fadewalk | Dorian (dorianpavus-fadewalk)

He'd barely arrived at Skyhold when he was taken.

Taran remembered it clearly. He'd met Dorian. He'd discovered he was the other man's Voice. He'd been ridiculously happy (despite knowing just how much trouble it all was going to land him in with Cassandra, Giselle, and the others later.) And then, just as he'd taken a step toward Dorian, concerned by the idea that Dorian had thought him dead, he was...somewhere else.

Somewhere not very nice at all.

Tevinter was a beautiful place, but for the Herald to suddenly appear there was dangerous, especially with so many Venatori around. He'd barely survived, taking sanctuary with a moderate-minded house who helped heal his injuries and agreed to contact the Inquisition.

Until he'd spotted Dorian's portrait in their gallery and made a surprised comment.

Until he'd realized they were Dorian's family.

Until the truth came out, along with the magical chains, and talk of blood magic and finding a way to release their son and...

He still had the ritual marks on his skin, blood welling from elaborate cuts when the table he was strapped to shuddered and he was suddenly laying on the grass staring up at a queasy-green sky--gasping and clawing at the fine silver chains that still draped his skin, stifling his veil magic.

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"As if I'd let anyone else try to maintain perfection." He sounded breathless, which he was, because he couldn't stop staring at Taran and it was making it devilishly hard to breath. He swallowed and smoothed his mustache, and then turned away to dip his hand into the water to check the temperature, even though he knew it was perfect. He was a man who measured his comforts carefully, and much like his magelights, heating bath water was something he took very seriously.

"Speaking of perfection." Dorian turned his head, smile arch, letting his eyes linger on Taran again, the double meaning clear as he continued, "Your bath is ready, amatus."

Taran blushed hard. He was trying very hard not to seem the awkward virgin, but...

"I like that word," he said, clearing his throat and shucking out of his smalls, too. "Amatus. It's, it's nice." He moved closer, flush deepening, and carefully stepped into the water.

He was half-hard and pretty much dying inside with self-consciousness suddenly.

Dorian moved away from the tub as Taran drew near. If he touched him now, well, he wasn't sure he'd be able to stop himself from kissing every inch of exposed skin. Particularly the last several inches that he was enough of a gentleman not to ogle as Taran finished stripping. He brought over soap and a cloth, one of the oils, as well as a health potion and an elfroot salve from his own kit.

Then he started disrobing too.

He was too tired to do it as artfully as he liked, as they perhaps both deserved, being bared to each other for the first time. But when he'd imagined being naked with his Voice for the first time there was rather a lot less blood, dirt, and bruising involved.

Taran took his part of the potion (after making sure there'd be enough for Dorian, too) and sank back into the water, watching him with wide-but-interested eyes.

He bit his bottom lip, not even trying to hide the frank appreciation he felt. Dorian was a beautiful man; he knew that.

Might have known it, but it was still heart-stopping to look up and find Taran watching him with those eyes. As if Dorian were something truly special. He flushed faintly, barely noticeable under the tan of his skin, the warmth of the magelights.

He smiled, far more warm and open than he intended, and he wasn't sure how his face even knew how to make that sort of expression. Maybe just looking at Taran had taught him.

He winced as he peeled his breeches down. There was the worst of the bruising, a big mottled, black splotch over his right hip where a monstrosity made of red lyrium and Templar armor had hit him with one of it's grotesque arms just as his barrier fell.

Taran made a low noise, caught in his throat, and immediately reached out. Dorian was just close enough that he could brush his fingertips around the bruise--not touching, but close. "Elfroot," he said immediately, looking up. "And then in the tub with you. It's big enough."

If they settled right, at least, it was.

Dorian's skin pebbled as Taran touched him and he had to fight not to chase it when his hand dropped away, nevermind the bruise that was bad enough he was probably lucky the blow hadn't broken something. He took his half of the healing potion and then picked up the elfroot and began slowly working it into the bruise.

"You want to cram me in there and be jabbed by my elbows and knees do you?" Dorian smirked faintly, trying to think of a real reason to refuse. But he wanted desperately to be clean, and desperately to touch Taran, remind himself they were both safe again... and had absolutely no idea how long that would last.

Taran sat back in the tub, leaning against the far back and spreading his thighs in welcome--making a space for Dorian to slide down, back-to-chest, between them. He was hard, fully aroused by just the sight of him, but he curled his hands around the rim of the tub as if to keep from reaching to touch him again.

"I'll be careful," he promised, voice dropped lower. "Um. In both ways. I know we can't-- Shouldn't--"

If they had sex, they'd complete a bond. They still needed to talk before that happened.

"I just would like to touch you an awful lot. And it is nice in here." Taran ended with a hopeful lift of his voice, then bit his lower lip--golden in the magelight, visibly turned on, welcoming. Temptation personified.

Dorian was smiling as he looked down at his hand, watching the edges of the bruise receded, the color lighten as he rubbed the ointment in slow circles. His mustache twitched in amusement at Taran's entreaty, and when he looked up his pupils were wider than normal.

Temptation, indeed.

"Well, how can I refuse an invitation to such a nice place, by such a nice man." He quirked an eyebrow. As he stepped into the tub, carefully between Taran's legs, it became apparent that he was far from unaffected by being so close to Taran, the two of them naked, and not even touching.

He slid down into the water, very carefully giving room until he was settled and then ever so tentatively leaning back.

He had to bite his lip to swallow a whimper, body shocked alive at the feel of Dorian settling against him. Taran shifted to make them comfortable, legs bracketing Dorian's, arms sliding around his waist. He cleared his throat and pressed his palms gently across Dorian's lower belly, erection pressing tight and intimate along the curve of his ass.

Taran let out a long, shaky breath, then nosed the dark hair at the nape of his neck. "Hi," he murmured.

Oh, this was going to be absolute torture. Dorian had known that, but without the aches and bruises to hold his libido back, and all that strong muscle behind him, those arms circling him, and that cock, delicious and twitching for him... And then the gentle press of Taran's nose in his hair and his breath against his skin - that nearly unmade all his resolve.

"Ah." He shifted ever so slightly, trying, trying not to rub against Taran's erection, not wanting to torture him, but the thought of being in his lap, slippery and wanton, letting him just slide through the cheeks of his ass... Dorian trembled, voice shaky. "Hello." He rested one hand over Taran's, lacing their fingers together, and reached back with the other to comb his fingers into his hair.

"You were right. This is nice."

Edited Date: 2015-09-07 01:03 am (UTC)

"This is torture," Taran said with a breathless laugh, arm tightening around Dorian. He shifted with him, biting his lower lip--and fuck but that felt good.

Taran pressed a kiss to the nape of Dorian's neck, then lower. Breath coming in little pants, he gave into insurmountable temptation and dragged his teeth along the warm skin there. "Just...make me stop if it gets too much," he murmured.

"It was- ah!" Dorian broke off in a throaty gasp when Taran's teeth made contact with his skin. "It was your idea, I'll remind you." His voice was full of mock-reproach.

When it got to be too much? It already was for a sane person, but the relief of Taran being pressed against him after weeks of desperate fear that he was truly gone this time, and then the blackest despair that he had failed... it had driven Dorian just a touch beyond reason.

Still, he had to hold on, keep his focus clear in his mind. He was frightfully strong willed, had never feared demons even when they wore Taran's face, and he would keep from initiating the bond inadvertently, while still giving his Voice the reassurance of his touch.

"I have really fantastic, really terrible ideas. You should probably know this about m-me." The last came out in a stutter as Taran shifted again, trying to find a position that was a little less oh holy Maker incredible...and the shift of his body in the water plus Dorian moving up with the arc of his hips plus really incredibly bad luck as Dorian settled back down again was enough to drag his cock snug and hot and fucking mindblowingly good against the curve of Dorian's ass.

Like--like they just fit together, like a prelude to sex, and Adraste's toes he couldn't help the broken whine and the thrust, cock dragging just-fuck-yes-perfectly between Dorian's legs, along the tight clench of his entrance.

"Oh, oh, oh," Taran keened, entire body electrified and...and really embarrassingly close for one shocky moment. "Dorian, Maker."

The only thing that Dorian wanted to do as that cascade of sensations drifted through him was arch back and -- well he wasn't going to get Taran inside him just like that but it was close enough to make him gasp and grind back, and then flinch forward, sloshing water over the edge of the tub as he tried to create distance.

"Fasta vass." He was panting, bunched away from Taran, still touching his legs on either side, but he wasn't going to be grinding on anything from here. He hunched there twitching for just a moment before he twisted to look behind him, grey eyes wide with concern. "Are you alright?" he asked shakily.

Taran thunked his head back against the rim of the tub, flushed all the way down his chest. His nipples were tight and his muscles were starkly defined and he was panting.

"Oh wow," he finally managed, voice small. "Just...wow."

If Taran was tempting before, now he was a banquet set before a starving child with particularly bad manners. Dorian's mouth literally watered and all he could think was what it would taste like to run his tongue over one of those tight nipples, nip it into his mouth.

He tried to make his voice amused, but it was shaky, and his own cock was throbbing painfully against his drawn up thigh. "I could make the water cold again if that would help."

He gave a breathless laugh. "It might," he said, lifting his head to watch Dorian from beneath his lashes. "I just...really, really want you right now."

"And I would give a great deal to be had, Taran." Dorian shifted until he was crouched awkwardly at the opposite end. He laid a hand on Taran's knee. "But there are ramifications and complications and the maddening voice in my head that told me never to seek you out to keep you safe has been proven blindingly, disgustingly right." His thumb brushed a slow circle against warm skin.

He looked down, shoulders bowing. "I'm so damned sorry it's like this."

"No," he said, leaning forward. "Dorian. Please don't. I want you to find me. If I had known you were there, watching over me in the Fade...I would have wanted it. Do you know how many years I've spent feeling like I don't belong anywhere, like I'm some kind of, of aberration, a broken part of some bigger machine? I thought it was just me, all this time. You have no idea how it feels to know I was wrong--that it's me and you."

Dorian looked up at Taran from under his eyelashes, watery smile twitching his lips. "You're lucky you're so bloody gorgeous, because your earnest, effortless goodness might be a little much otherwise."

The hand on Taran's knee slid down his shin and then circled his ankle. "You've never been alone, amatus. Not since you were a little boy chasing butterflies and falling out of apple trees and all the other bucolic nonsense southerner infants get up to." His hand ran up the backside of Taran's calf, brushing the back of his knee.

"I'll try really hard to be bitter and mean from time to time, despite my bucolic upbringing," he said with a crooked smile, eyes just a little too bright, as if he were blinking back sudden tears.

"I'll believe that when I see it." Dorian's voice turned a little thick, and he shifted to kneel, awkwardly, so uncomfortably, between Taran's legs which were pressed against the side of the tub. He put a hand on the edge for balance and the other on Taran's cheek and leaned forward to kiss him.

Sweet, and long, and slow, tender brushes of his tongue and gentle suckling at his lower lip. He was never going to get enough of this now that he had it.

"I really do love you an unfair amount already," Taran murmured into the kiss, melting.

Dorian chuckled, a little breathless, as he sat back on his heels. His smile was feline, but there was a tightness around his eyes, guilt or sadness masked over. "Perhaps I should be the one to attempt bitterness and cruelty? Give you a reason to see reason, hmm?" His thumb swiped Taran's cheek and then he reached for the soap and cloth he'd set on the small table near the head of the tub.