Never Get Used To You
Written for March Madness 2022, Prompt: starlight. Comments and kudos would be awesome. Enjoy!
Chapter 7:
You're settled in the little nook of the library that Dorian usually occupies, working your way through an absurd number of old texts sent over to Skyhold from some of Josephine's contacts in Orlais. You're hoping for some little scrap of information, something that will offer some explanation of the anchor or the rift or anything about the chaos your life has become lately. But the pages are all scrawled with fancy, elegant script and you're not great at deciphering it; before too long your eyes are strained and they hurt almost as much as your head does, but you cannot bring yourself to put the books down. The progress is slow and not all that illuminating. But there's nothing else to do right now – you're between missions, waiting for intel and supplies before you set out once more.
"Okay, that's it," Dorian's comforting voice breaks the silence of the library, startling you out of your vacant state, eyes moving over the pages but not absorbing the words. He slides up to your side, a hand settles on your shoulder, and it's only then you realize how long you've been in the same position, how tense you are. "I'm rescuing you."
"From…?"
He slams the book shut, pries it away from you and tosses it atop the pile of them still waiting beside the chair.
"Hey!"
"How many times have you read that same paragraph? Because I counted at least seven. The book will still be there in the morning," he assures you, and his voice drops to something gentle, coaxing, "Come with me, Amatus."
With a sigh of resignation, you follow, letting him lead you by the hand.
You realize how late it's gotten, the sun long since set, and the dark halls you wander through are vacant now. He steers you through the castle to your quarters and you glance longingly at your bed as you pass, but he does not stop there any longer than it takes to grab a blanket from atop it. Instead, he leads you out to the balcony.
"Sit," Dorian requests, and you do as he asks, settling on the stone without question. The night air is chilly, but he wraps the blanket around you and kneels behind you, his hands land once more on your tense shoulders and you groan in relief when he works his magic on you, working out the stress and knots, pressing kisses to your neck until you're boneless and malleable in his hands. "Feeling better?" he asks, arms wrapping around your body, letting your warmth sink into his chilled skin.
"Much," you answer. You lift the blanket in invitation and he moves to sit beside you, wrapped up with you. The two of you are bathed in the light of the bright, full moon overhead. For this moment, you are unconcerned with the weight of your responsibilities – Corypheus, the Inquisition, the Rift. Just for a moment, there is nothing but you and the man you love under a sky full of stars and you revel in it, breeching the scant space between you for a kiss. "Thank you," you say, your forehead still pressed against his.
"You're welcome," he answers.