Dorian Pavus, for all his learning, had never spent more time than necessary in his studies of the night sky. Yet Percival Trevelyan brought to mind exactly that - the stars.

A liberal dusting of freckles stretched over his nose and under the wide green eyes. One near his eyebrow had a penchant for vanishing in a worry line when he frowned. Dorian had but idly taken note of them during their first conversation, much more intent upon securing the Inquisition's assistance in dealing with the madness Alexius had begun in Redcliffe.

Over time he became intimately familiar with these little specks across the Inquisitor's nose, and what began as idle curiosity soon became a genuine need to know if they extended beyond the neckline of his armor. He had even asked as much, in a moment of ill-advised and absent-minded speculation. ("Why, Dorian, are you asking me to take my clothes off?" Percival had grinned. The ass. Never mind that yes, Dorian wanted him to do exactly that.)

As it turned out, the man had a veritable galaxy spattered across the broad planes of his torso. Dorian took more pleasure than he thought possible in simply lying next to him, tracing out new constellations, and would gladly do so every night for the remainder of his life. ("I do believe that you've an upside-down varghest on your shoulder.")

But let it not be said that Dorian was without his favorites.

He loved to give attention to the speckles on the inside of the warrior's thighs. It usually earned him an impatient whine, and strong arms that pulled him up for a searing kiss. Dorian rather liked the kissing, too, and up close it seemed that even the Inquisitor's eyes had little specks of brown in them.

He loved kissing the asterisms along his ribs, the way Percy writhed, little bursts of ticklish laughter escaping between gasped breaths of "Maker, stop it," ("Dorian will do just fine, amatus, you're heretical enough as it is") and empty threats to Dorian's perfect nose (as though Percival wasn't consciously careful not to strike the mage in his squirming).

He loved the spots on his cheeks he smoothed over with his thumbs - sometimes when they kissed, but mostly when Percy was upset. The touch grounded him, and soothed when words failed.

Best of all, though, Dorian loved the freckles for the way they crinkled when he smiled and threw his head back in laughter. The way they framed those green eyes when Percival fixed him with a look of such unabashed adoration that it took his breath away.

("Dorian? What's on your mind?"

"...nothing, amatus. I was simply thinking about the stars.")

A/N:

Hi all! It's been a while, and I realize this is pretty short - I apologize, my personal life has been very busy as of late. This little drabble is about my newest OC, Percival Trevelyan - two-handed warrior, distance runner, and professional optimist. As per usual, I do not own Bioware or any of their characters, but if you enjoyed the fluff or have something else you want to see written, please drop a review. I really do love to hear your thoughts and suggestions.

Best,

Ash