Summary: Rhys' big heart ruins a special evening.
a/n: Filled for a prompt sent by inuy21. The request: "Ouch, I bit my lip… kiss it better?" for fluffy/romantic starters. So sorry, but I have to ask for Rhys on this one! Posted for the August Fanfiction Challenge.
Horribly Late
The scent of herbed meat and sweet grilled fruits swirled heavy in room. A gentle evening breeze billowed the gauzy curtains, which were mostly open. Stars twinkled in the inky sky beyond. There in the foreground was the sight the inquisitor's heart desired to see most of all. Dorian sat at the precisely set table—one leg crossed over the other with a book in hand.
From the stairs, Rhys just watched for a time. Dorian sighed and looked out the window as his finger moved from his lap to the corner of the page. The sharp sounds of parchment punctuated the movement of his hand, one crossing over the width of the book, the thumb of the other hand pinning the turned page down. The page-turning hand laid at the base of his throat when his eyes returned to the book. His gaze didn't stay there long; it returned to the window once more.
Worry, Rhys assumed. He tiptoed up the last few steps and crossed the room quickly.
"Maker, you're handsome," Rhys whispered, leaning over the back of Dorian's chair.
The mage startled, his book falling to the floor and closing. When he turned his head, Dorian calmed almost immediately. A smile graced the mage's soft lips and Rhys leaned further forward to press a lingering kiss there.
"Sorry, love," the inquisitor said, caressing Dorian's cheek. "Things didn't quite go as planned."
"I can tell." Dorian sounded irritated. It was supposed to be a night for them. A special meal, a nice bottle of wine, and most importantly some peace and quiet—alone, with no interruptions.
Rhys grabbed the other chair and pulled it beside Dorian's. He bent and grabbed the book off the floor before falling fell into the chair beside him. He liked sitting beside Dorian far more than sitting across from him. Sure, that was great for footsie and hand holding. But from his preferred spot, he could do all those things and steal kisses. He set the book on the edge of the table then turned his full attention back to his lover.
"So," he started, taking one of Dorian's hands in his and bringing it to his lips. "How angry are you?" He kept hold of it, rubbing his thumbs gently over the other man's knuckles.
Dorian's tongue wet his lips and pressed his shoulders against the high back of the chair. The plate before him held the remains of part of the meal, while other tureens sat poised above low burning candles to keep their contents warm. From the smells in the air, Rhys felt he likely missed an amazing meal.
"I'm not upset. Just disappointed."
A weight pressed heavily on Rhys' chest. That was worse. His lips brushed over Dorian's knuckles again. "Can I make it up to you?"
"No, but you can have dinner with me."
"I'm sorry, Dorian."
"Don't be." The mage took the lid off one of the dishes sitting over a candle and dished out a single remaining quail breast. There were some stewed vegetables, the sauce far thicker than it would have been if it had been served hours earlier, as intended. Next, he added a few slices of the grilled fruit. Dorian sat back and cocked his head at Rhys.
The inquisitor considered how to react. Spearing a potato, he pulled it off the tines of the fork with care. The reduced sauce had become far too salty and acidic. "Is there any wine?" he asked, choking the bite down.
"Sadly, no. But perhaps if you'd been on time there might have been some of the reserve left." Dorian stood and crossed the room, grabbing the pitcher of water from Rhys' desk. When he returned, he was nice enough to fill the man's glass.
Rhys finally managed to slice off a bit of the quail, having decided to play along. With the help of the glass of water, he managed to rehydrate the fowl enough to at least be gnawed on. Dorian returned the pitcher then leaned against the desk, holding Rhys' attention almost entirely.
"Ouch!" the inquisitor muttered, sucking at his bottom lip.
Dorian flinched, but didn't move.
"I bit my lip."
No response.
Rhys stood and walked over to his lover, patting his lip with his fingertip and checking for any traces of blood. Dorian straightened when Rhys approached him. The inquisitor's emerald gaze locked his lover as he moved with a predatory grace. "Kiss it better?" he asked, his lips curling into a smirk.
"Do you really think that's going to work on me?" Dorian replied.
A grimace played over Rhys' features when he shrugged. "Why shouldn't it? It feels swollen. Is it swollen?" he asked, a tone bordering on serious, but bearing far too much playfulness to be completely believable.
Dorian's eyes flicked down. "No. It's not."
"Then you should kiss me really hard so it will be."
"You're—"
"Horrible, I know. I should have been on time. But we passed a family in a broken cart on the road. I insisted we help, which made us late."
"You're not horrible," Dorian said with a sigh, unable to be mad at Rhys for being the considerate man he knew him to be. It was one of the traits, Dorian always claimed was one of his most striking. One of the ones he truly loved about him.
"Well, I can be. But I don't always mean to be."
The soft brush of a fingertip caressed Rhys' lip, stopping near the corner of his mouth. When it retreated, it was replaced by a brush of soft lips. "Here?" Dorian asked.
"A little more to the right."
It earned another kiss.
"Just a hair to the left."
Dorian smiled, but kissed him again anyway.
"Not quite," Rhys replied.
A pair of purposeful hands tightened on the inquisitor's tunic and Rhys leaned into the momentum of the tug. Dorian's lips were firm against his, and the mage's body melted into Rhys' embrace. Clearly, he'd been forgiven for his tardiness. Though he really had wanted to try that wine. Next time, he thought pulling Dorian closer.