Dorian was flirting.

Not his usual, day-to-day flirting, mind, but the real thing, a concerted, genuine effort to seduce. This sort of flirting wasn't just about clever words or perfectly devastating smiles. His entire body had been recruited to the cause. Everything, from the angle of his head to the purr of his voice to the way he toyed idly with his wine glass, was carefully calculated to send a message. He was a moving sculpture, a canvass across which had been splashed beauty, confidence, just a hint of danger. The look in his eye was predatory, the curl of his mouth faintly daring. If you let me, that look said, I will take you apart and leave you a boneless, quivering mess. And you will beg me to do it again.

It was going rather well, naturally. Dorian was very good at this. The trouble was, the man he was flirting with was not the man he was trying to seduce.

He'd given up pretending that his fascination with Inquisitor Lavellan was a passing fancy. What had started out as a harmless crush had grown into raw, restless wanting, an obsession he was increasingly powerless to resist. This may or may not have had anything to do with those cursed leather breeches the elf had started wearing around Skyhold, the ones that hugged his arse so beautifully. They were snug in all the right places, those breeches. Dorian wanted to be those breeches.

He was staring at them again, wasn't he?

He was.

"I'm sorry, you were saying?" He returned his attention to the young man he was flirting with, a pretty elven mage who just happened to bear a certain resemblance to the Inquisitor. A counterfeit Lavellan, and a rather passable one at that. Were it not for the presence of the genuine article, Dorian might have been tempted. But there was simply no competing with the real thing.

The Real Thing, for his part, was on the far side of the hall chatting with some of the new recruits, as was his duty at this little meet-and-greet. Dorian had positioned himself strategically so he could flirt with – what was his name again? – in full view of the Inquisitor. Lavellan had only to glance up and he would get an eyeful of that take-you-apart look, leaving him to contemplate what it would be like to have that directed at him.

The idea was simple: dazzle the Inquisitor from afar, without causing any tongues to wag. The elf had seen him flirt before – Dorian had been doing it rather shamelessly since Day 1 – but he'd been fighting with one hand tied behind his back. Too worried about doing the right thing, or being quietly murdered by the Nightingale, to really turn on the charm. The elf didn't yet understand what Dorian was capable of. How truly bright he could shine. He'd been looking through tinted glass until now, but Dorian would have him stare directly at the sun.

Except he wasn't. As far as Dorian could tell, the elf had yet to glance his way even a single time. Dorian knew those elven ears could hear him laughing. Might even be keen enough to pick up a suggestive phrase here and there. But he just wasn't biting. Dorian had been angling for half an hour now, and not a single tug on his pole.

The Circle mage, meanwhile, looked like he wanted to tug Dorian's pole very badly indeed. He'd dropped several hints about being shown around the library while it was deserted. Dorian felt a little guilty about getting him all hot and bothered, but all was fair in love and war, et cetera.

Come on, he thought in Lavellan's direction. Just one glance. You won't be able to look away. He tossed out another velveteen laugh – still nothing. It was perfectly maddening. Was it possible the Inquisitor simply didn't find him attractive? That their flirting had been as empty and performative as what he was doing right now?

And then Lavellan did look away – not at Dorian, but in the direction of his quarters, throwing an unmistakably longing glance at that closed door on the far side of the room. He was through with mingling, apparently, but he must have judged that he'd never make his escape that way, because he excused himself and headed for the door to the rotunda instead.

Before he even fully registered what he was doing, Dorian had extracted himself from the panting Circle mage and slipped into the stairwell after the Inquisitor. He reached the second floor just in time to see a flash of silver hair in the moonlight as the Inquisitor ducked outside onto the ramparts.

Once again, Dorian's feet started moving of their own accord. What are you doing, Pavus? he scolded himself even as he walked. Are we officially stalking now? Is that what's happening?

He stepped out into the moonlight – and very nearly ran into the Inquisitor, who stood with his elbows propped on the wall, gazing contemplatively out into the night. "Oh," said the elf, looking surprised. "Hi."

Dorian scrambled for some plausible explanation for his presence there. "Hello," he said, feeling like an utter fool. "I, er…"

"It looks like we've chosen the same spot," the Inquisitor said with an awkward smile. "Probably better if I move on before your company arrives. Plausible deniability and all that."

It took Dorian a moment to work out what he meant. He thinks you've come here for a clandestine encounter with the Circle mage. So he had noticed Dorian's flirting, at least a little. "Oh, no – it's not like that," Dorian said with an awkward laugh to match the elf's smile. "I was just through with the party, that's all. Thought I'd take a quiet walk."

The elf's smile relaxed. "Great minds," he said, gazing out over the bailey once more.

"I didn't mean to intrude."

"You're not intruding. I'm happy for the company."

Then why did you leave your own party? Dorian didn't ask. He didn't want to break the spell. And it felt like a spell, out here alone in the silver moonlight and the airy hush of the mountains. Dorian leaned against the wall beside the Inquisitor and let the night settle over his shoulders like a blanket. He tried to think of something to say to fill the silence – and then he realized he didn't need to. The silence was fine. The silence was perfect.

He'd spent the entire evening trying to get under the elf's skin. To stir him to passion. But this moment right here – the stillness of it, the intimacy – was a far greater prize. The elf had come here for solitude, but he'd chosen to share it with Dorian. And to his surprise, Dorian was more than satisfied with that.

It all meant something, probably. He'd unpack it later, in the quiet of his own bed. For now, he took what the elf was willing to give, and they laughed and chatted, stripped of all pretence or agenda. Dorian didn't flirt even once.

It was the best night he'd had in a very long time.