Never Get Used To You
Note: This is a series of drabbles for Dorian and the Inquisitor (male, Trevelyan). Chapters 1 and 2 were actually written back in January, but apparently I only posted them on AO3. Whoops. Characters are not mine, please enjoy! Comments are awesome.
TWO
By the time Dorian finally takes his leave of the library, with a stiff neck and the echo of elegant script on old paper still blurring in and out of his vision, Skyhold has fallen dark around him. Solas is nowhere to be found as he descends the spiral stairs to the atrium, and the throne room is eerily vacant and dim (empty of the gaggles of people who are constantly milling about there, as well as Varric and Vivienne, both of whom have also evidently taken their leave) as he makes his way across the hall to the entrance to the Inquisitor's chambers. That hall, which seems to be perpetually under construction, is pitch black and freezing and only memory gets him to the last door and up the stairs.
The room, he discovers, is empty.
It's been empty, at least of its main inhabitant, for nearly two weeks now, given the Inquisitor's dragon hunting mission in Crestwood. It's been a long two weeks, and Dorian has gotten very little sleep in that time, worrying over the Inquisitor.
But, even lit only by the pale glow of moonlight through the large windows, it's clear that the Inquisitor has not returned to his quarters since his return to Skyhold this afternoon. Probably off celebrating with Bull in the Herald's Rest, Dorian figures, or else he's trapped in the War Room with Cullen, Josephine and Cassandra discussing the politics of the Inquisition or planning the next move they'll make against Corypheus.
Nonetheless, he's too tired to make his way back to his own rarely used room, so he'll just stay. It's not like he doesn't have an open invitation to stay here. Hell, more than half of the books piled by the desk in the corner of the room are texts he's working through - keeping them here prevents other inhabitants from wandering off with them, he's learned. His armor and staff are here, tucked away in the closet along with the Inquisitor's great sword and dragonscale armor - though those are likely being looked over after the dragon. Even the runners knows to find him here, it seems, as Leliana and Cullen have both sent people for him while he was comfortably sprawled out in the Inquisitor's bed in the early hours of the morning.
So, he strips down (a task which requires some dedication, given the sheer number of buckles involved) and settles into bed, where the blankets are thick and warm, to combat the ever-present chill in the air that he swears he will never grow accustomed to, and he sleeps.
When he wakes, it's to find that he's no longer alone.
Whatever had been going on in the War Room (not the Tavern, Dorian decides, given the lack of the overpowering smell of alcohol), must have finally come to an end.
"Was hoping you'd be here," comes the Inquisitor's tired voice, as he climbs into bed and curls himself around Dorian, bare limbs tangling together.
"Where else would I be?"
His bedmate presses kisses along the back of his neck and shoulder, pulling him in close, "I missed you."
Dorian laughs, "I noticed."
"I had to share a tent with Blackwall," the Inquisitor says, "I didn't know anyone could snore so loudly."
More laughter, and Dorian rolls to face the man for a proper kiss. "Serves you right."
"Ah, that's right. I have some shameless flirting to make up for, don't I?"
"You might," Dorian agrees, "Though I believed you promised 'shameless whatever you want,' at the time, actually."
"Well," the Inquisitor grins, shifting until he's trapped himself under Dorian, and claiming kiss after kiss "if I promised..."