WARNING: Dragon Age Inquisition SPOILERS ahead! This is also a MALE/MALE pairing. If you don't like, don't read ^_^
TW: Drugs and Sex
His eyes were cast down, as always. The lower he held his head, the more his raven fringe covered his face and the less of the mess he had to endure. He could feel the stickiness on his skin, could smell the rotten decay of the caves around him. His hand ached. It ached every time he closed a rift.
No one could see through the fingerless leather gloves he wore that the green magic had spread to his wrist.
It ate at him, and sometimes the pain was unbearable. Luckily, the pain mostly came at night where he could hide his face under the bedroll. Tears were but a distant memory, and they would never spill of course. Couldn't let anyone see those, dear Maker.
"Hamish?"
He turned, flicking his head to move his hair. The cave they were in was dank and stunk of mould, but enough light filtered through the cracks in the rock that they could see where they were. The demons were still crackling and twitching around them. Hamish stepped over a fallen Wraith, it's body still fizzing and popping with ice.
The fucker had caught him in the shoulder with an ice bolt, but he ignored it for the moment. Nothing he couldn't heal later.
"What?" he asked, stepping closer to Varric. The dwarf was on his knees, making him look even more ridiculous, but he held a rag to Dorian's face.
Hamish leaned forward, examining the gash on the Tevinter's cheek. Dorian had his eyes closed, obviously in pain.
Hamish clucked his tongue.
"That's it? Come on, Dorian," he said sarcastically. "Man up."
Dorian's eyes snapped open and Hamish gave the mage a smirk before standing straight and moving back to where he'd chucked his pack when the fight broke out. He ruffled around inside, hissing when his finger caught on a shattered phial of lyrium.
"Stupid fucking thing..."
Hamish threw his pack back over his shoulder and made a move towards the exit of the cave. He could hear the others scrambling to follow, but he couldn't care less if they caught up or not. Caves had always given him the shivers. Not that he had been in many, of course.
Life in the Circle was like that.
Hamish could hear Varric muttering to Cassandra about something, but he paid no attention. Instead he straightened his black leather armour and rolled his shoulder. That ice really hit his nerves. It's what had put him in a black mood, and the others were wise enough to stay the hell away.
When he'd been sent to the Conclave, he certainly hadn't expected to become some saviour, and he certainly wouldn't act like one.
Day by day, the others were asking him more, what should they do, where should they go? Hey, wasn't it those people that had him in shackles not a couple of weeks ago, ready to hand him over as the scapegoat?
The more he thought about it, the more black his mood got. And trudging through the Hinterlands didn't help one iota. His boot caught on a root at one point, and without thinking, Hamish had sent a fireball at the tree, sending it up in sparks.
He'd glanced behind him and saw the disapproving look from the Seeker. She wore that look every single time she looked at him. The Seeker of the Just, the Holiest of Holy's with a permanent stick up her arse. She hated him, because he represented everything wrong with the world, apparently. But the damn woman wouldn't leave him alone. Every time they left Haven, Cassandra would be there. The shackles may be gone, but the chains had never left.
"Well, I would say the tree deserved it, standing there all majestic and harmless. Always keep your vigilance, hm?"
Hamish let out a sharp breath, choosing to ignore the man who had somehow slipped beside him.
"Not in the mood, Dorian."
"Obviously. And that's why I decided you needed company."
Hamish bit the inside of the circular piece of metal that wound around his lip. The piercing had been something stupid and reckless, which fit him just perfectly. And it had irritated the Enchanters in the Circle to no end.
"I suppose telling you to fuck off wouldn't sway you?" said Hamish darkly.
Dorian irritatingly gave him a chuckle and twirled his staff in his hands.
"What a filthy mouth you have. Didn't those mother hens at the Circle teach you any manners?"
Hamish bit the piercing to stop a smirk.
"Darling, you have no idea how filthy my mouth is."
Hamish let a smirk break through when he caught a glimpse of Dorian's face. The man had been with them for a matter of days, and yet he had intrigued the young mage to the point where he decided to stir the pot. Most people backed away quite quickly from Hamish. He was 'unapproachable', unsociable, and mostly just an arse hole.
"Well," said Dorian after a few moments. "That is something I'll have to investigate."
Hamish raised an eyebrow, stopping suddenly. A quick glance told him that Varric and Cassandra were about twenty paces behind. Those little legs didn't move very fast.
Dorian stopped in front of him, leaning on his staff and giving the Circle mage a once over. Hamish did the same, practically leering. Dorian wore tight robes, revealing too much of his toned chest. He stood a good foot taller than Hamish. Everyone usually stood taller than Hamish. He'd always thought himself having more of an elven figure. Slight, slim, feminine. But he wore it to his advantage, and the sway in his hips would turn enough heads. He couldn't count the amount of men he'd 'turned' in the Circle.
"Oh, sweetheart," purred Hamish, stepping a little too close. "You'll be biting off far too much than you can chew."
Dorian met him stance for stance, leaning in even closer.
"I've always enjoyed a challenge, sweetheart."
That little thrill of heat ran down his stomach. It was like a drug to him, that burst of heat. He would crave it more and more, usually during the chase. The end result wasn't always as satisfying, but from the fuckable look Dorian gave him, he imagined the end result would be rather delightful.
"Don't say I didn't warn you."
Dorian smirked, reaching his hand to Hamish's neck. The mage felt the rough touch of a nail to his skin, and it sent a ripple of gooseflesh down the right side of his body.
"We'll continue this, Hamish."
Hamish reached up and grabbed the collar of Dorian's shirt, yanking it none too gently, bringing their faces even closer.
"Now that, I don't doubt, Dorian."
Hamish smirked again, just a tug of the lips, before letting the man go. Varric had just climbed over a little rock and now stood close. Hamish stepped back and away from the man, carrying on towards their camp.
Bolts of icy pain travelled down his arm and Hamish ground his teeth. He sat huddled in his tent, his right hand gripping his left arm so tightly that it stopped the blood flowing to his fingertips. It didn't help the biting pain or ease the electric green glow that radiated from his palm, but he needed to do something that made him feel in control.
When it didn't ease after a few more minutes, Hamish got to his feet and slammed his hand into the hard wooden trunk. It hurt, but it was a different kind of pain to focus on.
The light flickered and then burned brighter. Hamish was getting to the point that he was willing to rip his own arm off when he remembered something he'd found that day.
Like a whore reaching for the junk of another customer, Hamish grabbed his pack and tipped it up, shaking it so violently that all the phials shattered as they connected with the ground. Books and materials and all the shit he didn't need cluttered the tent, but Hamish kicked it all out of the way until he found the little leaf he'd been looking for.
The smell of it instantly filled his nose and he grabbed the leaf, bringing it to his nose. Just the smell of it calmed him down enough that his hands stopped shaking so hard.
He lit his other palm with fire and cast the light over the scattered contents of his pack until he found the little wooden box. Sitting where he stood, Hamish put the leaf on his knee and yanked open the box. Inside were rough cuts of thin paper and wispy looking tendrils of brown that smelled like earth.
He rolled the leaf and put it in the middle of a bit of the paper. Then he scattered some of the fluffy brown moss into it and skilfully rolled them together, sealing it with his spit. Having the stick of white in his hand made his head spin with excitement. Anything to get rid of this pain.
Hamish scurried to his feet and ducked out of his tent. It wasn't too late, so some of the people in the camp were still milling about. He saw Cassandra sitting by the fire, running a whetstone over her sword. He scoffed at her and slipped into the shadows, moving out and away from the camp. He climbed up a small rise and into a small cluster of trees. He could still see the lights of the camp just below, but he was sure he couldn't be seen any more.
The young mage moved into the centre of the cluster and put the white stick between his lips. He was so giddy with the rush of what was to come that when he called on fire, his whole hand went up in flame. It didn't matter, though, and Hamish brought the end of the stick to the flame and sucked hard.
The smoke instantly filled his lungs as he dragged it in, and holding it for a few breaths, Hamish let the smoke out with a quite moan.
The effects were instant, travelling from his lungs down into his stomach and up into his arms. He could feel it spreading through him, like one would feel a poison running through their veins. He took another long drag, and held it for longer, loving that feeling of bliss clouding his mind.
The smell of the leaf he was burning swirled around him, as did the smoke, and he revelled in it all.
His body felt light, the pain in his arm was dimming. Everything seemed beautiful in that one moment, even the twigs sticking into his arse. Hamish chuckled to himself and fell back, putting the white stick between his teeth as he spread his arms wide. He could see the night sky from where he lay, the stars shimmering against the black.
He never got to see the stars in the Tower.
"Isn't this a pathetic display?"
Hamish would usually have been on his feet, ready with a spiteful retort on his tongue. Instead he just turned his head, taking another long drag and putting the stick between his fingers. He smiled as Dorian walked closer into the clearing. Hamish blew out the smoke in Dorian's direction, but the Tevinter didn't cough and blow it away like anyone else would have.
Instead he breathed the smoke in deeply through his nose and then shook his head.
"What are you, fifteen?"
"Closer to fifteen than you, old man."
Dorian scoffed and kicked Hamish's boot, but the young mage just chuckled. He kept his eyes on the Tevinter as the man put his staff against a trunk and moved to sit just next to him. Hamish brought the stick back to his lips and took another long pull, holding it in his lungs before offering it to the man next to him.
Dorian eyed the rollie dubiously, his eyes flickering from what Hamish offered to Hamish's face, before reluctantly taking it from him. Hamish blew out another lungful of smoke, humming under his breath as his body started to completely relax.
He didn't take his eyes off Dorian, though. He didn't know if the man was going to smoke it or throw it. Hamish could guarantee that Dorian would take some damage if he threw it, though. Thankfully, Dorian put the rollie between his lips and took a tentative drag of it. The end lit up red as he did so, and Hamish felt another idiotic smirk on his lips.
Dorian grimaced slightly, but Hamish had to give it to him, the man held the smoke in his lungs longer than he'd expected.
The Tevinter blew out the smoke slowly at first, and then coughed out the rest.
"Lightweight."
Dorian scowled as he passed the rollie back, and Hamish was still smirking as he put it back between his teeth.
"How old are you, anyway?"
Hamish turned his head slightly, already inhaling more of the delicious numbness.
"Younger than you."
"It's never wise to continuously insult a mage, Hamish."
Hamish put his left arm behind his head and stuck out his tongue.
"Bite me."
"Is that an offer?"
Hamish nearly swallowed the rollie, and he was suddenly reminded of their earlier conversation. He rolled onto his side, facing the man. Dorian was leaning against another trunk, his legs laid out before him. Hamish let his eyes linger, as if he was contemplating whether he was offering something or not. Of course he was, but it was never good to seem too eager.
"It depends..." he said slowly, wrapping his lips around the rollie and taking another deep breath of it. Everything was numb now, just how he liked it. "How hard do you bite, Dorian?"
Dorian's eyes seemed to be darker now, making them seem almost black.
Hamish smirked, thinking he'd tempted the man too far. Maybe even put him off. That wasn't the case, he soon found out, because Dorian was grabbing his wrist none too gently and yanked him up. Hamish would have protested if the Tevinter hadn't moved him onto his lap. Hamish let out a surprised breath, realising he was straddling this man he didn't even know.
It wouldn't have been the first time, he told himself.
Hamish sat back and smirked, bringing the rollie back to his lips as if Dorian hadn't interrupted him whatsoever.
"Didn't think you had in it you, sweetheart," teased the young mage, breathing the smoke into Dorian's face. He put the rollie to the man's lips, and Dorian's eyes never left his own as he took a drag.
Hamish felt that heat in his stomach again and he rolled his shoulders. There was nothing better than sex while high. It didn't happen often in the Circle. The leaves were hard to get hold of, and the Enchanters never revealed that the leaf they added to poultices was just as potent when smoked. They always labelled it as a 'healing agent'. Laughable.
"Is this the only way you relax, Hamish?" asked Dorian quietly, nodding his head back to the rollie that was back between the mage's teeth. Hamish took one last drag and flicked the butt of it away.
He didn't give Dorian an answer, instead leaning down and bringing their lips together.
Dorian answered eagerly, opening his mouth. Hamish decided to push his luck, breathing the smoke in his lungs into Dorian's mouth. The Tevinter surprised him again, inhaling it easily whilst letting his tongue lick over Hamish's lower lip.
Hamish groaned, loving the way this man was surprising him. He arched his back, rolling his hips teasingly over the Tevinter's lap.
Dorian hissed, his hands on Hamish's hips, unsure whether to still the smaller mage or make him do it harder. Hamish chuckled, pressing his chest against Dorian's and forcing the man harder against the tree trunk.
"Last chance, Dorian."
Dorian smirked, the finely trimmed hair above his lip looking far too tantalizing for Hamish to handle in his inebriated state. Then those strong hands were running up Hamish's back, pressing hard into the leather armour wrapped around his body. Hamish let out another breath, humming as he did so.
When one of those hands grabbed a handful of Hamish's midnight hair, the young mage was pleasantly surprised. Then Dorian pulled Hamish's head back, exposing his neck.
The moan that escaped his lips was instant, and was quickly followed by Dorian's lips on his pale neck. He arched his back into the submission of his predicament. Dorian had matched him comment for comment, move for move. He shouldn't have been surprised when this man matched him move for move intimately.
Hamish pressed his hips down hard on Dorian's lap, wanting at least some idea whether Dorian was putting this on, or it was what he wanted.
"I knew a shit like you once before," muttered the Tevinter against Hamish's neck. The Herald had no words on his tongue to reply as Dorian was still forcing his head back. It didn't hurt, not like the pain in his hand. No, this was sending electricity down every single nerve, and Hamish was stunned from it.
"A little brat who thought he stood atop the world," continued Dorian, each word followed by a brush of his lips. Hamish pulled his head forward, trying to fight against the control Dorian was trying take from him. Hamish never gave control over without a fight.