A/N: I had some ideas for new DAI stories but started here, I suppose. A little oneshot to help me get back into things, and get a feel for this set of stories. There will be more to follow up on this though I don't have a series title yet. But we'll see how it goes.

Lame title is lame.

A little background info for this 'series', if I can call it that:
-Adam Trevelyan is a companion in this story, not the Inquisitor. Kaaras Adaar is the Inquisitor, and Adam is his close friend who served with him in the Valo-Kas mercenary group prior to them joining the Inquisition. Adam and Adaar are the only two remaining from the Valo-Kas group, as the others were at the Conclave. Or are there other survivors? Hmm we shall see ;)
-Adam doesn't consider himself a Trevelyan, as he and his family are very estranged. He ran away when he was fifteen due to differences of opinion, and joined the mercenary group. He wasn't at the Conclave when it exploded but showed up shortly afterward, when Adaar was being called the 'Herald' instead of prisoner.
-Adam is called the Cat of Skyhold because he can be very sneaky, his curiosity is often his downfall, and he likes to lurk on rooftops and in the shadows. It is a nickname given to him by both Varric and Kaaras, although Varric has another but similar nickname for him. Later the whole 'Cat' thing might come into play, but we'll see how this plays out.
-This takes place after the whole 'birthright' part of Dorian's storyline. Adaar and Adam worked together to get it back for him, despite his misgivings, and Adam gave it to Dorian. Now Dorian says he's indebted to him even though Adam says he gave it to him as a gift, and this story is Dorian's repayment.
-Adaar and Dorian don't get along very well, but that might be because Dorian is flirting with Adaar's 'little brother', who has been with him for a long time, and is (possibly) the last remaining Valo-Kas member other than himself, so he's a little protective.

Story length: 3184

Begin!

The Death of Flirtation

Adam Trevelyan is different.

Perhaps this wouldn't be so noteworthy, if differences didn't matter, but to Dorian the difference is very keen.

Adam Trevelyan is the Cat of Skyhold; a rogue lurking on rooftops, slinking through shadows, and whose curiosity knows no bounds. Inquisitor Adaar and Trevelyan make quite a pair on the battlefield, too; with Trevelyan striking with daggers from the shadows, or prowling around the enemy like a cat watching its prey, and Adaar flinging spells left and right.

But this isn't about the Inquisitor – this is about Trevelyan. Trevelyan, and how he is different, because he is. Dorian can feel this. He knows this. He's different from every other man Dorian has entangled himself with, and it's both frustrating and relieving all in one. Every other man who has flirted with Dorian has stopped after they had sex; accused it of a drunken escapade, a moment of weakness, and then hurried off to the next. Sex is just a stepping stone, from one person to another. It is the end of everything. The death of flirting.

It's why Dorian spends as much time as he can flirting with Trevelyan, instead of doing anything substantial. To do something more would be chaos; to do something more would be the end of all the pleasantries, the end of the secret visits in the library alcove, the end of little kisses stolen in Trevelyan's room or elsewhere…

But then Trevelyan – Adam – helps get him his family birthright back, and things change. Things change, because although Trevelyan said he didn't want anything in return, that it was simply a gift for Dorian, he knows otherwise. No one is this kind unless they want something in return, and there is only one thing he can offer, to end the debt. One thing Trevelyan could possibly want from him, that he's been holding back for as long as he can.

He can offer the death of flirtation.

The fact he doesn't want to means nothing. He doesn't want the flirtation to end; he enjoys their moments together. He enjoys the other man's company far more than he should, and along the way, simple flirtation became more to him. He knew better; he truly did, and yet he let it happen anyway. He could have told Trevelyan to stop at any time, could have said he didn't feel the same way when they started to kiss with lingering touches… but he didn't. Instead he let it keep happening, and now…

Now it is all he can offer.

It's all Trevelyan could want from him.

So he climbs the stairs up to Adam – no, Trevelyan's – room and starts talking about how their flirtation is nice, but he is not a nice man, and it's time to move onto something more primal. His lips move without his permission, but he's grateful his voice at least remains steady. He's not sure what he would do if it wavered and Trevelyan realizes something is amiss.

"I guess it just depends," Dorian says smoothly, circling around the man before stopping behind him, whispering into his ear, "how bad does the Cat of Skyhold want to be?"

And Adam Trevelyan says, "Finally."

This is the death of flirtation. This is how it ends – with soft touches and moaning and wonderful penetration.

Dorian falls asleep afterward; sex can be exhausting, after all, and Adam – Trevelyan, he corrects himself again – is very enthusiastic. He doesn't remember falling asleep, but he wakes up against the other man later, with sunlight peeking through the dreadful curtains, and his first thought is, Kaffas, I'm still here.

He's never stayed the night before; he's never had anyone else stay the night, either. No matter whose bed they fall into, he wakes alone the next morning, but now there's warmth pressed against his side and it's suddenly all he can think about. How nice this feels, and it shouldn't feel nice. It shouldn't.

It should feel awkward and nerve-wracking, because it is. If Trevelyan wakes and sees him still here, after the death of flirtation… it is going to be a conversation he simply doesn't need. Neither of them need it. He should slip away.

But as soon as he tries to move, Trevelyan is mumbling under his breath, slowly waking up. Dorian springs from the bed and by the time Trevelyan sits up, he's halfway across the room, realizing he's stark naked still, and doesn't want to look like more of a fool, stumbling for his clothes. So he simply stands there, back facing Trevelyan, as it slowly dawns on him that this is Adam Trevelyan, close friend of the Inquisitor, an estranged son to a noble house, and he's just spent a night with him… and even now that their flirtation has ended, the rumors are going to spread rapidly… even more than they have already.

Adaar is going to scowl at him more for this, he just knows it.

"I like your quarters," he finds himself saying, mouth moving on its own.

"Do you?" Trevelyan asks in that baritone voice of his, and a shiver flits down Dorian's spine. He hides it well, shifting his posture slightly in a more nonchalant pose.

"Don't misunderstand me," he says, steeling himself for whatever look might be on Trevelyan's face when he turns around. "I'm not saying we slip into mutual domesticity; I just like your appointments."

He turns, then, ready for the scowl he's sure must be present on Trevelyan's face, lips pulled downward into a harsh frown of disappointment that he's still here. He slowly lifts his gaze and there's no frown on that face, only a small half-smile, and a half-asleep, bed-tussled Trevelyan. Warm golden eyes, warm smile, and athletic body draped over a portion of the bed like a long cat.

"Your taste is a little austere," Dorian find his lips moving again. "Those curtains are dreadful."

"We can get new curtains."

We, Trevelyan says, and another shiver runs down his spine. He is not a teenager anymore; this behavior is unwarranted and unwanted.

He recognizes the need to flee, but he's pinned beneath golden eyes. "Kaffas," he sighs, approaching the bed. "It's not about the curtains."

"What's wrong, Dorian?"

The look Trevelyan pins him with tells him the man has already caught on that it's more than the curtains that's bothering him, and is just waiting for Dorian to tell him. He's quite intelligent, really. A part of Dorian wants to tack on the 'for a southerner' bit, but he knows better than that. Trevelyan is intelligent for anyone. He's not particularly adept at politics, and his curiosity can be a weakness, but his intellect shows in other ways.

Like how he reads Dorian so easily, when he's spent a lifetime perfecting his mask.

It's suddenly very overwhelming. Trevelyan watches as he starts to break, and says nothing. Instead he beckons Dorian closer, and Dorian sits next to him on the bed with a heavy sigh. "I'm wondering where this goes, you and I." Saying this is easier than saying he'll get out of Trevelyan's hair; it allows him hope, even if he knows it will crush him. There's no way this will continue going, but Trevelyan is too nice to just kick him out, he's certain. "We've had our fun," he continues, looking down at the ground. "Perfectly reasonable to leave things here and get on with killing archdemons and such…"

Trevelyan is silent for a long time, though Dorian can feel his gaze on him. He has this penetrating stare, like he's reading his soul instead of just looking at him. It's a little unnerving at times, but Dorian finds he quite likes it when Trevelyan looks at him. Certainly that will stop after today; the flirtation will end, and so will the looks and stolen kisses and little moments together, and Dorian didn't realize how attached he'd grown to them until this very moment, where Trevelyan can end them all with a simple word. The control is Trevelyan's, not Dorian's, and he's always been in control of his… flings. He can't call them relationships because, while he's not an expert by any means on such things, he's fairly certain relationships last more than one night. He's only had one relationship by which to compare, and it was one full of hatred, between his parents.

He doesn't want things to go that route between him and Trevelyan, even as he hopes things might be different.

"Dorian," Trevelyan says, catching his attention, his words loud after the silence, "what do you want?"

He sucks in a breath. "All on me, then?"

"Should it be all on me?"

"No," he says with a heavy sigh. "I suppose not."

"What do you want?"

He opens his mouth, but can't find the words. How does he describe what he is feeling? How does he describe his predicament? How does he tell Trevelyan that he enjoys their stolen moments together, that he enjoys their flirtation, and would rather it continue? How does he tell him this without looking pathetic?

You don't, his mind says.

He will look pathetic regardless. There's really no way around it, so he might as well start with the truth.

"I… like you," he says finally, keeping his gaze firmly focused on the ground because that seems easier than looking at Trevelyan's face. "More than I should," he quietly adds. "More than might be wise. Which… is why it might be easier to end it here. We've had our fun. It might be dangerous later."

"Dangerous?"

He sounds so confused, too; how can he be so confused? How does he not understand? The man can be both intelligent and exceedingly frustrating, but then, it's that complex personality that drew Dorian to him in the first place, he notes.

"It will be harder to walk away, later," he tells Trevelyan.

Trevelyan is quiet for a moment, before he says, "I want more than just 'fun', Dorian."

Dorian inhales sharply, before releasing it slowly. That… is not what he was expecting at all. In all honesty he expected Trevelyan to end things between them now; it only makes sense. He can't be serious about this; how could he be? He's the Inquisitor's close friend, the last remaining member of the Valo-Kas other than Adaar himself, and Dorian is just… well, Dorian. A shameful altus from Tevinter. No good can come from this, he's certain.

"Speechless, I see," Trevelyan says, smirk evident in his voice. "I didn't think I'd see the day Dorian Pavus was speechless. You always have something to say."

"I… was not expecting your answer," he says truthfully, carefully lifting his gaze from the ground and focusing on the man next to him.

Golden eyes watch him from behind a veil of bed-tussled black bangs. "Why would I end things here? Unless… that's what you want?" Now confusion mars his brow, and Dorian detests that downward pull of his lips.

He looks away again, so he doesn't have to see it. It doesn't make his words any easier. "Where I come from… it's physical. Something between two men is accepted, but taken no further. It's about fun, or relieving stress. Drunken escapades in dark corners, dismissed by daylight. You learn not to hope for more. You'd be foolish to."

"So let's be foolish," Trevelyan says quietly.

A shiver inches down his spine once more. Trevelyan is far too good at doing this to him. He should be more composed, but to be fair, this is the first time he's having this discussion. No one else has wanted more, not really. There was one man, long ago, who Dorian felt close to and wanted more with… but that ended poorly, as it always did and always will. Nothing good can come from this, not from this conversation nor giving into foolishness.

And yet…

Adam – Trevelyan – is warm next to him, and with his thigh lightly brushing against Dorian's, hinting at last night and all their little touches. It's everything he's wanted – a chance at more – but everything he's crushed down because it is foolish. His wants and desires – to give into the temptation is ridiculous, foolish, absurd… and yet…

"Hard habit to break, I'm afraid," he says carefully, unwilling and unable to say more just yet. He's still trying to wrap his mind around what Trevelyan is saying.

He's not kicking Dorian out of his room, and he's not saying no to more. He's hinting that perhaps he wants more, but to hope is foolish. So very foolish, and it's crushed him in the past. His father's angry words linger in the back of his mind, ever-present and hauntingly shameful, but his father is not here. They parted on bad terms. Trevelyan heard some of it, and learned more from Dorian afterward, and he still… kept flirting… and kissed him… And he still wants this, even knowing what a mess Dorian is? A handsome mess, to be sure, but he's well aware he's not entirely put together. He's well aware something is missing.

"I'm good at breaking things," Trevelyan says, smile evident in the upward lilt of his voice, and Dorian closes his eyes briefly before facing Trevelyan again. The warm smile is reassuring and his heart stutters briefly in his chest.

"Hopefully not everything," he says, and then inhales slowly. "But truly you can't be serious about this? What do you want? A… A relationship?"

"You say it like it's completely absurd," Trevelyan says, smile wavering. "Is it so crazy I like you? Is it so crazy I want more than just fun? Than just a fling?"

"Crazy, perhaps not," Dorian says. "I am quite handsome, after all. But I'm not certain you've thought this out. You're the Inquisitor's close friend, the Cat of Skyhold; I'm the evil magister from Tevinter."

A scowl furrows Trevelyan's brow. "You know that's just a nickname Kaaras gave me because he was irritated with me sneaking around on rooftops. Varric gave me a similar name, if you'll recall. And you're not evil, and as you keep telling everyone, you're not a magister, either. So you're from Tevinter – oh well. That doesn't make you evil, and plenty of people know that. Don't let Mother Giselle get to you. She doesn't speak for everyone, and she certainly doesn't speak for me."

"You say that now," Dorian says, looking away again, "but once the rumors start…"

"The rumors haven't affected me so far, and they won't in the future, either," Trevelyan says so confidently. "They're just words, Dorian. They mean nothing."

"Clearly, you have not been involved in politics. Words can mean everything."

"So you're saying you want to stop this… because of some potential rumors?"

Is that… hurt, in Trevelyan's voice? The man is always quite open on how he feels, but at this moment, Dorian wishes he wouldn't be. If he didn't think this bothered Trevelyan, he could get through this conversation and leave. It's what needs to happen. It's what should happen.

He stays.

"I'm just informing you of what you're getting yourself into, dear Trevelyan," he says smoothly. "But if you are certain…" He exhales loudly, sealing his fate. "Then I welcome your presence."

"You know I don't actually consider myself a Trevelyan, right? Call me Adam. Is being in a relationship really so foreign to you?"

Dorian's lips press into a thin line as he glares at the floor. There's a smudge there on the wood, just next to his big toe. He absently runs his toe across the mark, as though that might salvage the floor, but the smudge remains, stained into the wood. "Like I said, in Tevinter you'd be foolish to hope for more. A fling is all that is allowed, and even then only under the guise of alcohol. If you can blame it on your drink and not your own actions, then it is perfectly fine. I remained quite drunk because of this, for some time, until… Well. Until I left."

He hasn't had much to drink since he joined the Inquisition. He's not certain if it's because he's only had one person on his mind, or because the barkeep always has something foul to say whenever he gets a drink, but maybe it doesn't truly matter. The point is, everything he's done with Trevelyan – Adam – so far, has been because of his own actions; it's something he wanted as opposed to something he can blame on alcohol later.

Blaming the alcohol might have made this conversation easier, he realizes belatedly. But then they wouldn't be here, at the precipice of a relationship. Hope flits through him, a refreshing shock through his veins, but he attempts to push it down. Hope will get him nowhere. Nothing good can come from this, he's quite certain.

But Trevelyan is hopeful. Perhaps the south is different; perhaps it doesn't really matter what gender you prefer, unlike in the north. But then, in Tevinter, it's not about what you prefer; it's about breeding, and securing family legacies, and he hates it. He hates that Tevinter has become that – become twisted by legacies and the perfect offspring, and anything less than perfect is considered shameful, all aberrations deviant and wrong, even if it's the only thing that feels right… and he hates that life. He hates everyone else stuck there like he was, because he's certain he can't be the only one. He can't be the only one who wanted change.

Perhaps one day, he can help change Tevinter. It's a thought that lingers briefly in the back of his mind, but his thoughts are shattered when Trevelyan places a hand on his thigh, dragging him back to reality.

And the reality is this: Adam Trevelyan's hand is on his thigh, his lips are at Dorian's neck, and all thought has gone out the proverbial window.

"You don't have to pretend with me," Trevelyan whispers into his ear, and his voice is husky and soft and breathy, and yet another chill seeps down Dorian's spine. "You don't have to blame it on the alcohol. Things are different here. And if you'll have me, I want you here, with me."

He says it so easily, as though he has nothing to hide. Perhaps he doesn't. He is the Cat of Skyhold, after all. And the south seems quite different from Tevinter. It's not just the weather that's keeping Dorian on his toes.

"Yes," he says. It's all he can think to say. Yes. Yes. Yes.

He wants.

He wants what Trevelyan is offering. He wants a relationship. He wants to be here with Trevelyan. With Adam.

He wants, for the first time in so long, and he isn't going to hide from it anymore.

He wants, and Adam gives, and then they're falling into bed again.

There has never been a repeat performance before.

Perhaps sex isn't the death of flirtation after all.

Maybe, just this once, it can be the beginning of something new. Something better.

Maybe hoping isn't so bad after all.