fadewalk | Dorian (dorianpavus-fadewalk)

As spells went, this one didn't seem so bad. Being teleported away seemed much nicer than being set on fire. Though considering his luck, he'd been teleported here just to be set on fire the good old-fashioned way.

"All right," Taran said, slowly standing. "Positive thoughts. This isn't going to end horribly or anything."

He checked his weapon and slipped the journal into his pouch after only a cursory glance through it. He planned to take a much closer look soon, but his number one priority was getting out of the jail. Assuming he could.

Was this Redcliffe? It seemed weirdly...open and expansive for Redcliffe.

Taran gave the door a little push, relieved when it opened right away. His footsteps sounded loud to his ears, echoing as he made his way out of the cell. He looked around him curiously, moving out toward a huge, gorgeous grand hall. It was absolutely massive in scope, statues lining the wall, ceilings arching high overhead, soft light streaming through stained glass.

He turned slowly, almost forgetting Alexius and the spell in his amazement. Maker, it was beautiful. "Wow," he murmured, not caring that he sounded like the backcountry (lordling) yokel he was. "Just...wow."

And then the door at the far end of the hall pushed open and Taran was whirling around, sword unsheathed and shield raised in a single fluid motion. He tensed, ready for whatever came through...then lowered his sword in frank astonishment at who...or what, considering...he saw.

"You," Tara sputtered. "I know you."

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The flurry of questions battered the smirk right off Dorian's face. He looked breathless in fact. "I'm sorry-- can you back up a bit. You want to kiss me?"

He shouldn't... no. But yes? If Taran wished it Dorian wouldn't be able to deny him. But given all of gravity of their situation it didn't merit attention. Kissing should be rather low on their list of priorites.

Funny how it was suddenly quite close to the top.

Taran bit his lower lip and looked down, a flush spreading across his cheeks. "I know, I should be focused on the problem," he said, as if Dorian had been scolding him the way Leliana or Josephine or Cassandra or Cullen might. "And I am. Or. I will. But you're here, and you're my soulmate, and Maker knows what's out there. If we're going to wander out there into possible danger, I want to at least kiss you first. ...if that's okay with you."

Dorian had been waiting to meet the young man before him for his entire life, literally. He'd been in love with him before he even knew for certain he did not fancy women in the slightest. Had defied his father with a child's solemn, foolish, reckless vow to keep him away from Tevinter and all that entailed. It had probably saved the rare, precious light he saw before him.

At Taran's words he felt like he could burst, his magic as unsettled as the rest of him. He swallowed hard, and then smiled, slow and sidelong. "If that's okay with me. The things you say."

Edited Date: 2015-08-19 02:34 am (UTC)

Taran looked up through his lashes, biting back a grin, then slowly--deliberately--stepped into Dorian's space.

Closer.

Closer still.

Close enough that their chests nearly brushed, their breaths hot on each others' lips. He reached up almost shyly to press a hand over Dorian's heart, fingers seeking out the thrum of its beat. His other hand lightly cupped his cheek and drew him in.

Taran breathed, tasting the kiss seconds before their lips met--soft and sweet and heartbreakingly perfect.

There had never been a moment more purely his in Dorian's life than the moment that Taran's hands drew him closer and Taran's lips found his.

He returned the kiss with a tender press, his own hand rising to rest at the nape of Taran's neck, finger combing so lightly into his hair there. He parted his lips a heartbeat before he pulled back just far enough to meet Taran's eyes. His fingers were trembling.

He pressed in with a low noise, chasing Dorian's mouth--not wanting the kiss to end. His lips were parted, breath serrated. "Dorian," he murmured, testing it out.

It felt good to say. Right.

"Yes, amatus?" Dorian leaned back in to kiss him again, eyes half-lidded. He was sweeter than any wine, and Dorian would lose himself twice as easily. He wasn't sure how to let Taran go even for a moment now that they were touching, now that their mouths were so perfectly pressed together. To think, boldly kissing the Herald of Andraste on the steps of a strange deserted castle in the Fade?

It was absurd enough to make Dorian chuckle breathlessly against Taran's mouth.

Taran lightly bit Dorian's lower lip at the laugh, grinning against his lips before brushing his tongue out to lick away the momentary sting. He hadn't done a lot in his fairly sheltered life, but kissing?

In the back end of nowhere, surrounded by a bunch of novices and initiates, there had been nothing to do but pray and kiss. Taran had gotten really, really good at one of the two.

"I like that," he murmured into Dorian's mouth. "Amatus."

Dorian hadn't really meant to say that out loud, though he'd been thinking it nearly as long as he could remember. Hearing it back was enough to make his ears burn, and his pulse quicken, and his hand slide to the small of Taran's back and pull him closer.

All against his better judgement, his noble intentions, to give this time to grow and breathe and for Taran to make choices about what he wanted, what they would be, here he was deepening the kiss, relishing in the clever tongue and soft lips underneath his.

Taran hummed in utterly shameless pleasure, cupping Dorian's jaw so he could brush his thumbs along his pulse. He responded in kind, tongue brushing languidly against Dorian's as he explored his mouth, teasing and then earnest by turns. It was enough to make him shiver, the simmering heat of it, and Taran swore he could feel Dorian.

Not just in the obvious way--hands, breaths, twining tongues and slick heat--but the thrum of what made him him.

It was heady and incredible and almost impossible to not strain for more--and with that strain, the kiss deepened more, and more, urgency ever-growing.

The escalation was causing Dorian to lose sight of all sense. He simply wanted and for once in his life he had within his grasp the person that he needed. The singing pleasure, the rush toward more, it was an exquisite pain as he gripped Taran tighter.

The sound of breaking glass was a surprise.

It was followed by catcalls and raspberries from a voice that Dorian had no referent for, but that Taran would know as Sera's.

Dorian jerked back with a start and guttural objection, but he moved to scan the courtyard for an enemy, flames wreathing the fingers of his right hand as he looked for their incredibly inconvenient assailant. "It seems this place is not as empty as it appears." His other hand stayed on Taran's waist, trying to keep the warrior behind him. Absurd. The height of ridiculousness.

He squinted down the stone steps and then added, "Did someone throw a wine bottle at us?"

Taran just leaned in, hooking his chin over Dorian's shoulder, arms sliding around his waist. "It seems like something Sera would do," he mused. "If she's here, then more of the others probably are too. That's a good thing for us."

"Sera, hmm? One of your hangers-on with the Inquisition, I take it? And others? Do they throw wine-bottles and shout rude things too? What fun!"

The flames fluttered out in a small shower of sparks as Dorian raised his hand to stroke Taran's cheek. Just the faintest residue of warmth remained on his fingerpads, trailing down to the line of his jaw. He let out a soft sigh and his eyes closed. "I have to say that if we ever meet whoever brought us here, I don't care if it's an archdemon or the Archon, I'm throwing that person - or whatever - a party."

Taran lightly bit at the pads of Dorian's fingers, too happy to pay much mind to the gentle grumbling. "You'll like her," he promised. "As for the party...so long as Corypheus isn't to blame."

"No, even him, whoever he is." Dorian tweaked Taran's nose at the nibbling, and leaned away. With eyes watching he had lost some of the easy, nearly drunk sensation of being near his Voice, his want now knotted around the sour stone of what the young Herald's people would think.

(OOC: Just wanted to make sure, Corypheus isn't a name Dorian would know until after the fall of Haven, right? The Venatori are all just "elder one blah blah" until then?)

Taran just laughed, completely unselfconsciously happy. "You probably don't want to know who he is unless there's no choice," he said, straightening as well. "Should we start searching?"

(OOC: Yes!)

"Searching for others, yes. Also, the wine cellar wouldn't go amiss." Dorian let his hand slide down Taran's shoulder to his hand. He squeezed it and with a rather admirable display of restraint and fortitude let it go so that if there was a fight to be had, the lad would be able to actually use his sword.

"Where do you think our bottle-thrower is lurking? And should we just avoid her altogether for now?"

"She's long gone, if I know Sera. Come on, let's try this way," he added, tipping his head.

He not-so-subtly switched sides with Dorian, then took his hand, threading their fingers together--leaving his sword arm and Dorian's staff arm free.

The slide of their fingers laced together makes Dorian flush subtly. It is a simple intimacy and preposterous that he should feel embarrassed by it. He gives Taran's hand a squeeze, ever the rebel, and follows where he leads.

"Tell me, Taran, when you're gallivanting around with your companions having adventures and saving the day, who is in charge of making sure you don't go charging off of cliffs and falling down ravines?"

Taran glanced at him, a sheepish look on his face.

"Well, Cassandra tries," he admitted. Though thankfully Cassandra never tried to stop him from charging into battle. The two of them were becoming a well-oiled machine there. "When you join the Inquisition, you can take over for her."

When he joined the Inquisition. Dorian's hand clasped Taran's tighter again, had to master the impulse to tug him to a stop and begin kissing him again. "Yes, well, you'll find I'm rather ill-suited to both sleeping rough and ravines." His thumb brushed over the knuckles beneath them. "But I have a vested interest in keeping you out of further dire peril, it seems."

"You're really going to start cursing me every night," Taran said wryly. "Maybe you and Vivienne can join together. But I'll keep you warm at night."

The hopeful look he cast was half bedroom eyes and half adorable.

"And I do so hate to be cold." Dorian answering smile was more than warm, there was also wonder in it. That this perfect man, this brilliant bright soul could be his.

"You're going to hate this place, then," Taran said with a little frown as they stood on the steps overlooking the courtyard. Even without the mountains in the background, Skyhold was still not a warm and comfortable place.

Dorian shrugged his bare shoulder elegantly. "I'm not sure I could hate the place that brought you back to me, amatus, but that doesn't mean I won't grumble in the mornings if my feet are cold." There it was again, his constant confessions just spilling forth. He was going to be lucky to go a single full day in Taran's presence without becoming bonded.