Carpe Noctum
Somehow in the night they've shifted, and now Dorian is holding Theo. The Inquisitor is snuggled against him, his breath soft and warm on Dorian's chest, as if he's always belonged there. In the gray predawn light nothing seems real, even this. Dorian caresses Theo's shoulder with one hand and the Inquisitor sighs in his sleep. Theo kills demons and negotiates deals and knocks powerful people down a few metaphorical pegs. He is easily the most imposing man in all of Thedas.
And he is curled into Dorian's arms. What would the powerful of Thedas say if they knew what he knows? That Theo snores ever so slightly; that his brow furrows just a bit when he dreams; that his lean archer's body fits just so against Dorian's; that his collarbone is sensitive to Dorian's kisses; that electrical magic can send him over the edge. Would he be so imposing then?
Here, before the morning, he's just Theo.
Dorian should get up, should flee back to his quarters before anyone else in Skyhold wakes and there is a greater chance of being caught.
Theo insists he doesn't care, that he would shout this from the top of Skyhold for the entire world to know. He says this with a smile, with his green eyes large and imploring and his hands clutching the front of Dorian's robes before he kisses him just where his jaw meets his neck and Dorian tingles all over.
Theo hasn't played the game for long though, and without realizing it he relies on the image, the idea, of what he is to make everything okay. The youngest son of a relatively minor holding, he's never had to play the games of politics, never had to worry about his image because he was bound for the Chantry regardless. He doesn't yet understand just what he is to the people: more than a man, a symbol of the power of the Inquisition. He doesn't understand what it is yet for them to realize that the Herald of Andraste not only sleeps with a man, but a dreaded Tevinter one at that.
Dorian joined the Inquisition to help; to change things. He believed in Theo long before he fell for him, when Theo navigated a nightmare future and came through determined to keep it from happening. Dorian would not be the one to ruin the Inquisitor's chances of success.
Dorian's sigh ruffles Theo's mussed up chestnut hair, but he doesn't stir. He's exhausted after the night's exertions, and he rarely gets the chance to rest like this. It's dawn and it's a new day, but Dorian still clings to the night. Then, in the shadows cast by firelight or by pale electrical magic, Theo is just a man—is just Dorian's.
The blankets are warm and the light is warmer, more golden and rosy. Dorian disengages himself from Theo with the ease borne from years of practice. It's never easy, but always necessary. He shifts to look over the side of the bed, looking for the clothing he carelessly tossed there hours ago. He reaches for his tunic.
"Don't you dare leave."
Dorian starts slightly. Theo's voice is garbled by sleep and by the fact he's mumbling half into the pillow, which Dorian finds oddly cute. "I thought you were still sleeping."
"I am." But he has one green eye open, watching Dorian, daring him to leave.
Dorian sighs. "You know how this looks."
"I don't care."
"I do. They can think whatever they want about me, but you… you're different."
"I'm not. Get back here. I was comfortable."
Dorian drops his tunic with a sigh. He knows he should leave but honestly, he does want to stay. He rearranges the blankets and pulls Theo back into his embrace. "Well. When you use that tone with me, it seems I have no choice," he teases.
"You do have a choice. And this time, you chose to stay," he mumbles against Dorian's chest. "I hope you'd choose that more often," he adds.
Dorian holds Theo tightly and kisses his forehead. "You're quite persuasive, Inquisitor," he says, closing his eyes as he strokes Theo's hair. Maker. The man needs a haircut.
"Maybe… maybe you could not call me that when we're in bed together," Theo ventures, his voice still a sleepy mumble. "That's who I am to everybody else. I don't want to be that to you."
"What do you want to be?" Dorian asks. He sounds smooth and teasing, but inside he's afraid.
"You kept saying amatus. Whatever it is, that's what I want to be."
"Why?" he asks in a measured voice, even as his nerves twist and his mana surges along with his emotions.
"Because you said it like you meant it." Theo tugs the blanket up nearly over his head and wraps an arm around Dorian. He sighs deeply and without warning he's snoring lightly again.
"I did mean it," Dorian whispers. He closes his eyes. Theo is warm and solid and so real in his arms. It's a new day, but he can still cling to the night.
Author's Note: Thanks to MLHawke for suggesting the phrase carpe noctum, "seize the night", and telling me I needed to use it. As it turns out, I totally did.