If there was one thing Ëonwë hated, it was all the reports he had to read and write and sign off on. It didn't help that before the whole Inquisition thing Ëonwë only had a very basic understanding of reading and writing in Common. The language was bizarre, how did people even come up with these strange letter shapes. At least he could speak the language, which helped significantly when trying to decipher a strange new word on the paper. Did Josephine and Leliana really have to be so formal in their writing? He could feel a headache coming on. Why had he decided that doing the reports in the library was a good idea, when it was so far away from his bed.
Right, he had been waiting for Dorian. He had wanted to spend some time with the man. Between the ventures across Thedas and the busy life of the Inquisitor at Skyhold, Ëonwë felt like the two of them hadn't had a moment together in weeks. Just his luck the one time Ëonwë thought they could spend a quiet moment together the other mage had business of his own. Granted, that business was most likely the tavern, and Ëonwë wasn't going to step a foot in there for fear Bull would catch him and persuade him to join another drinking game. Ëonwë was a terrible lightweight, and he already had a building headache throbbed at his temples.
With two slender fingers he massaged at his temples, just at the edges of his green vallaslin. It did nothing to quell the pressure and Ëonwë buried his face in his hands.
"Paperwork trying to kill you?" a familiar voice said from behind.
"Its that or Cassandra threatening me to finish it with her sword."
Ëonwë turned around, and wasn't Dorian a sight for sore eyes. The mage looked tired, but not disheveled, as he would have been coming back from the tavern. It gladdened Ëonwë to know that Dorian hadn't gone chasing the bottom of a cup again.
"I was waiting for you, thought we could spend some time together," said Ëonwë, trying to smother a yawn. Creators, what time was it? The candles were all burning low.
"I was playing a round of chess with our dear commander. Somehow he still seems to think he can beat me without cheating."
"Maybe you should try and beat him without cheating," said Ëonwë, though he smiled.
Dorian leaned forwards, coming within inches of Ëonwë, teasing with a smirk under his glorious moustache.
"Now that I am here, shall we do something fun?"
With that Dorian closed the gap between them and pressed a soft kiss on Ëonwë's lips. Oh Creators, Dorian was the best kisser, responsive and gentle, forceful and demanding, everything at once and oh, Ëonwë could feel himself melting into that kiss.
Then Dorian hauled him upright and the library tilted dangerously away from Ëonwë in a blur of candlelight. His ass met the stone floor with an ungraceful thump.
"Lavellan, are you all right?" Dorian crouched down, one arm supporting Ëonwë, the other coming to cup his face.
"I'm fine, I guess I've just been sitting there for longer than I thought."
Ëonwë tried to conceal another yawn, but it burst out of him anyways. Dorian chuckled at him.
"Too tired for more of that then."
Dorian made to stand up, but Ëonwë felt himself clinging on to Dorian's arm. It surprised the both of them.
"Lavellan?" asked Dorian, wary, but he didn't pull away.
"Don't go. I still want to spend time with you," Ëonwë whined at him.
Ëonwë had spent all this time waiting for Dorian he could at least indulge him a little.
"I am not going anywhere, I promise," said Dorian, helping Ëonwë to his feet. "Come, I have an idea of how to spend the time."
Ëonwë let Dorian lead, fully expecting to be led back to either his quarters or Dorian's, but instead was led across the round room to Dorian's own alcove. Dorian picked up a book from the middle of one of his towering stacks and sat down. Ëonwë just stared, not understanding what Dorian wanted.
"Come here," Dorian gestured him over and pulled Ëonwë into his lap. "Sit."
"What are we doing?"
"I am going to read, and you can get all this cuddling business out of your system."
And with that Dorian opened his book and began to read, leaving no room for protest. Ëonwë leaned his face into the soft cloth of Dorian's robes, glad the mage had decided to forego the million buckles and straps he sometimes wore. The soft smells of burnt sugar and spice and Dorian washed over him as he listened to Dorian tell the tale of the enchanter and the Templar.
Ëonwë belatedly realized Dorian had picked up a book of Orlesian children's tales. They were stories he had never heard before, but familiar themes hummed in the background. One of Dorian's hands strayed and began to play with Ëonwë's long golden hair. Every so often the gentle fingers would dig into one of the stiff places in his neck and massage out the pressure. If there was an afterlife of bliss, surely it was this.
Ëonwë didn't know when he had fallen asleep. Somewhere between one word and the next and Dorian's fingers tracing patterns in his scalp. When he woke up it was in his own bed with the bright dawn creeping in his window. On the table next to him was the book Dorian was reading from, with a scrap of paper marking the place. On the paper were the words 'To be Continued, Amatus'. Ëonwë couldn't help but smile as bright as the sun rising over the mountains.