Summary: Dorian's smart mouth gets him into his favorite kind of trouble.
a/n: Based on this image set I found. It spawned into more than inspiration via a conversation with inuy21. Thank you again.
Taunting the Inquisitor
A fire crackled in the hearth, but the blooming warmth in the Herald's Rest rose more from the sheer number of bodies and the free-flowing liquor than the flames. The evening ran long as was apt to happen following the fall of a dragon. Bull and Rhys were always keen to regale anyone who would listen with the barest details of the battle. The two also viewed it as their duty to drink down any and every tankard bought or offered in celebration of the beast's demise. Like the others, Dorian enjoyed the stories, especially once the inquisitor and the mercenary were drunk enough to try and act it out atop the bar.
The Iron Bull's ferocious roar bellowed through the room, most of the crowd cheered and laughed. A few covered their ears. Bull's deep voice could carry, especially in such tight quarters. Rhys crouched at the other end of the bar and took aim with his unstrung bow. It was all for show after all. He plucked at an invisible string, narrating each shot he fired the previous afternoon.
"Then it charged me," Rhys told the onlookers. The Iron Bull did just that, his heavy footsteps rattling glasses and tankards on the bar as he tromped across its length. The archer hopped into the air, flipped and landed on a nearby table. His arms shot out from his sides as he balanced himself and said, "I dodged out of the way just in time, but the dragon's maw opened." When Bull's jaw dropped, Rhys waved a hand in front of his nose and his eyes widened. "Whew!"
The audience on the first floor and those leaning over the rails of the upper floors fell into hysterical laughter.
Hopping down from the table, Rhys ducked behind the older dwarf sitting there. "As fire bellowed from her gullet, I took cover behind the rock and prepared my explosive shot. Once the flames died down, I stood and fired. The arrow sinking into the back of her throat."
The Iron Bull's hand rose to his mouth, an arrow in his hand demonstrated the killing blow. He teetered and tottered left then right before falling onto his side atop the bar.
The whole bar shot to their feet in glee at the dragon's demise, except Dorian. He just sipped his brandy; he'd seen it all firsthand. Rhys, who was being patted on the back and herded back to the bar turned. The mage caught his eye for a moment and raised his glass. The inquisitor winked at him, wearing a mead slackened smile.
The old dwarf whose shoulder Rhys had used to steady the final shot offered to buy the pair of reenactors another round. Dorian shook his head; that would likely mean his night would end with Rhys passed out wherever he landed first. He might not even make it past the landing of the tower at this rate, even so, Dorian would wait up.
Hours later, Rhys tripped and fell against the door of the Herald's Rest, which opened under his momentum. He stumbled out into the training yard, weaving back to his left as he over corrected his lean. The thought that he might have had a wee bit too much to drink never crossed his mind. He was conscious and under his own power—he was fine.
"I thought you sneaky roguish types had great balance."
Rhys spun toward the voice, stumbling a step to keep his feet from getting all twisted up. His mouth curved into a smile at the sight of Dorian, standing there in that thin beige robe that clung to his broad shoulders. A belt cinched it twice at his trim waist. The inquisitor straightened up and took a long, slow breath. With perfectly balanced steps, he strode toward the mage. He only stopped once he was nearly nose to nose with the slightly shorter man.
"I have perfect balance," Rhys challenged.
"I see," Dorian said, staring up into is face. Neither moved at first, then Dorian tipped his head slightly, nudging Rhys' nose with his own.
The inquisitor's grin returned with a throaty little chuckle. "Got me right where you wanted me, didn't you?" he asked taking a small step forward.
Dorian retreated, aware they were only a few steps from the wall of the tavern. "I did."
Rhys' hands gripped his lover's hips, pushing him backward another step. Dorian's hand rose to Rhys' cheek pulling his lips close enough to kiss as his shoulders pressed against the stone. The inquisitor left no space between the two of them; his knees bent, placing them at the same height. Dorian tugged at Rhys' neck with both hands when the other man's hips rolled against his. His tongue teased the inquisitor's lips as dexterous hands moved lower.
"Perhaps we should move this to your quarters, Inquisitor," Dorian suggested with a purr. "Lest we become the next show."
Leaning his forehead against the mage's, Rhys gave his ass a firm squeeze with both hands. "I don't know. I think you've got star quality."
He chuckled, prying one of Rhys' hands free. "That may be true. But it doesn't mean I want to share it with the entirety of the Inquisition."
Rhys caught up to him quickly. "You may be right," he mumbled against Dorian's neck. "I rather like having you all to myself." The sharp nip at his neck prompted Dorian to turn out of Rhys' grip.
He walked backward a few steps staring at his lover. "Then take me upstairs … or lose me forever."
Unexpectedly, the rogue darted forward and scooped Dorian over his shoulder. The mage let out a short scream of surprise before falling into laughter.
"Not a chance I'm willing to take," Rhys assured him as he ran up the stairs toward the keep.
One of these days, Dorian thought, he might learn better than to taunt the inquisitor, but truth be told he was rather found of how those moments typically worked out. Hopefully, the massive quantity of ale Rhys consumed wouldn't end the playfulness too early.