Author's Note: Happy New Year, and welcome to my first foray into Theo/Dorian territory! This was written as a character exploration as I try to have a firm grasp on their relationship dynamic when I move into their longer story. I'd like to thank Karebear and her lovely short "Saarebas" for inspiring me to push boundaries with this, and mille libri for planting it in my mind to post it here too, and not just over on my AO3. Thanks in advance, and also, warnings for M/M sexual content. I aimed for sensual, over graphic, but I like to warn people all the same. This was a huge step for me.
1/19/15: I'd like to thank Nenalata and and BlackVelvett Revolver for their very helpful constructive feedback on the original version of this story. I've revised the story to use better terminology and hopefully clear up some pronoun confusion. Writing is about growth, and I'm grateful for people pointing out areas in need of improvement and/or clarification.
On a Winter's Night
Theo can see the stars through the breaks in the clouds, and sometimes there's just enough of a gap to see some of the waxing crescent moon peeking through. The mountains are covered in a fresh blanket of snow that will leave them digging out for a couple days at least. It's time, and time is a luxury Theo has not had since arriving at Skyhold. There is so much to do: meetings to go to, dignitaries to address, armies to outfit, judgment to pass. Sometimes he's not sure how he holds it all together. Sometimes he wants to explode into a million pieces and hope that wherever he falls he can help somehow, some way.
There's a tentative knock on his door. Theo rolls off his couch and hops over the banister, landing lightly on the stairs and unlocking the door. His heart skips once. "Dorian," he says, not entirely sure what to think. His stomach still has a funny way of twisting with the thrill of seeing Dorian anyway; let alone when Theo sees him standing alone, outside his door when the night is getting on, and holding a bottle of wine in each hand. "Come in," he says after a moment of glancing between Dorian and the floor and hoping the night's shadows hide his blush.
"Thank you," Dorian says with a smile and steps in, pulling the door closed behind him. He follows Theo up the stairs. "I hope I wasn't interrupting anything?" he asks, looking around Theo's dimly lit quarters.
"No, I was just thinking about everything that needs to be done."
"It never ends, does it. It's exhausting just watching you work, and yet I could do it all day," Dorian says. He sets down the wine bottles; he holds up his hand and a small glow shines in his palm. It grows until he's holding a globe of orange flame in his hand.
Theo clenches his left hand; he doesn't feel the pain of his mark anymore, but the faint green glow is cold and obscene compared to the warmth Dorian conjures. "Does it hurt?" he asks. He's never really understood how magic works.
Dorian lightly tosses the ball of flame toward the fireplace. Theo's still lousy at building a fire, even one in his own hearth. Dorian's fire catches the kindling; flames leap up, the wood crackles, and the room feels much warmer. "No," he says, examining his hand. "No more than yours does, at least." He reaches and takes Theo's left hand and stares at it. His fingers are warm around Theo's wrist; Dorian lightly touches his palm with his fingertips and Theo's hand glows.
"Don't do that," Theo says, but Dorian holds more tightly, and he's grinning, his lips curved in a perfect, playful smile. "Dorian…" his voice trails off as he tries to be the menacing Inquisitor, but Dorian is all smiles and his hand is so warm around his wrist. "Dorian," he says again, a sigh of submission. Dorian releases his wrist and laces his fingers through Theo's. "I'm glad you came," Theo ventures. Ever since their first tryst Dorian hasn't been cold, but… respectfully distant when around others. Theo has wondered if they made a mistake, if he misread the Tevinter, but he's been too busy and too nervous to ask.
"It's so bloody cold. A man has to keep warm somehow," Dorian says. He nudges Theo toward the bed and picks up the wine bottles. With another flick of his hand the flames in the fireplace leap higher, sending a wave of warmth out into the room. "And while I could do that to my own fireplace, somehow being with another person…with you, makes the cold more bearable." He opens the wine bottles and they sit down on the bed nestled against one another. Dorian drinks straight from his bottle, but holds it as delicately as he might a glass. He catches Theo watching. "Enjoying the view, are we?"
"Always," Theo says, watching Dorian's profile. The firelight suits him, and now that they are in the privacy of his quarters, Dorian seems to have let his guard down, so Theo follows suit. He takes a swig of wine and Dorian wraps an arm around. Theo nuzzles into his chest. Normally Dorian wears leather and mail—the better for protecting him against spells and weapons, since as he is keen to point out, mages are squishy. Tonight he wears a set of dark silk and brocade robes; maybe black, maybe blue; in the firelight Theo can't tell. Without realizing it Theo is tracing the lines of Dorian's body, caressing the places the silk pools against the mage's skin, feeling the warmth radiating through the fabric.
He glances up; Dorian looks down and their lips meet. When they first kissed all those weeks ago Theo expected Dorian to be like a flame: unbridled passion and unrestrained fire. But his touch, his kiss, is like his magic: so powerful that he is able to be subtle with it, leaving Theo with a lingering sensation of every touch. Now Dorian's kiss is just as gentle, one hand cupped around the back of Theo's neck, fingers lightly playing with his too-long hair, while the other casually holds the wine bottle.
Theo manages to set his bottle on a bedside table and he wraps both arms around Dorian, clutching at his shoulders and then running his hands up and down Dorian's back. Dorian's muscles react to Theo's touch, and he pulls the Inquisitor closer, one hand still wrapped around the neck of the wine bottle. Theo grunts and climbs on top of Dorian, pinning the mage to the bed, lips still locked onto Dorian's mouth. Dorian's free hand caresses Theo's thigh and his fingers sink into Theo's backside.
"This what you had in mind when you wanted to keep warm?" Theo asks, pulling away and slightly breathless.
"It's getting there," Dorian says. He takes advantage of the break to set down his bottle so he can hold Theo's hips with both hands. He gazes up at the Inquisitor, cast in shadows by the flickering orange light. "Take off your shirt," he says, and without questioning, Theo does so. He is pale in contrast to Dorian, and though he's afraid he'll be chilly, the fire roaring behind him helps.
"Now who's enjoying the view?" Theo asks. Dorian only grins and looks… demure? Theo begins unlacing the front of Dorian's robes, exposing the planes of his smooth chest. He rests his left hand over Dorian's heart, and the mage closes his eyes and rests his own hand on Theo's. Theo feels the flutter of Dorian's heartbeat under his fingertips, the warmth of Dorian's hand on his own. He leans down again so he's resting on Dorian, and begins kissing the mage's neck. Dorian squirms and makes contented noises, angling his chin so Theo can kiss him more thoroughly. And Theo does so. He trails his lips along Dorian's jawline and lightly nips his earlobe. Dorian reaches for him and Theo weaves their fingers together as he dots kisses along Dorian's exposed collarbone. He can feel Dorian straining beneath him and he's pleased he has the ability to excite the mage.
"You like to play with fire, do you?" Dorian asks, wrapping his arms around Theo's waist and touching his forehead to Theo's. There's only a hint of his usual irony and his voice is unusually husky.
"You did say we need to keep warm," Theo tells him. He works at the laces, eager to see more of Dorian's body, to explore more of that warm copper-colored skin with his mouth. "Though this seems counterproductive," he teases.
Dorian dismisses it with a shrug. "Nothing is simple in this life," he says. He shrugs out of his shirt, no easy task with Theo still straddling him. But he reaches for Theo and begins unlacing his breeches with his long, clever fingers. His fingers brush over Theo's member, straining against the fabric of his breeches. Then he sends the slightest burst of electricity magic through him. Theo's eyelids flutter as he feels Dorian's touch, feels his magic surge through his groin. Dorian smiles, pleased with himself.
Theo rolls off of him and slips off his pants, while Dorian does the same and then shoves their clothing off the bed. Dorian holds him close, pressing his chest against Theo's back, all heat and tingling. His erection presses against Theo's buttock and the thought of being fucked by the mage has Theo standing to and quivering. Especially when Dorian reaches over his hip and takes him in his smooth hand.
Theo buries his face in his arm as he squirms around Dorian's practiced touch. His lithe fingers dance across his balls, sending the slightest shock through him. Dorian holds Theo close, his chin resting on his shoulder, murmuring incomprehensible Tevene in his ear. Theo catches one word, amatus, whispered over and over again amidst the tumble of the exotic language.
Dorian's hand leaves him for a moment, and the mage fumbles around for something. Theo shudders even harder when Dorian begins working him from behind with warm oiled fingers, preparing him. Theo wants to cry from his need, to scream when Dorian touches him in just the right place and he feels Dorian's magic tingling all through him. Then Dorian is nudging him and he turns onto his stomach, obediently raising his hips off the bed and burying his face into the sheets and blankets to keep from shouting. Skyhold is huge, but he doesn't want to test just how thin the walls may or may not be.
He feels Dorian's hands on his hips. Feels Dorian's member gently prod him. And then slowly, gently, Dorian takes him. He wraps arm around Theo's torso. Theo braces himself with one hand and clutches at Dorian's hand with his other. His heart pounds as Dorian fills him and surrounds him, becomes his whole world. He forgets the snow, forgets the cold, forgets the thousands of things he must do and thinks only of Dorian.
Dorian.
The name pulses in his mind with each smooth thrust. Dorian.
Theo gasps as he slides out, then thrusts in again. Dorian.
Dorian's movements become faster, more needful, but still masterfully controlled as he fucks Theo senseless. He still murmurs in Tevene and Theo can't see him, but his eyes are closed and there is a faint sheen of sweat covering him. The fire is warm on his back and Theo is warm around him, and his heart is racing under Dorian's hand. Theo lets go of Dorian's hand and begins to stroke himself. His motions become stronger as Dorian thrusts faster. Theo feels the tingle turn into a tight knot just below his stomach. He feels Dorian reaching deep inside of him. Dorian brushes his hand out of the way so he can bring about Theo's release, as he too begins to feel himself nearing climax.
It's a pulsing explosion of fire and lightning and music and roaring in Theo's ears and body. He's shuddering, finding it hard to keep from collapsing with Dorian still buried within him to the hilt, himself rocking and shaking with his own orgasm. Theo whimpers and curls his hands into fists, gripping the bedclothes and gasping for breath.
At last Dorian pulls out and gently pushes the small of Theo's back. Theo gratefully falls onto his stomach and Dorian collapses beside him. "Are you warm now?" Dorian asks, trying to tease, but his voice is shaky and uncertain, as if he'd just received the most intense fucking of his life, and not the other way around.
"Are you?" Theo asks. He gropes around on the bedside table and finds the wine. He's thirsty. He's tired. He's in a state of utter bliss. He manages to take a sip and also manages to dribble some wine onto the bed.
"We're making quite the mess," Dorian says instead of answer. He takes the wine from Theo and drinks as well. "What will your chambermaids say?"
"Who cares?" Theo asks. He's exhausted, but he turns over and pulls Dorian close to him. The mage rests his head on Theo's shoulder, relaxing into his embrace. "Don't think on any of it. Just let me hold you."
Dorian does; he falls asleep quickly, having exerted so much energy. Theo strokes his dark, wavy hair; traces a finger over the curve of his mustache; watches the way his impossibly long, dark eyelashes flutter with some strange dream; touches the tiny mole just under his right eye. He smiles and kisses Dorian's forehead and snuggles them both deep under the blankets.
"Amatus," Theo whispers, and closes his eyes.