm blankets in order to drag books into bed with him, resting against Iron Bull’s chest as he studied them with the dim light of a conjured lick of fire. The first time it woke Iron Bull the qunari had been amused by attempting to distract Lavellan into returning to bed. Despite their activities Lavellan would crawl back to the books when he recovered, a little more haggard looking but no less determined. Eventually Iron Bull resigned himself to the fact that Lavellan’s focus on his current project was not going to be shaken.

He ended up treading into waters that were too academic. Medical science and magic combined left Lavellan confused and seeking clarification from other texts more often than not. So he came to the simple conclusion of asking for help -- and who better to turn to than the most academic mage of them all, Dorian.

When it came to magical research and theory, the Tevinter trained mage was one of the best and certainly not shy about flaunting it. While there may have been others perhaps more qualified or with the express purpose of such research, Lavellan found that it was far easier to ask Dorian for help. Mostly because it only required a rare bottle of wine from his growing private supply and a bright smile.

Successfully recruited, Dorian jumped straight in while swirling the wine in his glass delicately, the two of them gathered around a table they’d dragged to the ‘vint’s little alcove in the library.

“These are the scrolls that the Keeper sent, there’s some notes on the development of the disease, enough to implicate that it was specifically created to start a plague.”

“My dear Inquisitor, these are in Tevene.” Dorian said as he picked them up to unravel them, flipping through them quickly. “All of them.”

“Well, my Keeper doesn’t know Tevene, neither does anyone left sane or uninfected in Wycome. She sent them to us hoping we could translate them. See, it’s progressing worse in people who were being poisoned by the red lyrium previously--”

“There’s nothing here on how to cure it. Barely even anything here on it’s creation. Mostly just orders on how to spread it throughout the city. Why not have your little people interrogate this Magister for more information?”

“Ah...well.” Lavellan scratched his head sheepishly. “My clan’s hunters were the ones who found him, you see. Kind of--”

“Shoot first, ask questions later?” Dorian offered a wry grin, his expression and lilt to his words teasing as he sipped from his wine glass. “Just how many arrows did he have in his throat when they realized he was more valuable alive?”

“Hey! They’re trying!” Lavellan huffed out a breath of air, turning his attention to sorting through the books on the table, ears flushing. “They haven’t quite gotten past the ‘best vint is a dead vint’’ thing. But they’re the only chance Wycome’s got, so stop your snarking and help me figure this out. This is what I have so far.” Lavellan pushed several sheets of notes across the table after plucking them from one of the books. “It’s some kind of magic disease, right? The Keeper reports that the disease seems to attack the blood. Do you have any idea how hard it is to request information on ‘blood’ and ‘magic’ and ‘Tevinter’ without getting concerned looks from the librarians?”

“So you come to me! When can I expect the mob coming to lynch me for converting the Inquisitor to blood magic?” Dorian’s indignant concern was a beautifully convincing show before he suddenly got distracted by one of the books Lavellan was holding. “Maker, please don’t tell me you’ve been referencing that.”

“What? What’s wrong with Magical Maladies and Mayhem for the Moraled Medic?”

“What’s not wrong with it? It was written years ago in Tevinter by a Laetan charged with using blood magic to cure simple ailments on the common folk. Which would have been respectable enough I suppose, if he wasn’t terrible at it. The Soparati nearly hanged him when people started sprouting extra parts or lost their sense of smell shortly after visiting him.”

Lavellan’s eyes grew wide as he stared first at Dorian and then back at the book. “What?! There’s nothing like that in this book!”

“I would hope not! When asked to prove to the court that he was even remotely qualified to be a practicing physician, this is what he came up with.” Dorian snapped the book out of Lavellan’s hands at that, flipping through it with a look of utter disgust on his face. “It was pointless drivel, the ravings of a madman desperate to prove he had an inkling of a clue what he was talking about. His theories on the effects of magic on the human body were completely at odds with everything currently known. Ask a school boy how magic could affect one’s immune system and they could have given a better answer.”

“But the librarian…”

“Recommended it? Leave it to you Southerners to smuggle out any scrap of Tevinter literature thinking it worthwhile. His book was resold and researched by backwater bumpkins, followed as if it some great insight. He lost his rank and station as a physician and mage, but he must have made a fortune on royalties…”

“Dorian.” Lavellan moaned, palming his forehead with an exasperated noise. “This was the only book I could find.”

“Well, that’s why you have me.” Dorian beamed, tossing the book behind him without the least of a care where it landed. Lavellan was pretty sure it sailed over the railing to land on the tower level below. Hopefully a certain bald elf wasn’t harmed or else they’d never hear the end of it. “You’re going about this wrong. We’re not looking for a cure, because a cure probably has never been created. If we had the notes on how this disease was manufactured, then we would use those. However…” Dorian trailed off with a pointed look at Lavellan, as if making one elf feel guilty was enough to affect them all. “We start with the finished product, what we know about it, then deconstruct it from there. Once we know how it was made, we can work on how to end it.”

Not all mages were created equal, Lavellan decided. As Dorian drilled him for more information, clearing a wide space and beginning to scratch out notes and charts in a flowing script of neat writing it was painfully clear. Some mages, like himself, were born to blow things up and not question how it occurred. Others got a look of absolute bliss over their face as they began to work on a great intellectual puzzle. Maybe it was just a Tevinter thing.

With Dorian on board, the course of Lavellan’s research changed drastically. His reading material was usurped and replaced with what the Altus knew would be useful, giving the elf an expansive base to work off. Dorian outlined plans of what they knew and what they needed to know about the disease, both of them filled it in as they sorted through papers and reports they received from Wycome. After a few days the amount of material they had required more than Dorian’s little alcove, everything relocated to a quiet room in the fortress.

When they needed something, anything, Lavellan made sure they had it. After speaking to one of the quartermaster’s assistants about a requisition, Lavellan turned and was surprised to see Dorian looking tense about something. “What’s wrong?”

“Wrong? Oh, nothing at all.” Dorian said with a laugh, though the noise had a strained edge. Lavellan had spent enough time with the mage to notice when the ‘vints mask dropped a little, revealing someone far more human than he liked to let on. “Just amused, when you say jump they practically scramble to comply. The same man fought me tooth and nail the last time I requested research material.”

“Being the Inquisitor helps, I promise.” Lavellan offered with a small smile, which Dorian accepted with a snort.

“Yes, yes I’m sure it does. As does not being born in the nation that mothered our enemy. These Southerners can be so boringly close minded.”

“If they’re hindering any research you’re doing, I’ll make sure they’re dealt with.” Lavellan said with a frown, looking at the book in his hand for a moment, pretty green eyes hidden underneath dark lashes. “The whole ‘mage from tevinter’ thing is about as old as the ‘dalish savage’ thing. It’s time people got over it.”

“Asking them to give up their petty hatred? However will they spend their time then? We wouldn’t want them suddenly getting productive, now would we? No, I don’t need you fighting my battles for me. Can you imagine the rumors that fly?”

“It could inspire another one of Mother Giselle’s talks. I don’t think I could handle another of those.”

Dorian had returned to his work, chuckling as he sorted through papers and unfurled scrolls. “Oh come now, it wasn’t so bad. She certainly started backpedaling when you appeared.”

“Yeah…” Lavellan let out a breathy laugh, setting down the book he was examining while dragging up a piece of parchment to scribble quick notes onto. “But when she cornered me the second time--”

“What? Again?” Dorian’s voice was sharp, almost perturbed. “Vishante kaffas, you can’t be serious. I’ve been on my best behavior!”

“Oh, it wasn’t about you.” Lavellan chuckled while looking up. “It was about the time word got out that me and Iron Bull were uh, knocking horns. You think befriending a ‘vint is bad? Try sleeping with a qunari. She was pretty convinced I was purposefully trying to start a scandal to undermine the Inquisition at that point.”

Dorian laughed aloud before covering his mouth with a hand to try and stifle the noise, turn it into a cough or something a little more polite, failing spectacularly as his eyes gleamed with mirth. “I would have paid good coin to see that. You must have scandalized her to the very bone.”

Lavellan smirked though the expression was twisted with a bit of regret, the elf tucking some loose hair behind his ear as he avoided Dorian’s gaze. “Unfortunately I wasn’t really prepared for that conversation quite so soon. Our ‘coming out’ was a bit of an accident, after all.” His poor advisors had been shocked, yet so totally okay with it that Lavellan had not expected opposition when the Revered Mother had approached him. “Sort of just stammered that who I bed was hardly Chantry business and fled. She’s been proven wrong over time but I’d wish I had been more forward in defending myself.”

Dorian had a bit of that expression again, some of his sarcastic charm replaced with something more like concern for his friend. “She’s hardly worth the effort. I’m surprised she said anything at all, really. Inviting a visit from your two-horned friend should be enough to ward off any naysayers.”

“I think he had a very respectful talk with her afterwards. He said something about ‘Tamassrans’ and just looking out for everyone. He’s not a very spiteful person, The Iron Bull.” Lavellan commented softly, the fingertip he was tracing lines of text with becoming tender across the page as he imagined his lover with fondness. “Lucky for many, I suppose.”

Dorian seemed ready to say something, perhaps a snarky bit of wit however he thought better of it. Instead, the two of them fell into their research with an amiable silence. They’d swap books and exchange notes now and then, working out a system between the two of them that was smooth as a river’s current.

The sun had long began its descent in the sky when Lavellan jerked upright, putting down the book he had been reading. “Dorian. Humor me for a moment.”

Dorian looked up from where he was carefully writing out notes, setting down his quill as he leaned back and stretched languidly. “Alright, Inquisitor. Consider yourself humored.”

“What if we’re looking at this the wrong way. What if this disease isn’t being controlled or directed by magic through the body as we thought. What if it’s not being told what to do. What if it’s merely...hungry?”

“Hungry.” Dorian said with a bit of amusement, offering Lavellan a wry look. “I’m not sure you’re quite grasping--”

“No, listen.” Lavellan interrupted while holding up a hand and moving closer, sliding the book he’d been reading across to where Dorian could see it. “You’ll be convinced of my brilliance in a minute, trust me.”

Dorian scanned the page with a slight crease between his brow as he focused on reading and ingesting the words fast as possible. “You’re suggesting that what was created by this magister is not an elaborate spell, but instead something...alive?”

“It makes sense. Look at how the disease progresses, what it targets. First victims feel exhausted, their strength sapped as their blood is stripped of nutrients by the disease. It’s attaching itself like a tick on a halla, leeching off of it’s host. It’s magical in nature so it seeks out magic. We know exposure to healing magic makes the disease rapidly progress and get worse -- it eats the lyrium and the mana involved and grows stronger off of it.”

“That also explains why those who previously suffered red lyrium sickness were infected so much quicker. The residue left behind would be a feeding ground. It’s probably what is kickstarting the disease, giving it the power to grow and infect new hosts.” Dorian’s eyes narrowed as he thought, ringed fingers tapping across his crossed arms as he began to pace. “It makes sense. If we can get some live samples we could test this. Expose it to pure lyrium and see what happens.”

“I’ll write my Keeper and request she send some blood samples. She should check in with any of the mages or templars that are among the infected. If we’re right, the disease will spread rapidly through them, they’ll be the most at risk. That includes us, you know, if we’re to start working with live samples.”

“Yes well, good thing for us we’re capable of protecting ourselves. Tevinter has withstood many plagues, at this point we’ve mastered the ability to keep ourselves clean of disease.”

“Getting slaves to work with infectious materials instead is not a viable method.” Lavellan teased with a raised brow, making the altus laugh as he put a flourishing hand over his heart.

“Oh, you wound me to with such an accusation.” Dorian said with wide grin. “Like I would waste slaves on something as silly as infectious disease, when there’s blood magic rituals and hedonistic sacrifices we could hurl them at instead. It’s like you don’t even know me.”

Lavellan snickered as he prepared a piece of parchment to write a letter back to his Keeper, Dorian pouring them some wine as they drafted the letter together. Lavellan kept it formal and to the point, explaining the progress they’d made so far, their theories and what she could do to help test them. With Dorian over his shoulder he refused to add anything to respond to the personal questions his Keeper continued to ask, though part of him could easily admit that it was more of an excuse to not have to discuss them to begin with.

Lavellan sent a note ahead with a servant before they decided to retire for the evening, hoping for a hot bath to ease away the kinks and knots in his shoulders before collapsing into bed. That wish was easy enough to grant, though sometimes the stairs required to get to the baths were daunting on their own.

The bathroom was luxurious, the room located deep within the fortress, settled over a hot spring that was controlled with complex dwarven construction. Marble tiles and smoothed stone walls caught the moisture steam, all of it eventually condensing and dripping back into the bath itself.

The bath was large and spacious set into the floor, deep in the middle with ledges along the sides of varying depth, so anyone from a dwarf to a qunari could find a comfortable depth to sit at. All of these had been wild fantasy ideas Lavellan had spewed at Josephine when she had teasingly asked him what he wanted. Her biggest gift to the Inquisitor was making that fantasy come true, it was now Lavellan’s favorite place to unwind.

In the bath was Iron Bull. The result of the note he had sent ahead, just a little invitation to his qunari lover who had no doubt been asleep before receiving it. He was naked, comfortably submerged and slumped against one of the ledges, dozing in the hot water as he waited for Lavellan to arrive.

Lavellan was grinning from ear to ear as he approached, the sound of his bare feet padding across the tile cracking the qunari’s eye open. “Hey there, Kadan.” He said easily, his voice rough and grumbly, making Lavellan feel warm inside. It’d been a few days since he had heard it, it had been far too long.

“You got my message.” Lavellan beamed as he began to undress. Normally he’d make a show of it, but he was nigh desperate to get into the bath with his lover. When the last of his clothes pooled around his ankles Iron Bull outstretched his arms with a smile, receiving a lap full of naked elf immediately thereafter. “Sorry it’s so late.” He said while he nuzzled his nose across Iron Bull’s cheek, his hands looping about a thick neck. The qunari’s eyepatch was off so almost immediately Lavellan’s lips fell lightly across the thick scar tissue of his brow as he squirmed in Iron Bull’s lap.

“It’s fine, I missed you yesterday.” The qunari grunted, pulling Lavellan close as his big hands slid wet trails of heat up Lavellan’s back. “Made any progress?”

“Yeah.” Lavellan hissed as he arched against those hands. His head tipped back automatically, which presented his throat to the qunari’s attention, sharp teeth and warm tongue finding the slender tendons in his neck. “We’ve got a good theory, gonna have to wait until we hear back to know if we’re right.” His breathing hitched every time Iron Bull’s teeth nipped at his neck.

“I get some time to sink my greedy claws into you?” Iron Bull growled against tender flesh, hands settling on Lavellan’s hips comfortably. “Then I’ll take my time, tonight. Got to spend lots of time thinking about all the things I wanted to do to you when I got you alone.”

"Oh?" Lavellan smiled demurely to the warm steam of the bath, enjoying the attentions to his collar bones as his legs tightened and hitched up around Iron Bull's hips. "What kind of things are those?"

The qunari paused, lips stilling where they were on Lavellan's chest. Clearly he was considering all the things in vivid detail. "I'm going to soap you up from head to toe. Then once you're squeaky clean, I'm gonna get you so dirty again."

Lavellan moaned, squirming into Iron Bull's lap to find friction, suddenly very desperate to get started. "Yes, please. Please."

Iron Bull smirked, catching Lavellan's eyes as he leaned back to watch the elf squirming on his lap, heavy hands falling to squeeze Lavellan's thighs. "Eager after a few days without? Did you think about this? About how much you wanted me to pin you to a wall and fuck you open with my cock?" Lavellan's desperate little noise was positive enough response because Iron Bull laughed, tucking his hands under Lavellan's ass and lifting him up as he stood up in the hot water. "Should come up and give you a real good break now and then. Think Dorian will catch on if you walk funny after all my visits?"

"Cruel qunari." Lavellan moaned as Iron Bull pried him off and turned him around, one hand palmed Lavellan's twitching length as he waded into the center of the bath after grabbing soaps and a cloth with the other. "Like I'd be able to think straight if you did that."

The qunari chuckled, pulling Lavellan tight against his body with large hands squeezing slender hips. The water lapped at Lavellan's ribcage as he leaned into the warm slick skin behind him, his own hands falling behind him as he reached to scrape dull nails gently into the thick skin of Iron Bull's thighs.

Lavellan’s body was rapidly becoming very sensitive, eager for whatever touch he could get now. Iron Bull’s hands left him to prepare a soap lathered cloth, returning to begin washing at Lavellan’s collar bones. It was a slow, careful process as the qunari carefully lathered every bit of skin, sliding down his arms and hands before returning to his chest. The slow rub over Lavellan’s nipples left them perky and sensitive to the qunari’s thumbs as he tugged them none too gently, pulling them from Lavellan’s chest until the elf whimpered under the attention.

Then down Lavellan’s torso to his stomach, an agonizing glide that left a sudsy wake everywhere but where Lavellan wanted the attention. He huffed out an annoyed breath which earned a chuckle from the qunari behind him. “Impatient, are we?” Iron Bull asked, slowly rubbing the cloth down the tops of Lavellan’s thighs. When Lavellan just let out a frustrated moan, Iron Bull held out one of his hands along the surface of the water. “Stop your whining, give me a leg.”

Lifting one of the pale limbs out he hooked his knee into the heavy grey hand, blushing when Iron Bull pulled it up high out of the water to carefully soap it up, massaging in the soap with sensual strokes before dropping the leg into the water to rinse the suds away. It was repeated on Lavellan’s other leg, the qunari turning Lavellan to face him and sliding soapy hands down the elf’s back.

“Creators, when are you going to touch me?” Lavellan moaned as he thrust the hard line of his length up against Iron Bull's leg.

"I am touching you, Kadan " Iron Bull chuckled, his lips curled into a smirk return Lavellan tilted his head to look up at him. "Or was there something more specific that you wanted to ask for?"

Lavellan bit back a string of curses, knowing full well that they would do nothing to sway the qunari teasing him. In fact it was much more likely Bull would simply be inspired to torture him further. Instead he suddenly sprouted a wicked smile before he ducked into the water.

Iron Bull’s hands tightened on him to attempt to thwart his escape, but the big man’s hands and Lavellan’s skin were far too slippery from the soap for him to get enough of a grip. Lavellan was laughing as he sloshed through the water, wrestling with the qunari and slipping out of his grasp to try and get behind the man.

Laughter echoed from the stone walls as a brief yet feisty wrestling match broke out. Hanging on to a soap-slick elf proved to be a challenge, the elf feeling giddy and playful, suddenly full of energy after being mauled by his qunari lover. Eventually Bull had gone to the edge of the bath to grab Lavellan’s belt out of the pile of clothes he’d left behind. Lavellan had struggled, done his best to avoid getting pinned, but eventually Iron Bull’s steady determination paid off as he snagged one Lavellan’s slender wrists, looping the belt around it and using it to regain control of his slippery charge.

Lavellan ended up pressed against Iron Bull’s hard, obviously excited body with his wrists bound together with the belt, panting heavily as Bull looped the belt around one of his own horns, securing it tightly. The end result was Lavellan pulled up onto his tip toes with his hands high above his head, fully exposed with the qunari’s hands completely free to torture as he saw fit.

“Five points, Kadan. Now I’ll just torture you twice as long as I planned.” Bull growled into the elf’s hair as he lathered big hands with soap once again.

Lavellan let out a pitiful little cry when thick fingers grabbed his ass, kneading it roughly and leaving his breath in hitching little pants. “Please, please I need you to--”

“You certainly are noisy for such a dirty little elf.” Iron Bull smirked. “I’d better take care of that.”

Lavellan moaned, a smile pulling at his lips although it was quickly replaced by a cry when Bull’s thick fingers spread his cheeks roughly. Slippery with soap they slid up and down the cleft of his cheeks without any resistance, fingertips pausing to dip into the little bud of an entrance that spasmed each time, circling it eagerly.

“Beg for it, Kadan. Say ‘Please, I want you to split me open with your big fingers.’”

Lavellan groaned, rocking on the balls of his feet, pushing out his hips to try and get the finger pressed so snuggly against his little hole to move. “Please, Iron Bull.” He finally panted against the grey skin of Iron Bull’s torso. “Please, split me open with your big fingers!” Parroting the words, but so much breathy feeling behind them it still made the qunari suck in a breath like Lavellan had begged him out of the blue.

Iron Bull groaned, tightening his other hand around Lavellan’s waist, pulling him partially out of the water and letting some of the pressure off of his arms so that he could grind his heavy erection against Lavellan’s hip. “You know how much I love to hear you beg.” He hissed, crooking his fingertip to double the pressure on Lavellan’s tight little hole. When the elf whimpered and squirmed against him Iron Bull finally forced his thick finger inside spasming muscle, soap and water slickening the way as he pushed into his knuckle.

Lavellan cried out, whimpering and rocking down against the finger, squeezing tight around it. His pale skin was flush from excitement, from the heat of the water and the steam in the air, everything feeling exquisitely sensitive leaving him breathless as he panted helplessly against his lover. “Oh, please, more.” He whined, which just made Bull chuckle.

“Now now, we’re just washing, remember?” The qunari said before withdrawing the slick finger in order to shove it in again, shallowly fucking Lavellan in the water. Hot water made everything feel more sensitive, which made the press of a second finger into his tender opening all the more agonizing. “Just making sure you’re clean for me to play with later.”

It was agony knowing that the shallow fucking was the best he was going to get. Bull pressed a third finger in to stretch him, Lavellan clawing at his shoulder helplessly as he writhed on them, shallow little thrusts teasing his prostate but never quite rubbing it, pushing in slow and massaging the tight passage before pulling out abruptly, leaving Lavellan twitching and open under the water before he was suddenly filled again.

When those fingers finally withdrew and didn’t return, he mourned their loss like something sacred, left empty and needy in their wake. Iron Bull slowly lowered him, let the slender elf in his grasp get his feet underneath him before slowly turning him. Lavellan’s hands were still high up above his head, stretched out as he leaned back against Bull’s chest.

Heavy grey hands settled on his hips, more soap on them leaving a sudsy trail in their wake. Lavellan cried out when one of those hands finally sank lower, wrapping around his desperately hard length, stroking it slowly from root to tip. The other hand lowered to cup his balls, squeezing them tenderly and soaping them as well. Perhaps knowing the knife’s edge that Lavellan was on, Iron Bull did not linger overlong, did not let his stroking or tugging become anything more than clinical cleaning so as not to push him to orgasm.

Lavellan was desperately frustrated by the time Iron Bull backed towards one of the ledges, the belt still tethering him forcing the elf to follow closely. He sat down waist deep in the water and pulled Lavellan onto his lap with a strong arm around his waist. Lavellan easily spread his legs over Bull’s thighs to sit chest to chest, bound hands over one of Iron Bull’s shoulders while he leaned in to close the distance between them, pressing soft lips to the qunari’s.

They kissed for several long minutes, Iron Bull winning a heated battle for control and invading Lavellan’s mouth fully, the elf suckling the invasive tongue as it explored him. Eventually Bull pulled away, offering Lavellan a pleased grunt when the elf pressed lips to Iron Bull’s battered brow. “Hair now.” He stated plainly when Lavellan rocked against him for more, drawing a frustrated little groan from the elf.

Not that he protested much when Iron Bull was finished selecting the proper bottle of soap for the task and had lathered his hands in it. The qunari massaging his scalp, rubbing the soap through long wet hair and the feel of blunt nails scratching lightly at the back of his neck did wonders for his libido. He was making mewling little noises as he panted, tipping his head back into those big hands, rewarded with bites across his presented throat.

The qunari was thorough, when Lavellan’s hair was fully lathered he adjusted his position so that he could lean forward, slowly letting Lavellan lay back into the water. With his hands bound Lavellan struggled to get a good grip across Iron Bull’s shoulder, realizing belatedly as his legs tightened around the qunari’s waist and his fingers dug into tough skin that he was clinging on tight with the intention of staying out of the water as long as possible.

It was silly, he realized, to be this panicky over something as simple as Iron Bull tipping him back in the water to rinse his hair. Logically he understood he had literally nothing to fear, but his pulse was still picking up speed and he found himself nervous despite it all.

“You okay, Kadan?” Bull asked, his voice as light as a man coaxing a spooked wild animal.

“Y-yeah.” Lavellan forced himself to say, breathing as normally as he could. “Just being s-silly.” He stuttered a little on the last word, when he felt water touch his back and shoulders, Iron Bull keeping him just over the surface. “I trust you.” Whether his words were to convince Iron Bull or himself, Lavellan wasn’t sure.

“Nothing silly about it. You can rinse yourself if you’d rather.”

Lavellan considered it, but the conclusion he came to was simple. “No, I need to get over this.” He said, words a little rough. Iron Bull was watching him carefully, his expression nothing but serious as he eventually nodded, finding whatever he needed in Lavellan’s expression.

“Just say your word if you need me to stop.” He said, gently. He had adjusted the position he was keeping Lavellan in as he spoke, tucking an arm around the back of Lavellan’s neck so he could support him with the utmost control, his other hand resting easily at the elf’s throat, a soothing weight reminding him of just who it was he was with.

When he felt water come up around his shoulders, touching the back of his head, tickling at his ears, Lavellan’s eyes fluttered shut and he struggled against panic his entire body tensing. Stupid. I’m being stupid.

The ropes pulling his hands behind his back made it impossible to get the leverage to fight. When the larger elf had first pinned him to the river’s edge, Lavellan hadn’t struggled. He’d been pliant and unresisting when the ropes had bound his arms, when he’d been made helpless. If he didn’t fight, it was always easier. He’d repeated that as a mantra when his legs had been spread and his companion had thrust into him with no preparation at all.

Maybe a little bit of fight had been what the man had wanted, though. When there was a heavy fabric suddenly pinned over his face, Lavellan’s eyes had snapped open. He’d opened his mouth to protest, to shout, but suddenly it was filled with water as it was poured into his face over the cloth. Couldn’t breathe, water hitting the back of his throat, gagging him. He’d sucked it into his lungs, started trying to scream, but regretted it when more water was dumped in his face. He’d thrashed and struggled then as it became impossible to breathe, but his arms were bound and there was nothing he could do to dislodge the bigger, stronger elf or escape the suffocating cloth.

He’d fought and screamed, cursed and swore as soon as the cloth had been removed, finally letting him get air into his lungs. The face of his tormentor hovering over him, flushed with excitement as hips bucked mercilessly against Lavellan’s ass, looked so gods be damned pleased with himself. ‘Looks like we finally found something you’re scared of.’

“Kadan, stay with me.” A heavy hand patted his cheek, drawing his attention roughly back to the present, where water still lapped non threateningly against the sides of his ears. He wasn’t being pushed under, he wasn’t being pinned below the surface and fucked as he struggled. He was safe, secure. Once Iron Bull was sure wide green eyes were focused entirely on him the qunari moved his hand to gently begin to rinse the soap from the dark hair floating across the surface of the water.

“Eyes on me, Kadan.” He ordered gently, waiting for Lavellan to nod his agreement. When he did, the qunari dipped his head to gently kiss the elf, radiating nothing but calm and control as the elf eventually began to relax in his grip.

It wasn’t perfect, but when Iron Bull dipped him low enough into the water to rinse soap from his bangs, Lavellan didn’t object. Didn’t think about what had been done to him before, instead he was entirely focused on the way his legs were spread wide and wrapped tight around Iron Bull’s waist, his stiff cock pinned between their bodies. The way their chests pressed tight together, the way Iron Bull’s tongue teased and circled his own as they kissed.

“That’s it, Kadan. Look how good you are.” He whispered against Lavellan’s cheek when he pulled away to let the elf breathe. “You trust me so much, I got you. Nothing’s going to hurt you when I’m here.”

Praise so sweet and honest that Lavellan soaked it up and let it warm him right to his very core. His eyes felt wet but he ignored it, instead arching up against Iron Bull’s body and seeking out more kisses. His hair was completely under the water, soap suds drifting away through the grate on the far side of the tub, cycled away by the steady flow of the spring. “I trust you, the Iron Bull.” He whispered sweetly against lips, and the qunari smiled against them.

“Yeah? Want me to show you how much you trust me? Want to see how good you are?”

Lavellan knew what he meant, understood that it would test his limits completely. Instead of shying from it and giving into his fear he nodded instead, offered a shy smile when Iron Bull stoked wet hair from his forehead.

Iron Bull's arm stayed snug against the back of his neck as his thick hand tangled in the hair floating in the water beneath Lavellan. Tangling itself amongst the long dark strands, Iron Bull used that firm grip to slowly, steadily, pull Lavellan’s head beneath the water.

Lavellan tensed when he felt the water come up over his forehead, lapping at his cheek bones, the elf tipping his head to keep his mouth above the water, taking a big breath of air.

Gasping for air before that fierce grip in his hair shoved his face under the water again, the current of the river beating across his face, icy cold and making him scream into the watery dark as all the air he’d managed to get into his lungs was sucked away instead.

Rough lips against his, so tender and gentle, a soft, assured promise that Iron Bull was right there with him.

Lips claiming his own in a kiss snapped Lavellan out of his own mind, the affection and the tenderness so completely at odds with his memory that it simply could not exist at the same time. He whimpered into the kiss, returning it with everything he had as his head was finally pulled completely under.

Iron Bull didn’t stop kissing him. The qunari’s face was below the surface of the water now too, but he didn’t falter for a moment as he slowly devoured Lavellan’s mouth like nothing had changed, like water wasn’t filling their mouths. Like there was absolutely nothing to be worried about. Only a few inches below the surface, but it was all it would have usually taken for Lavellan to pitch into a full panic. Instead he found himself squirming against Iron Bull’s body, desperate for more than just the kiss.

Before he could run out of breath, before the fact that water was flooding his mouth as much as Iron Bull’s tongue really had a chance to sink in, the qunari was pulling him back up out of the water. Lavellan gasped for air, spitting out water as their lips parted momentarily, but as soon as he had a lungfull of air Iron Bull was on him again. Arms wrapped around him tightly, the qunari saying little words of praise and affection before stealing Lavellan’s lips.

The qunari had lifted him up, waded back to the shallowest ledge and deposited Lavellan onto it, only a couple of inches of water above the smooth carved marble, before he finally pulled away and eyed Lavellan closely. The elf was panting for breath but it was the kisses that had stolen his air, not fear or panic or water.

“You good, Kadan?” He asked softly, smoothing heavy hands through long wet hair, finger combing it absently. Lavellan noticed that the qunari had detached the leather belt from his own horn, leaving Lavellan’s hands free to fall into his lap though they were still bound together. “You did so good.”

“It was fine.” Lavellan said softly, before his lips pulled upwards and he broke into a beaming smile. “I’ve never kissed someone underwater before.”

Iron Bull returned the smile, leaning down to bump his forehead gently against the elf’s. “I don’t think I have either, now that you mention it. Very wet business.”

Lavellan nuzzled his nose across the qunari’s, surprised to find that his body was coming down from a bit of an adrenaline high, relaxing and letting go of pent up stress all at once. “We can do more, if you want. You hardly pushed me--”

“It was enough, Kadan. To prove your past has no more power over you, that’s enough. There’s plenty of other things one can do with a pretty elf.”

Lavellan was relieved despite himself, touched that the qunari cared so deeply for him, excited at what the man had in mind for him now. It was the strangest bundle of emotion curled in his belly and he let out a laugh, deciding to focus on the lightness he was feeling. “Oh? Tell me more about these things.”

Iron Bull chuckled before he plucked Lavellan’s hands up, carefully unbuckling the belt and massaging wrists where the leather had rubbed. When he was done he pulled an oilskin cushion from the alcove where most of the bathing supplies were kept, putting it on the ledge Lavellan was sitting on. The leather was carefully designed to be completely waterproof, offering padding when one wanted to lounge in comfort. It was enough to support Lavellan’s head and keep it completely out of the water while the elf laid down.

“I want you to lay out on your stomach, cheek on the cushion.” Iron Bull ordered. While Lavellan stretched out his legs across the ledge to obey, the qunari dangled a vial of warm smelling oil between his fingers. “I’m going to rub you down in oil and work you until you beg.”

“That won’t take long.” Lavellan sighed against the oilskin, bringing his arms up to cradle the pillow, relaxed fully in the shallow water that lapped at his sides. “Can I just start begging now?”

“Cheeky elf.” Iron Bull chuckled while he hefted himself out of the deeper water, straddling Lavellan’s legs carefully, more than able to support his own weight so as not to crush the small elf beneath him. “You only think you’re desperate for it right now, I’ll show you the true meaning of the word.”

As oil drizzled across his back Lavellan’s eyes fluttered shut and he moaned when huge hands spread it across pale skin, covering the expanse of his shoulders down to the base of his spine in one, slow motion. Iron Bull leaned over him to nibble at freckled shoulders momentarily before straightening up again to rub warm hands back up Lavellan’s spine.

When the oil appeared to be spread to his satisfaction the qunari slid his hands beneath the elf, carefully lifting him up, arching his slender back into a flexible bow as his hands smoothed slick oil down his front. Lavellan moaned as fingertips trailed across his chest, but when they found his nipples the moan was quickly turned into a cry. Fingers tugged the fleshy little nubs until they stung, pinching them just hard enough to make Lavellan wail, his voice echoing throughout the room, chased by Iron Bull’s appreciative groan.

The sting was followed by a dull ache as the quickly reddening little nubs were pinched and pulled further, finally slick hands abandoning their aching targets to slide lower. They smoothed down his stomach before Lavellan lifted his hips, hoping desperately that the qunari would take hold of his desperately twitching length. Instead Iron Bull chuckled against his ear as he gently tugged it down with the lightest of grips, letting Lavellan settle back onto the warm marble of the ledge, his stiff cock pointed down towards his toes, pinned between his body and the hard tiles, the only thing capable of distracting him from where his tender nipples pushed into the unyielding stone.

Agony.

Iron Bull began a massage that left Lavellan breathless, huge fingers pressing firmly into tense muscles, rubbing away any ache that was left behind. Lavellan’s shoulders and back had been tight from stooping over his notes and research for so long, leaving the elf moaning hopelessly as those muscles were soothed with complete skill.

Periodically Iron Bull would take a break to run slick fingertips down Lavellan’s spine, sliding between the cleft of his ass to press fingertips to his hole for a moment before returning to the massage. It left Lavellan an incoherent mess, the elf slumped into the cushion under his head, eagerly accepting of whatever his qunari chose to bestow on him next.

Once Lavellan’s back had been thoroughly massaged Iron Bull picked up the belt again, drawing Lavellan’s attention from the blissful haze he was trapped in. “Hands behind your back.” The qunari ordered firmly, Lavellan quickly complying.

His cheek pressed hard to the oilskin while he pulled his arms behind him, Iron Bull quickly boxing them, wrist to elbows under his shoulder blades. Slender forearms were pressed together, the belt looping around them several times before being tightened to keep him in place. It left his lower back completely exposed while Lavellan was helpless to fend off Iron Bull’s hands in any way. Which meant the real teasing was going to begin.

Lavellan moaned when thick fingers squeezed down his sides, stroking the curve of his lower back before cupping the cheeks of his ass and squeezing the handfuls pleasantly. Hot lips kissed their way down his spine, Iron Bull shifting behind him so that he could press his lips to Lavellan’s tailbone while his thumbs slid between Lavellan’s cheeks to dig into the pucker of his entrance with slick movements. It was a slow tease of pressure, not enough to fully penetrate but enough to make Lavellan twitch and ache, whimper pitifully to the humid air around him and rock his hips in hopes that Iron Bull would have mercy on him.

It never worked. The qunari’s hands instead began to massage Lavellan’s upper thighs and glutes with the same care that he had massaged Lavellan’s shoulders, digging his fingers into fleshy muscle and squeezing it into submission. When fingers would spread Lavellan’s cheeks wide to expose the slicked pucker of muscle of his entrance, the sound of the qunari chuckling as the sensitive flesh quivered under his attention made Lavellan long for more.

“What a pretty little pucker, all pink and flushed. Such a tiny little thing.” The qunari groaned, before dipping his head to lick and suckle eagerly at said pucker, dipping his tongue into it to fuck it shallowly with the point. Lavellan cried out, squirming uselessly as he was pinned into place, clenching tightly around the slippery invader as he was tongued, body too relaxed and slick to resist in any way.

“Please, please don’t stop.” Lavellan panted, rocking his hips backwards. He should have known that begging would have the opposite effect of what he wanted right now, the qunari smiling against his most intimate areas before he squeezed Lavellan’s hips and left Lavellan’s hole with one teasing little lick.

When Iron Bull pulled away he chuckled at the way Lavellan’s muscles flexed, the way his hole twitched and tightened, left miserably empty yet again. He pressed a oil slick knuckle to it, teasing it with with continued pressure. “I can think of one big thing I’d love to cram into this tight little hole.” Iron Bull declared with a pleased grin, amused with the way Lavellan rocked back against his hand. “I love to see it stretched right out around my cock. It’s amazing such a tiny little thing can take me.” He said this while finally pressing a finger inside, teasing Lavellan’s prostate almost immediately as he crooked his finger to find it. “Who could imagine something so pretty could be so hungry?”

Lavellan tried to say something, tried to argue with the qunari, try and reason with him to make him hurry and stop teasing him. However the words were leaving his mouth in moans instead, his breath hitching as he panted, having problems thinking let alone communicating. The eager little pleas were the best he could do. Please, please. I want more…

One finger turned to two, scissoring inside of him and rocking in and out, leaving Lavellan slick and opened as he relaxed as he let go and let it happen. When a third finger was added his cries were getting a little more desperate, just as close to the edge as he was the first time tonight Iron Bull had split him open like this, eager and desperate for the qunari to give him something even better.

Iron Bull pulled his fingers out when Lavellan’s desperate rocking seemed to reach it’s peak, the noises the little elf made as pitiful as a wounded creature, crying for mercy and cursing Iron Bull’s existence in the same breath. Lavellan’s hole was slick and tempting, open and ready, driving the qunari bent over him to absolute madness as he restrained himself, torturing himself as much as he was torturing Lavellan, drawing out both of their suffering.

He finally pulled Lavellan’s hips up with strong hands, lining him up with his own. His length laid out across Lavellan’s ass, hot and heavy and twitching, leaking profusely as Lavellan rolled his hips invitingly. It always seemed so big like this, amazing he could fit it inside the elf he was sliding it against. No wonder Lavellan could so quickly be overwhelmed by their rutting when he was filled by something the size of his wrist.

“Please.” The elf was crying, head down and ass up, looking broken and desperate and wanton, nothing in his mind except how badly he wanted his lover’s cock inside of him -- exactly what Iron Bull had intended. “Please fuck me, please…”

There was only so much Iron Bull could take before even his composure cracked. Lavellan arching his back, rocking back and forth as Iron Bull pressed his thick cock between the soft curves of his ass wasn’t something he could stay impassive to. He groaned and let his head fall back as he simply enjoyed for a few moments, letting his greedy elf take all that he could, unable to move enough to get anything satisfying.

When he could take no more Iron Bull grabbed one hip with one hand, stilling the elf completely, the other grabbing his own length to line it up with the slick little hole dripping with oil.

“You want my cock, little elf?” Iron Bull growled, his voice rough as gravel. When Lavellan cried out a yes, rolled his hips, the qunari grinned, a sharp canine catching on his lip as he grit his teeth. “Then take it, swallow it up in that greedy little ass.”

Dirty words that made Lavellan’s entire body shudder in Iron Bull’s grip, the elf desperately rocking himself back without the use of his bound arms. The oil made everything slick and easy, but the sheer size of the qunari’s cock made it difficult for Lavellan to push back on it, struggling for several long seconds to open himself up. Iron Bull was patient despite the agony of a tight little hole slowly squeezing the flared head of his length, he resisted the urge to grab Lavellan’s hips and shove.

It was worth it when the elf finally managed to rock back hard enough for the thick head to pop inside of him, letting out moan that came from his toes, whimpering pathetically as he leaned back on his knees to take more. When he shallowly began to fuck himself, Iron Bull finally lost it and took control.

He curled a heavy arm underneath Lavellan’s chest, pulling the elf tight to his body while his other hand grabbed Lavellan’s hip. With little ceremony he pulled the elf back hard until the curve of Lavellan’s ass was tight against his balls, until the elf was crying out in mindless breaths and his cock was pulsing hard inside the vice grip of muscle he was speared into.

His name became a mantra spilled from elven lips, breathy moans puffed hard as he pulled out part way only to shove back in again. Each time he did, Lavellan writhed in his grip, spasmed on his cock as he cried out obscenities. There was nothing better than this, than fucking someone so hungry for you that they couldn’t form words. Of being so desperately wanted that every thrust was treated like a gift to be thankful for.

He lifted the elf in his arms to get to his feet, his length still buried deep within Lavellan as he moved them. He deposited Lavellan up on the smooth tile of the bathroom floor, the elf’s chest and shoulders bearing his weight while Iron Bull covered his body with his own, hands digging into Lavellan’s hips hard enough to leave colorful red marks behind.

Like that, he finally had enough momentum to simply let go. They rutted on the floor, Lavellan screaming into the tile every time one of Iron Bull’s nearly violent thrusts rocked his body. When Lavellan’s legs lost their strength Iron Bull simply carried his weight in big hands tight around Lavellan’s middle, keeping the poor elf skewered and helpless. Lavellan thrashed when his came, his scream hoarse and rough as he spasmed and clamped tight enough around Iron Bull’s cock that the qunari saw stars.

“You’re so tight.” Iron Bull growled, a string of curses spilling from his mouth. “Mine. This little ass is mine to fill and fuck whenever I want.” Lavellan panted his agreement, too boneless to struggle so instead he focused on fluttering and clenching his ass around the qunari, driving his lover closer and closer to the brink as he milked him with wanton abandon.

Please, fill my little ass with your cum.

The words were weak and breathy, so filthy Iron Bull wasn’t sure he could ever expect Lavellan to say them any louder, even if his voice hadn’t been completely wrecked. He roared his approval as orgasm overcame him, ploughing himself as deep as he could as he spurted thick ropes of seed deep into the spasming sheath of Lavellan’s ass. Days of waiting for a chance to bed the elf made his orgasm all the more intense, the qunari groaning eagerly as he slowly rocked his hips back and forth, riding out the aftershocks as he continued to jerk and spurt more seed inside his lovers body.

Long minutes passed before he finally became coherent enough to tend the crumpled little body that was pinned underneath him. Lavellan’s ass up in the air still stuffed full of Iron Bull’s half hard cock, the rest of him a boneless slump, his cheek pressed to the warm tile of the floor, mouth ajar and slightly drooling as he panted and whimpered.

“Feels so good.” Lavellan finally whimpered when Iron Bull began to unstrap the belt from around his arms. “Everything’s all tingly, right to my toes.” He whimpered. He didn’t protest as Iron Bull slowly straightened out his arms while rubbing shoulders slick with oil and sweat to drive away any aches, still lodged inside his lover.

When the elf could get his hands under him enough to support his weight, Iron Bull slowly hauled him towards the edge of the bath, stepping back into the water himself. He slowly pulled his stiffening length out to leave Lavellan’s legs hanging over the edge of the bath with his ass exposed, the elf completely pliant as he stayed where he was put.

It gave Iron Bull perfect view of the mess he’d made, the way Lavellan’s little hole fluttered and spasmed where his cock had just been, trying to grip onto something that was no longer there, muscles tightening uselessly. It was enough to begin to work some of the thick seed out of Lavellan, a sticky dripping mess that trickled down the flushed swell of Lavellan’s balls, filthy and depraved and perfect.

Iron Bull spread Lavellan’s ass with a hand on each cheek, using the flat of his tongue to lap away the mess slowly dripping down Lavellan’s sensitive skin before circling the elf’s little hole teasingly. Once the elf had curled his arms under his head, biting his knuckle to stifle his moans, Iron Bull grinned and thrust his tongue inside of his lover with ease. Lavellan’s face burned as the qunari’s lips and tongue assaulted him without the least bit of shame or hesitation, the elf’s cock twitching eagerly as he rocked back for more, his hole still tender and sensitive and so susceptible to the pleasurable teasing.

The way the elf squirmed against the qunari’s mouth only spurred Iron Bull harder. He was skilled with his thick tongue, knew exactly how to twist and thrust it into Lavellan’s body to wreck the most havoc on his nerves, leaving the elf clawing uselessly at the tile while he whimpered and begged for more.

While his mouth was busy one of Iron Bull’s hands left the elf’s rump to slide beneath him, teasing the hard flesh he found there. Lavellan’s cock jerked in a heavy grey fist as Iron Bull engulfed it within his grip, squeezing tightly and quickly bringing Lavellan to the edge of his orgasm. The elf was too boneless to fight or help, instead he could only wail his surrender as he begged for more.

Iron Bull didn’t disappoint, jerking Lavellan while he rocked back and forth against Iron Bull’s mouth. The qunari’s breathing was harsh, his chest heaving as he panted for breath air time Lavellan leaned forward, his muscled body shining with sweat and steam, his massive length jutting from the waist deep water jerking now and then as it dripped with precum.

The elf came undone, his voice echoing throughout the room as he trembled and came within Iron Bull’s grasp. A stream of pearly fluid dribbled across the qunari’s knuckles as he milked the sweaty elf for every drop. Iron Bull released his length after that, withdrawing his tongue  as he straightened up and stretched his back out, stiff from being hunched over the elf. When he was done stretching he looked down to admire the elf collapsed against the tile in front of him, running a soothing hand across Lavellan’s spine and pushing away the dark hair stuck to it.

He couldn’t help but appreciate that the elf was at perfect waist height, so relaxed and pliant and boneless where he lay. Groaning the qunari cast about for the oil, finding the bottle where he’d discarded it on the tile near the edge of the bath. It only took him a second to oil himself back up, leaning upwards as he tucked his hands under Lavellan’s hips, eagerly sliding himself back into that clenching little hole.

He pushed in with one long thrust that left his balls pressed tight to Lavellan’s, his lips pulling into a grin when Lavellan screamed into the floor he was draped over. He couldn’t last long which he was sure Lavellan was thankful for, but the time spent thrusting deep into the trembling elf, listening to his lover shout himself hoarse as he clenched hard as a vice around Iron Bull’s cock, made it completely worth it.

He finished with a low growl, covering Lavellan’s shivering body with his own and pulling the little elf tight to his chest, praising him with sweet words and warm hands, petting his hair and rubbing his skin soothingly as he pulled out and carried Lavellan to a ledge appropriate for sitting, slumping his back into the wall of the bath with a satisfied groan as he let the hot water splash around them.

His tongue and jaw were sore from steady use, his knees ached and somehow a bony elven elbow was digging into his solar plexus, but Iron Bull couldn’t have been more content. Soft lips fell across his collarbones as the elf in his lap sleepily showed his appreciation, slender hands wrapping around Iron Bull’s neck and hugging him close.

The qunari used the soapy cloth to wash away his mess this time, having mercy on the elf and not teasing his sensitive body any further. When Lavellan fell asleep in the water, snoring softly into Iron Bull’s chest the qunari couldn’t help but chuckle to himself. All the adrenaline had worn away, leaving the exhausted elf completely spent.

When he was satisfied that the evidence of their sins had been cleaned he wrapped the elf in a towel and carried him upstairs. When deposited into bed, Lavellan woke up for several groggy seconds, reaching out for Iron Bull as the man readied for sleep.

“Bull?” He mumbled sleepily as the bed shifted while Iron Bull arranged himself.

“I’m here, Kadan.” He responded, his voice gentle and relaxed, the elf smiling at the tone as he squirmed to snuggle against Iron Bull’s side. “Feel good?”

“I do.” Lavellan whispered into the side of Iron Bull’s ribs. “Filthy qunari…”

It was murmured with so much affection that Iron Bull laughed, curling his arm tight around the elf and slumping contentedly into the soft bed. “Get some rest, Kadan. You’ll need it later when I decide I want to go again.”

Lavellan shivered at the promise, knowing full well it was no idle threat. With Iron Bull’s arm as a pillow Lavellan sunk into dreams again immediately, drooling slightly with drying hair plastered everywhere, but perfectly content.

He awoke to the feeling of three oil-slick fingers sinking deep inside of him, scissoring and twisting as they were thrust in and out. He moaned loudly as he rapidly became aware of his surroundings, of how he was pinned between Iron Bull and the mattress, that the qunari was eager instead of patient and slow as he’d been in the baths.

He fumbled to brace himself as fingers were suddenly withdrawn to be replaced with something much more substantial, crying out and gripping the sheets tight as he was suddenly wrenched into wakefulness. When he tipped his head back to moan again, thick fingers pressed into his mouth, flattening against his tongue and encouraging him to suckle them sweetly as he was pounded. His cries were muffled by his mouthful of fingers and they were both left in a sweaty tangle of limbs when they were done, Lavellan shakily stroking hands down Iron Bull’s sides as he was showered with praise in the form of kisses and sweet whispers.

His sleep was uninterrupted after that, simply because he was too worn out and content to awaken the next time Iron Bull rolled on top of him to take advantage of a relaxed loose hole still slick with his seed. The morning was spent in a lazy haze, being fucked by fingers and tongue as much as cock, Iron Bull making up for too much time spent away, taking advantage of the break in Lavellan’s workload before messengers arrived and he was drawn back into his work.

Dorian was leaning a hip against the desk their research was spread out on when Lavellan trotted down to meet him, a glass of fine wine balanced lightly in one hand, a newly received letter in the other. He looked up from his reading in time to see Lavellan stretch languidly as he approached the table.

“My, someone is certainly looking rested.” Dorian drawled with an elegantly raised brow and a knowing smirk on his lips. “No question what one of us was doing with their free morning.”

Instead of being ashamed or flustered by the friendly accusation Lavellan grinned at the ‘vint, a devilish gleam in his eyes. “Not just this morning. Most of the night as well. Very virile partners, qunari.”

“Kaffas.” Dorian choked, setting down his wine with a glare in Lavellan’s direction as he composed himself. “That was more than I ever needed to know.”

“Yes, of course. A delicate mage flower from Tevinter’s upper class would be innocent in such matters.” Lavellan was grinning wickedly from ear to ear as he spoke, baiting Dorian with a teasing tone. “I couldn’t imagine the political hoops one would have to jump through to bed another in your homeland. Is there much paperwork involved?”

Dorian was grinning now as well. Perhaps he had considered speaking the truth, admitting he was no innocent or convincing Lavellan otherwise, but their friendly banter was easier. “Ah yes, the paperwork. Not near as involved as the blood magic rituals, though. Halfway through those you’re ready to say piss on it and spend the night drinking alone instead.”

“Oh? A little blood magic required to get it up?”

Dorian snorted, immune to Lavellan’s cheeky grin as he picked up his wine again. “It’s probably the only thing to get one’s blood moving when you must create a child with someone you hate.”

Lavellan made a face, unsure if Dorian was serious or not at that point. “Ugh. I’ll stick with having sex for fun.”

“Don’t let The Iron Bull hear you say that, the brute might not have figured out yet how unlikely it is you’ll produce an ‘Iron Calf’ or two for him.”

Lavellan laughed, his giggles breaking into snorts and sounding entirely undignified, much to his friend’s amusement. Though he’d taken the letter from Dorian with full intentions to begin to read it, he was laughing far too much to focus. “I am the Herald of Andraste. If anyone could pull that stunt, it’d be me. That should encourage him to keep trying.”

“Well, I have heard that trying is the best part.” Dorian said with an airy sort of laugh. “Just rumors I’ve picked up, of course. Don’t go thinking I’d have ever sullied myself with the common rabble.” The perfect amount of arrogance, sarcasm and charm, the expert mask that Dorian wore. Lavellan smiled from ear to ear as he watched the ‘vint preen.

“Of course. We common rabble mourn what will never be ours as we console each other in creative, dirty ways. We’ll stay out of sight so you don’t start craving those blood rituals of yours.”

“Kaffas, you’re incorrigible.” Dorian snickered, turning his attention to his wine. “Do try and focus, that letter is terribly important.”

“Yes Mum.” Lavellan teased, though he finally let his quips die on his tongue so he could begin to read the careful scrawl across the parchment in his hand.

It was important. Confirmation from his Keeper that they were onto something. The disease struck mages and templars much harder than regular citizens, though not as hard as those who had been infected with red lyrium previously. Multiple blood samples were being taken from a variety of patients and would be sent as soon as possible. Heartfelt thanks for their efforts and a promise that she would write again shortly.

At the bottom a plea to him, that as valuable as his help was to her she did not want him to use it as a shield to hide from his clan.

“Good news for us all around.” Dorian said brightly when Lavellan looked up from the letter. “Not that it’ll be any easier to work with, but now we have a good place to begin. I did some reading last night to get a head start, if you want to have a look at what I’ve found.” Dorian nodded his head towards some of the notes on the table. 'Some reading' had yielded more research than Lavellan could come up with in several days. Dorian certainly wasn’t approaching this half heartedly.

“Now you’re making me feel bad for taking as much time as I did.” Lavellan said as he came to Dorian’s side, leafing through the notes.

“Nonsense. I enjoy this type of thing.” Dorian said pleasantly, before tilting his head. “Your Keeper seems to be wanting more from you than formal reports of our progress.”

“Nothing you can help with, I’m afraid.” Lavellan said tightly, lifting up the first page of notes. They were numbered and carefully organized. There were notes about the notes in the margins. Lavellan let out an impressed whistle. “I hope there isn’t a test after I’ve read this.”

“I’d imagine sitting quietly and studying was not a trait often encouraged by the Dalish, hmm?” Dorian laughed, though he was still very focused on Lavellan, alert and studious, trying to find some answer to whatever riddle he had posed regarding the elf. “Does your clan have problems with you being the Inquisitor?” This time Dorian went straight for the throat, no dancing around the question. Lavellan let out a sigh when he realized Dorian wasn’t going to let the matter drop.

“No. They should, but they don’t. I promise Mother Giselle is not going to confront you with letters from my Keeper and a plan to kidnap me back to the Free Marches. This is...different.”

“Each of her letters to you has had some kind of personal aside at the end. Each of your letters to her are about as formal as one could possibly make them--”

“Dorian.” Lavellan’s voice had almost a pleading tone to it. “I hardly see how this concerns you--”

“I am no stranger to avoiding personal matters regarding one’s homeland.” Dorian said firmly, plucking the papers Lavellan was trying to read out of his hands, forcing the elf to turn and give him his full attention. “I want to understand why. She doesn’t appear to be asking you to go back to the life you had before. If anything it appears she’s looking for guidance.”

“I don’t think I am in any position to give guidance to a--”

“On the contrary, I think you are in the best position.” Dorian interrupted. Lavellan blinked when a ringed hand fell to his shoulder, Dorian peering down at him with such intensity that he was startled by the contact. “I think you are the only one who could change things. Not only have you changed how people perceive a Dalish elf, but now you can change how the Dalish interact with the world as a whole.”

“One clan does not determine--”

“You really think I’m that blind? I was there when we met the clan on the Exalted Plains. I saw how they treated you, what they said to you. Clans are talking about you. Eventually even the Dalish have to realize that stagnation means extinction.”

Lavellan didn’t say anything for several long moments, refusing to meet Dorian’s gaze and biting his lip as he fidgeted. Eventually the ‘vint had mercy on him and stepped away, giving the elf room to breathe. “You’d think you’d have enough on your plate revolutionizing Tevinter.” Lavellan finally teased with a weak little smile.

“Ah well, you know me.” Dorian said with a breathy sort of grin. “Better be careful or people might start thinking I care about something other than myself.”

Lavellan wanted to say something sappy, wanted to tell Dorian how beautiful his mind was, how tender the blinding optimism of which he looked at the world with was. Instead he sighed, staring at the letter on the desk with a sad look. “I worry that my people would follow my example. They would extend themselves to a society which hates them and be burned for their trouble. It’s a beautiful sentiment, but I…”

“Yes well, give it some time.” Dorian said, patting Lavellan’s shoulder and handing the page of notes he’d confiscated back to the elf. “That’s what this Inquisition is all about, correct? Fixing the broken system. What takes it place is what you decide. There’s something powerful in that.”

“But no pressure, right?” Lavellan snorted, rubbing his forehead and returning to his reading. “This morning I had almost managed to forget I was responsible for the fate of Southern Thedas. Thank you for reminding me.”

“Happy to help! Now, just so you know, there actually is a test when you’re done reading those notes. I’ll fill you in when you’re done.”

Lavellan groaned and reached for the wine Dorian had been nursing, deciding it was going to be a long day. Gods willing, they’d be ready for the samples when they arrived.

---

They weren’t ready. They had a good working theory, but when they first began to dissect and study the samples that were sent to them they discovered that a lot that they had assumed was completely wrong. The type of magic that had created the virus, for instance. They’d assumed some kind of blood magic, perhaps entropy. Instead they were rapidly discovering that instead it seemed to be some kind of healing magic that had been twisted terribly. Perhaps it’s original purpose to wipe out corruption or taint within a body, only turned to attack the body itself instead.

Lavellan’s fingers were covered in ink and his eyes were strained from reading late into the day. It felt like it’d been far too long since he’d slept, but they’d found that the virus only lived so long in their samples before it died and they were left to start again. Learning how to keep it alive was the highest priority. Well, keep it alive safely. Because feeding it raw lyrium had ended very badly. When Dorian had carefully noted that a lyrium miner would be likely to explode on infection, Lavellan had given him a That’s not very helpful look which didn’t seem to have any effect.

When they’d sent a note that the templars infected should refrain from taking lyrium while they were ill, the Keeper returned the message to sadly inform them that the remaining few templars who had been infected had passed away already. Knowing that people were dieing while they struggled to understand something only motivated them to work harder, passing up sleep to research instead.

“Venhedis!” The sudden curse made Lavellan jump, the elf sheepishly realizing that he had almost been dozing over the book he was examining. “Blood, really? The glorious Dorian Pavus, struck down by a letter opener. That’s what my grave will say.”

Dorian was grumbling loudly while he nursed a wounded finger, the trickle of blood nothing to get excited over, but Dorian always had a flair for the dramatic. “Do you need to be supervised while using sharp objects, Pavus?” Lavellan asked dryly, rubbing his eyes to try and chase away the sleepiness behind them.

“Quiet, you. Save your scathing wit for a time when I’m not bleeding out.”

“Creators, you’re fine.” Lavellan said with an exasperated smile, standing in front of Dorian and holding out his hand expectantly. “Let me see this injury of yours, I’ll decide whether I need to call the healers.”

“Your southern healers would leave me lame and cripple.” Dorian declared, even as he meekly laid his hand into Lavellan’s. His finger was sliced, deep enough to draw a surprising amount of blood, but certainly not enough to truly bother the ‘vint.

“So fussy.” Lavellan chastised softly, before bringing Dorian’s hand to his mouth, curling the exposed finger forward and pressing his lips to it smoothly. The little amount of magic used had no visual effect, simply a warmth that spread through Dorian’s finger and left the cut completely healed. “All better now, da’len.” Lavellan used a handkerchief from his pocket to dab away the blood before patting the man’s hand with a gentle gesture and raising his head to meet Dorian’s gaze.

Dorian was watching him with a foreign expression, cheeks flushed and eyes heated. It caught Lavellan completely off guard, unsure of what had sparked the strange reaction. “Speechless? If I had known it was so easy to shut you up all this time…”

“The phrase ‘Kissing it better’ usually does not imply actual healing magic.” Dorian accused, trying to compose himself and failing, his mask fraying around the edges. Possibly because Lavellan was still holding his hand, the ‘vints fingers warm where lips had been. “Honestly I’m surprised, I’ve never seen you heal anything before.”

“Had it been any bigger a wound, I could have taken your whole hand off instead. I’m not very good at keeping my magic constructive.” Lavellan admitted, grinning when Dorian made an uncomfortable sound and snatched his hand away. “A whole lot of thanks I get.” The elf sniffed.

“Thank you.” Dorian said after a pause, still looking so amusingly off kilter that Lavellan found himself watching the ‘vint with a curious smile.

“I saved you from a life threatening assault by a letter opener. You might not want to spread that around.” Lavellan snickered before returning to his reading. He didn’t notice that Dorian was distractedly watching him now, sneaking looks from the corner of his eye as the ‘vint considered how warm Lavellan’s lips had felt pressed to his skin. Completely oblivious to the potent rush of temptation and guilt that had a uniquely Tevinter brand of suffering attached to it.

Late in the following day they made a breakthrough. This time it was Dorian who had jerked upright from where he had been slouching exhausted in his chair. “I’ve got it! Genius, really. I’d bet your money I’m right about this.”

“My money? How confident of you.” Lavellan joked, though he was eager to hear any new ideas, his own starting to sink into a spiral that was getting him nowhere.

“Silence, you.” Dorian scoffed. “Like I’d bet Inquisition funds without knowing it was a sure thing.” As he spoke, the ‘vint was laying out the book he’d been reading, pulling up some parchment and beginning to scratch out notes onto it with a overused quill. “It’s simple, really. The creator of this disease made something that seeks to devour the things a body needs to survive and the magic that could destroy it. So we create something too. Something designed to hunt it.”

“Can we even do that? We don’t even know how the magister created a disease in the blood yet.”

“The texts I’ve had sent to me from Tevinter answer that. There are new findings in the medical field that theorize that many diseases in the body are actually caused by tiny little things in our blood, but also that our blood has tiny little things in it that fight back.”

“So we create something based off of those.”

“Exactly. He evolved what was already in the body with magic, twisted something already corrupt. So we evolve something that’s already designed to fight off disease. We’re going to need more samples from Wycome, please do tell your Keeper. For now we need to prepare, go through these texts together and pull out everything that will be of value. Once we have a plan, we’ll probably need to recruit a mage with more experience in healing. They’ll have a natural ability working with the functions of the body, of course.”

So Lavellan sent the message to his Keeper explaining their plan and requesting the samples. They took their meal hunched over the desk as they worked on their notes and plans together, drawing up theories to test once their samples had arrived.

Their desk and chairs became so covered in books and papers that Lavellan eventually moved to the floor in front of the fireplace, their firewood had long since burned up leaving them with nothing but magical flame to give them both light and warmth. Eventually Dorian joined him, complaining loudly about the rough rug they sat upon and the lack of comfortable seating in their room.

Lavellan promised to have furniture moved in, though the thought was forgotten almost as immediately as he promised it, far too focused on his reading. Sitting side by side they added to each other’s notes and argued over theories late into the night. Finally Lavellan found himself reading the same line multiple times, barely comprehending the words in front of him.

“What time is it?” He mumbled with a yawn, rubbing his eyes blearily to try and focus them.

“Late, I suppose. It’s been dark out for a while. Fading?”

“I might need a little nap.” Lavellan said tiredly, setting the book down in front of him and giving Dorian a bleary look. Green eyes were all the more vivid when his eyes were so red from exhaustion. “Just gonna...shut my eyes for a minute.” He explained as he leaned to the side, resting his head against Dorian’s shoulder and slumping against the larger mage.

Dorian chuckled as the elf almost immediately fell asleep, feeling the tugs of exhaustion himself but fighting them with determination. Despite the fact that it took packages days to pass between Skyhold and Wycome they would be pressed for time once the samples arrived, having to do all of their testing before they died out. Better to have all their ducks in a row before the real crunch began.

The elf leaned harder against him as he fell deeper into sleep, the chances of it being just a light nap diminishing by the minute as he slipped farther down Dorian’s arm. “Don’t complain that I’m not a satisfactory pillow.” Dorian grumbled, though a bit of a smile pulled at the corner of his lips. When Lavellan seemed to settle in comfortably against him the ‘vint sighed and decided to leave it be. The elf looked worn down with dark smudges under his reddened eyes and a paleness that attested to lack of sleep more than his usual coloration. It wouldn’t do to wake him up and deny him the chance to rest.

He finished writing down the useful effects of certain healing magic upon blood cells before flipping the page to the next chapter, letting out a tired groan as he stretched and considered just how eager he was to dig into the effects of spirit healing next. Maybe just a short break for his eyes. When he stretched Lavellan grumbled as he was dislodged from Dorian’s shoulder, sleepy green eyes opening long enough to look accusing at the other mage.

“Really? You drooled on my shoulder.” Dorian said, though the accusing look did not go away. “Fine, grumpy.” Dorian huffed, before he leaned back to rest his back against the squared leg of the table behind him. “You win, come here.” The elf obeyed, and with little guidance from Dorian ended up sprawled across the carpet with his head propped against Dorian’s lap. It seemed considerably more comfortable for the Inquisitor offered a pleased sort of hum and words definitely in elven before he promptly fell back to sleep.

Picking through his notes in one hand, Dorian found himself watching Lavellan’s face as the elf slept instead. He was unable to suppress a soft little smile at the innocence across the smaller man’s face. Who knew how he did it, looking so peaceful and calm despite the chaotic events he faced each day. Unbothered by the demanding world around him, or perhaps simply just too exhausted to care.

He found himself reaching out with his carefully groomed hand to brush away a lock of hair that had fallen into the sleeping elf's face, tucking it behind a pointed ear. His fingertips lingered on the feel of soft skin across the slender shell of Lavellan’s ear, admiring the texture and the softness of the hair behind it.  Lavellan didn’t protest the touch, relaxed as ever as he slept. Feeling bold, Dorian ran his fingertips down the curve of the elf's jawline, possibly jealous of the smooth texture of skin that Lavellan did not need to put any effort into maintaining.

It was a dangerous temptation to dip his thumb to lightly caress a soft lower lip, smiling as he did so. It was as warm against him it had been earlier when the elf had kissed his finger. As his thumb ghosted so gently across the pink flesh Lavellan parted his mouth with just the smallest of noises, causing Dorian to snatch his hand away, hovering it a few inches above the elf’s face as he waited to see if he'd been caught.

Unbidden, thoughts of what could have been floated through Dorian’s mind. He could have crawled on top of the dozing elf and kissed him as he awoke, explored that soft mouth that was still parted temptingly. Lavellan would wrap arms sleepily around him, welcome his advances and tease Dorian’s mouth with his own, absolute temptation until Dorian would wake him enough to relocate somewhere more private for whatever primal activities they could manage in their exhausted state.

Or maybe, maybe they would simply sleep curled against each other, a tangle of warm limbs and smooth skin. They’d have time for that, in no rush because once morning came they could spend it lazily exploring each other’s bodies with renewed vigor.

Dorian caught himself before falling too deeply into that fantasy. He really was exhausted to entertain such thoughts. The fascination of a lonely body giving into a weak mind. So long in the south, too concerned with a dagger in the back to risk finding anything more than a quick fuck in a shadowed corner. Even those were hard to come by, very few brave enough to approach dazzling tevinter mage that had embedded himself in the Inquisitor’s inner circle. Prospective dalliances were far too willing to believe the rumors that anyone who bedded a ‘vint would end up a blood sacrifice.

Not surprising that his mind would fixate on the elf who spent so much time next to him. The elf who was incredibly easy on the eyes, talented and charming, intelligent with a delightfully wicked streak that could keep Dorian amused for a lifetime. The elf who Dorian had watched with growing interest, thinking of how he could seduce and entice him when the time was right. He hadn’t thought much about what could happen after, but some little part of him could only dare to wonder if Lavellan might have been interested in more than sex.

Dorian let out a bitter chuckle at the thought, while letting his fingertips touch the tip of Lavellan’s nose simply to watch it scrunch as the elf protested the tickling. A missed opportunity there, nothing more. Lavellan might have been what Dorian wanted, but Dorian was as far as one could get from what Lavellan was after. When the elf had contemplated potential bed partners Dorian hadn’t even been considered. The prideful arrogance he surrounded himself with stung at that, it was best to let everyone think that was the only reason Dorian was sore.

Sighing he picked up his book once again, deciding now was as good of time as any to dig into spirit healing, not much good for anything else the way his thoughts kept going. As he read he found his hand dipping to the head in his lap, petting Lavellan’s hair much like one would a cat before finally digging his fingers through it enough to scratch lightly at the elf’s scalp. If the contented sigh was anything to go by, the way Lavellan arched his neck to press his head further into Dorian’s hand, his idle efforts were at least appreciated.

Hours passed and Dorian’s notes were beginning to stack up next to him, though his scrawl was beginning to grow less and less legible as he found himself yawning more than usual, nodding off on multiple occasions. Lavellan had long since ruined Dorian’s trousers with a patch of drool from where he’d snuggled into his makeshift pillow, sleeping soundly. It was almost a shame to move him, but if Dorian was to get any sleep himself they’d have to relocate.

Putting the book to the side, Dorian stretched with hands high above his head, feeling his back pop in several places and groaning in the agonizing bliss it brought his sore back.

“You know, neither of you are much good to anyone if you die from exhaustion.”

“Fasta vass!” Dorian shouted as he practically jumped out of his skin. Lavellan groaned as he was very nearly dislodged from the lap he was laying across, Dorian’s hands falling to soothe him even as glared at the qunari who was casually leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed. He looked downright smug in his amusement at surprising the ‘vint. “How does a brute like you sneak around so quietly?”

‘Ben-Hassrath’ was the obvious answer, obvious enough that Iron Bull didn’t bother saying it. Instead he unfolded muscled arms and walked into the room, eyeing the elf laying across Dorian’s lap. “Last night when I checked in, you were both still standing, at least. This? I’m calling it, time for bed. Both of you.”

Dorian glared, however when he opened his mouth to protest a yawn broke out instead, wide enough his jaw clicked. “You...may have a point. Should I wake him?”

Iron Bull grunted out a no before squatting in front of Dorian, the metal of his boot grinding against the stone as he reached for his elf. His expression was soft as he carefully pulled Lavellan from Dorian’s lap, when the elf fussed and began to wake Iron Bull simply smoothed a large hand over his forehead. “S’alright big guy, I got ya.” He said as he settled the elf against his chest.

To Dorian’s surprise as Iron Bull straightened and stood Lavellan settled right down against the scarred grey skin of Bull’s chest. When the qunari touched the side of his face with one hand the elf nuzzled into it almost immediately, seeking more contact.

Lavellan hadn’t shied away from Dorian’s touch, but he actively craved Iron Bull’s even when asleep. Dorian gave a resigned sigh as he stood up, though it was very easy to mask the sound with a groan as his body protested straightening out.

“Get some sleep, Sparkler. You’ve earned your rest.” Dorian grunted his agreement though he was distracted when he noticed Lavellan’s eyes open for a moment, a thin slit of green as the elf made a soft sound.

Cradled so easily against Bull’s chest with his legs hooked over the qunari’s arm bridal style, he stretched in a content sort of fashion. “Bull?” He mumbled, voice so soaked in sleep it was a wonder he was even awake.

“Yeah, I’m here Boss. I’m taking you to bed.” Iron Bull said easily. Lavellan squirmed long enough to get a hand up and grab one of Iron Bull’s horns, briefly tugging the man’s head down to press a kiss against Bull’s jawline.

The qunari let him, grinning as Lavellan’s grip immediately slackened and the elf sagged back into his arms almost as quickly as he’d awakened, back to sleep before Iron Bull could even take a proper kiss. His expression remained soft as he took a step back towards the door, glancing up at Dorian before he turned.

He stopped when he did, seeing something on Dorian’s face that encouraged wariness. The easy display of affection, the way Iron Bull smiled softly when exposed to his sleepy elf, the way Lavellan curled into him and sought out something as silly as a kiss. It struck a nerve, finally drawing Dorian out of the steadfast silence he usually faced the subject with.

“What do you do, exactly?” He asked, his voice a little sharper than he intended it.

Not that it seemed to have any ill effect on the qunari who gave an easy shrug despite the burden in his arms. “Well, I’m a mercenary by trade.” He said, as if it was the most obvious answer in the world.

Dorian groaned. “With him.”

Iron Bull regarded him with some interest, head tilted slightly to the side before he finally raised his good eyebrow in a questioning way. “You ‘vints do know what sex is, right?”

“Kaffas! Yes, I know what sex is!” Dorian snapped, exhaustion leaving his edges frayed and exposed instead of the gilded charm he usually chose. “That’s obviously not what I’m asking! Sex doesn’t… Whatever you’ve done, you’ve changed him. How did you…” Iron Bull was being completely unhelpful, staring blankly as Dorian struggled with words, waiting for him to finish his question. Left feeling awkward and embarrassed, unwilling to dig his hole any deeper, Dorian abruptly stopped. “You know what? Nevermind. I need sleep.”

He turned to pick up his notes when Iron Bull finally spoke up. “He’s better.”

“I didn’t say he wasn’t.” Dorian said, turning back to the Iron Bull and shaking his head. “Everyone who knows him can see that he’s better. He’s confident, happy in his own skin. He doesn’t apologize or flinch, doesn’t let people walk all over him. But I think that no matter what Mother Giselle says, it has nothing to do with him finding the love of the Maker. I think it’s something more scandalous than she’s willing to comprehend that’s changed him.”

Iron Bull grinned, the pull of his lips downright devilish as he looked at the elf sleeping peacefully in his arms, a predator eyeing it’s prey and basking in the delight that he’d captured it. It turned to a smirk as he looked back up at Dorian, rolling a big shoulder again and taking a step back, as if to leave. “Well, you seem to have it figured out.”

“I don’t! I don’t understand!” Dorian cut off, not letting the subject die and Iron Bull to leave. He very nearly ran a frustrated hand through his hair, though years of trained vanity prevented it so he rubbed his temple instead. “Sex doesn’t do that. It just doesn’t work that way for people like…”

Us. The word was left unsaid as the mage abruptly cut himself off, his exhaustion tinged features pulling into a scowl that left him looking run down and...defeated. It didn’t surprise the Iron Bull at all that Dorian would see Lavellan as a kindred spirit, despite their outwardly glaring differences they were remarkably alike. They often dealt with things the same way, a stubborn defiance powering a drive to excel. Hiding hurts behind expert masks, presenting a strong front to withstand any storm while the man within was shaken to the core by what they saw.

The silence that hung between them was pregnant with an edge of vulnerability. Probably sleep deprivation that was causing Dorian to drop his guard and look at the two of them with something longing and desperate in his eyes. It went far beyond the simple attraction to a friend, the distrustful way he so certainly didn’t envy Iron Bull. It was the look of a man who had been denied something his entire life, told it was impossible to acquire so many times that he’d simply stopped trying. A man who had wallowed in decadent despair and cast aside every opportunity to better himself because he’d been so sure there was no other way.

Now he was faced with the proof that there was, standing before him in the form of a sleepy elf and the massive qunari that woke up at ungodly hours of the night to care for him. If I had been a better man, could I have had this too? A gaping hole in the ‘vints armor, such a window into a beautiful creature that left Iron Bull itching to say so many things. Just a few well placed words and he could crack the man open like an egg. However there was no purpose in hurting Dorian further and it was not Iron Bull’s place to try and help. Another time he might have rolled Dorian into bed, showed him how he helped. The Inquisitorial bundle in his arms complicated matters greatly.

So he left it alone. Pretended he didn’t notice, gave Dorian the option to pretend like it had never happened.

“We’re not in Tevinter. Maybe things just work differently in the South.” He said instead, his tone easy and light, though Dorian still flinched like he’d been rebuked.  

“Perhaps.” Dorian said tightly, crossing his arms over his chest in a decidedly defensive pose.

Iron Bull didn’t want to stand and watch as the mage struggled to find his composure, to close up and hide behind his pretty walls again. So instead he shrugged and nodded a horn towards the snoring elf who was beginning to drool slightly against his chest. “I’m going to get Drooly here to bed. You need to sleep too, you look like shit.” He said with a bit of a grin, the friendly barb softened a little more than usual by the soft tone of his voice.

As expected Dorian snorted, his stance transforming entirely, the vulnerability gone because he knew how to deal with teasing and ribbing from friends. “Sleep deprived as I am, I still look years better than you.” He sniffed haughtily.

Iron Bull smiled a knowing smile, letting Dorian think he’d come out of that round on top as he left the room to take Lavellan to bed.

---

The next two days were spent preparing their notes and making a coherent plan of what they would do with the samples when they arrived. The entire lifespan of each sample was planned in excruciating detail and their room was arranged to accommodate this. Once everything was in order the two mages both sat back to admire their handiwork before agreeing to spend the rest of the day celebrating with a bottle of wine, some chess and very little other activity.

Dorian was patient when their game was repeatedly interrupted by messengers requesting Lavellan review and sign their reports. When one bottle of wine ran out, Lavellan had another brought up. When sitting in front of the open window wasn’t providing enough sunlight, the two of them decided to reconvene outside, moving their chess board down into the courtyard.

Dorian refused to sprawl in the grass as Lavellan wished so the two of them set up their board across the top wall of the main courtyard. The chargers were off with Iron Bull repairing holes in roofs and walls throughout Skyhold, leaving the sparring ring filled with Inquisition soldiers, a flurry of activity as others milled about the tavern roaring stories and cheers of their latest survived mission for the Inquisition. Some of the more veteran agents were out enjoying the sun as well, milling together on the ramparts or out in the sun, enjoying the time they had before duty called them out once again.

It was such a cheery mixture, all sorts of people and backgrounds merged together under a common banner, his banner, and Lavellan couldn’t help but be smiling as he watched his fortress bustle with activity. Of course, his happy distraction was costing him dearly in focus -- Dorian would be impossible to work with for the next few days as he won his third game with a satisfied clap of hands.

“Is that all your coin? If you need to nip down to the Inquisition’s vault to scrounge some more, I certainly wouldn’t object to waiting.”

“Convincing me to bet on these games was a very sinister ploy, Master Pavus. I worry your true colors are showing.”

“Oh? How do you know I was not intending benevolence? One would expect the Inquisitor to be better at chess. Great leaders are, I’m told.”

Lavellan scrunched up his nose. “The only person I’ve beaten was Cullen and that’s only because he let me win.” Lavellan chuckled at the memory. “The rules seem simple enough, but there is a great deal of complexity that is still far beyond me.”

“I suppose that’s right, you just started playing recently, hm? What games do you Dalish play then, when you want to test your wits against each other?”

Lavellan thought about it for a few moments before he smiled. “There were a few in my clan who had decks of cards, they played every game you could imagine. My Keeper favoured a game involving chips, but I’m not entirely sure what it was called. Lots of betting on dice as well, not coin of course. Usually things like favors or trinkets. Among the youth it wasn’t uncommon to bet kisses or other things.”

“Quite often practiced among Tevinter youth, as well. Who knew our people would have something in common.” Dorian was grinning at him as he began to set the pieces back up for a new game. “Though I can’t help but gather that you weren’t involved in many of these games.”

“I…” Lavellan trailed off for a moment, frowning at the thought. Nights around the fire while everyone celebrated a hunt, games and dancing and drinking. In the middle of it would be the First of his clan, dancing with everyone who asked, accepting every challenge to a game. He was always the center of such things, such a social man. Then his eyes would settle on Lavellan, he’d offer a pleasant smile and motion for him to come, patting the log next to him to invite Lavellan to sit at his side.

Lavellan would turn away with a frown, deciding to trade a patrol for night watch instead. It had been a form of rebellion, cutting himself off from the Clan had been his way of lashing out, some small thing he could control. He understood now it had hurt no one but himself.

“I wasn’t much for games, too busy with a nose in my books, or exploring ruins we sometimes found in the forest.” Dorian offered him a soft smile, if he caught on to anything different he didn’t pry. Pretty masks could only be kept in tact if others did not poke at them, Dorian could respect that.

“Well then, you can bet another bottle of wine and we will keep playing until you’ve won a match, or we’ve drained your cellar!”

Lavellan couldn’t help but grin, deciding it was an entirely terrible idea but far too amused by it to refuse. Their new game was going well in Lavellan’s favour for a change, until the sound of horns and Skyhold’s massive gates being opened caught his attention. The elf tilted his head back to watch the gates, a plain and sturdy covered wagon pulled through by a couple of large black horses. It wasn’t until he saw the pure white pelt of a halla, and most importantly it’s rider, that Lavellan stood up abruptly, drawing Dorian’s attention.

“Is it our samples from Wycome?” Dorian asked, casually looking over the edge of the wall. When he looked at Lavellan he realized something was very wrong as the elf gnawed at his lip, looking like he was ready to run away. “What’s wrong?”

Lavellan finally pointed at the elf as she dismounted the halla she was riding, greeted by one of Josephine’s messengers. “That’s my Keeper.” He said, giving Dorian a strained look.

“Oh. Guess she came to get a response to her letters in person?” Dorian narrowed his eyes to peer at her a little closer in the sunlight. While her face was painted with the vallaslin that marked her as dalish, her clothing was a strange hybrid of the two. The Keeper of a clan that had become as embroiled in human politics as Lavellan himself. “I’ll go be a distraction while you escape out the back?”

Lavellan laughed, a strained panicky little noise that didn’t have much humor at all. As tempting as the offer was he nodded towards the stairs instead, eternally grateful that Dorian joined him on the way down, their chessboard forgotten where it lay.