There were two things wrong with this picture.
One, Dorian wasn't surrounded by the glistening tapestries of some palace in the Fade. If this were a dream it would certainly be much more colorful and luxurious, with perhaps a fountain in the corner and plush, silk cushions to rest upon. Braziers of pure gold would warm his skin and the object of his affection would be feeding him candied dates while they were both stark naked. He'd run his hands through his beloved's hair, drink honeyed wine from his lips, then ride him until the sun teased him awake in reality.
Dorian moaned as another wave of pleasure rolled through him, the clever tongue between his legs erasing the fantasy completely. His eyes screwed shut and the back of his head tapped against the cold stone walls. The Chantry's walls, he remembered, peeking an eye open to meet the judgmental stare of the effigy of Andraste. Of all the dark corners Skyhold had to offer, it had to be here? It would certainly cause a commotion if they were intruded on, but while Dorian loved a good scandal, this was hardly the most romantic place Jareth could have dragged him into. It was dusty, gloomy, and-with the way his robes were tugged open-freezing.
At least there were candles.
Jareth's tongue stroked leisurely up the underside of the Tevinter's shaft, his green eyes flashing with deviance beneath his chocolate-brown hair. Dorian bit his lip. His arms strained above him, desperate to dig his fingers into the cocky Inquisitor's scalp. The resistance was immediate and he groaned in frustration.
There lied the second problem. His wrists were bound with his own belt, a smooth Antivan leather that really should not be abused in this fashion. It was hooked on a vacant wall sconce, high enough to keep him trapped, but low enough that-if he stood on his tiptoes-he could bend his elbows to relieve some discomfort.
"If Mother Giselle saw us, she'd die of shock," Dorian mused, gently rolling his hips into Jareth's ministrations.
Jareth stood, his hand replacing his tongue, and kissed the mage soundly.
"If you're thinking of Mother Giselle right now, I'm not doing a very good job."
"On the contrary," Dorian gasped, rolling his hips into Jareth's hand, "if your goal was to devoid my arms of all circulation, you're succeeding splendidly."
Bless him, the man looked thoroughly concerned. For a fleeting moment, Dorian thought he might actually unbind him. But then Jareth grinned-that terrible grin he got when he thought of something clever-and knelt back down. Dorian's surprised shout echoed through the small prayer room as Jareth's mouth engulfed him.
Jareth bobbed and relaxed his throat, taking Dorian deeper. He coaxed one of Dorian's knees over his muscled shoulders, then the other, taking the weight off his lover's arms.
"F-Fasta Vaas! Jareth, if you drop me, I'll kill…" Dorian was interuppted by his own groan as Jareth's hand began to massage his sack.
Jareth pulled back, smirking against the Tevinter's member. His stubble lightly scratched at the soft skin in a way Dorian wasn't sure he hated.
"I wouldn't dream of it, Darling." Jareth's tongue took another languid lick, from root to tip. The tip of the muscle flicked over his slit, lapping at the pre-cum beaded there, and Dorian gasped as his hips bucked. Jareth hummed in approval, kissing and licking wherever he could reach. "I think it's about time you learned just how bad I can be."
Dorian opened his mouth to retort, but he choked on the words as Jareth slipped his lips back over his cock. Jareth moaned deep in his throat and the feeling sent bursts of pleasure through Dorian's abdomen. He was getting far too good at this. Each pull of his lips, flick of his tongue, and soft scrape of his teeth brought Dorian closer to oblivion.
Dorian felt sweat beading at his brow. His legs tightened their hold around Jareth's shoulders. His hips rocked, knocking his tip into the back of Jareth's throat. Jareth choked, briefly, and used his other hand to hold Dorian's hips in place. He pulled Dorian almost all the way out of his mouth before sinking back over him, working his way into a rhythm once more.
"Just like that," Dorian panted, straining against the belt to keep as close to the other man as possible. "Keep doing that...ah, Amatus...Kaffas!"
Dorian came with a shout, his hips twitching under Jareth's tight hold. Jareth swallowed around the pulsating organ, adding small ripples of sensation to ride out the aftershocks. Dorian was out of breath-a panting, satiated, mess leaning against the cold wall. Jareth released his lover from his lips, carefully removed Dorian's legs from his shoulders, and lifted him enough to unhook the belt from the sconce. He tugged it loose easily and Dorian wrapped his arms around Jareth's neck, curling into his lap when the warrior gently slid down the wall to sit on the floor.
"I will...never be able to pray in here again," he panted against Jareth's tunic. Jareth cradled the mage in his arms and pressed a chaste kiss to the corner of his lips.
"Nor will I, but I think I like being bad." Jareth grinned. His lips were swollen and enticing, Dorian couldn't help but claim them with his own. Their tongues tangled lazily and Dorian could taste himself, but he put it out of his mind. Jareth had been so generous, after all, he more than deserved some affection.
Dorian shifted and felt something hard brush against his thigh. Jareth gasped.
Dorian smirked wickedly, his hand dipping between them to cup the erection through Jareth's trousers. The larger man moaned, his hold tightening around Dorian's back, and he rested his forehead onto Dorian's shoulder.
"Find me some silk scarves, Amatus," Dorian whispered against his ear, rubbing the heel of his hand into the bulge, "and I'll show you just how bad I can be."