Dorian's eyes flew open at the incessant pounding. At his door. His open door. The gall.
"Would you stop that at once, you bewhiskered barbarian. I shall..." Dorian stumbled for a word. It was too early and he'd been up too late, and damn if every window in the room wasn't wide open to the sun. If he wasn't so tired and didn't have such a aching head, he might've been able to appreciate the way the light danced about the room; gleaming shards of prismatic color, drifting, like so many magic snowflakes. Magic. That's what he needed. He would turn that hairy lummox... Wait, had he finished his insult yet? He bleared up at the muscled man leaning in the doorway. Always leaning, damn the bearded bastard. As if he knew how good he looked. Which, of course, he didn't. Blackwall was never self aware about those sort of things.
"Just what is the meaning of this?" Blackwall stopped his assault on the door frame to hold up a wooden box. "I take it you left these for me?"
"Ahhhh, yes. Varric told me you'd been asking after something... of that nature."
Now that he was awake, Dorian stretched in bed, relishing the way Blackwall's eyes glanced away to the side when he realized Dorian was nude under the bedclothes. This was a recent reaction. In the months he'd known the man, he'd learned Blackwall had no modesty or qualms about other men's bodies. He'd no fear of winning or losing in wicked grace, never shied away from the game no matter how many times Josie literally beat the pants off someone. He was always the first one to strip and dive into the river; muck, slimy creatures and general nudity be damned.
But now... Dorian stretched again, letting the sheet fall strategically to his hips. Yes, Blackwall definitely looked away and blushed. It was adorable.
"I didn't-" Blackwall started.
"-Didn't want them, or didn't want them from me?" He feigned hurt.
"Maker's balls, I only asked Varric if he had any soap. That's it."
"Soap? You didn't have soap before this? I shudder to think what your baths consisted of. Scrubbing with hay?"
"I had soap, you damned fool. Just not..." he heaved a sigh, running a hand through his dark hair and mussing it more than usual, "ahh, fine. Varric's book made it sound as if it might be nice to bathe with something that doesn't leave your skin raw and red as a chapped nug in winter."
"Oh?" Dorian's eyes glimmered for a moment. "You don't like to be... raw?" He drawled out the word.
"Dorian." Blackwall's growl was a soft threat, and Dorian laughed.
"Yes, yes, fine. You asked Varric about soap, and soap you did receive."
"But.. what's this?" Blackwall took a bottle out of the box and held it up.
"Scented oil."
"But," Blackwall's eyes narrowed suspiciously, "What's it for?"
"For? Your hair, your skin, it's oil, Blackwall, it's not going to bite you. In fact, it would definitely help your skin from feeling... raw."
"Just oil? In Varric's book, they... well." Blackwall stopped, started again, "They used.. uh, well, to..." he stuttered to a halt.
"Ahhh. Yes, I see. No, it's just oil. You could use it for what you are thinking of. But I prefer to use something a little more like..." Dorian, reached to the side table, opening a drawer and letting his sheet fall completely away. He pulled out a different bottle, and held it up. "This."
Blackwall's eyes weren't shying away now, but he wasn't saying anything either. He just stood there, eyes roaming Dorian's golden skin. Suddenly it was Dorian who felt nude, and he pulled the sheet back to cover himself. He felt himself blushing for the first time in years. The room fell silent. Small motes of color still danced about the room from the stained glass, making the room feel otherworldly, magical. A magic he couldn't control.
"Blackwall?" The name slid into a question mark before he could stop it, so he twisted it the only way he knew how. "Lost the power of speech, I see. My beauty does tend to have that affect on people. A curse and a blessing." The burly man took a step towards the bed, but then stopped. Dorian could see a quick smile hidden by the man's beard. It confounded him.
"I... thank you for the soaps," Blackwall's voice was gruff, but soft. "I'm sorry for opening all the curtains and waking you so early. Would you like me to close them for you?"
"That would be nice," Dorian could hear the mirrored softness in his own voice, and pushed it away, "No civilized person should be awake at this hour. I suspect it must be late in the day for you."
There was no reply, and Dorian turned over in bed to see the door click shut. Blackwall was gone. But he'd taken the box of oils and soaps with him. Dorian's eyes shot to the side table. Taken them all, including the last one he'd taken out from the drawer.
"Well. My, my," Dorian thought to himself, and drifted back to sleep.