delicate

28 january — late morning

Fenris + Dorian Pavus
Some talk of slavery, trauma, abduction | Complete

Fenris was strategic. Not because it was in his nature, but because his experiences had necessitated he prepare for every eventuality. Trauma taught him many things; how to anticipate people's actions, how to sense when a mood shifted, and how to escape when things inevitably went wrong. And yet, consistently, Fenris was discovering that he couldn't predict Dorian. It was terrifying at first. How could he trust anything he said or did if it wasn't something Fenris had anticipated? That changed by inches. Doubt gave way to curiosity, and curiosity gave way to delight. Even now, in the wake of Dorian's nightmarish ordeal, Fenris was surprised yet again when he was invited to stay in his home. In his bed. He'd braced himself for the moment he would have to let his mage out of his sight, only to find that Dorian didn't want that at all.

It was a memory he'd cling to and cherish as surely as he clung to his mage now. They were tangled together on their sides in Dorian's bed, pressed close like two lounging cats, and the thought made Fenris smile briefly. His amusement was short-lived, though. Despite the fact that he knew Dorian would be fine with time and patience, concern made his heart feel so heavy. He knew how healing worked all too intimately, and although he didn't know what happened, exactly, Fenris could sense there was more lurking beneath whatever his mage had experienced that past week. It made him want to tear out the throats of every last person who had ever wronged the man.

He forced air into his lungs, slowly, and let the rage pass. There would be time for that later. Dorian needed his softness right now, and he would give every last ounce of it to him willingly. With a gentle hand, Fenris ran his fingers through that dark silken hair and watched with soft eyes while his mage slept. It was morning—or perhaps it was the early afternoon, given the position that sliver of sunlight cut across the floor. Fenris wasn't really paying attention to that. He was fully occupied with the important task of holding Dorian close, and pressing a comforting kiss to his forehead whenever the mage shifted. It was a reminder that he wasn't alone; he was protected, and cared for, and above all, loved.

Beyond the shelter of Dorian's bedroom, the apartment was silent. EDI had left earlier on an errand and a promise to return with foods he'd requested for cooking that night. Perhaps he should feel uneasy or stressed about settling so quickly into domesticity over the course of only two days, but he didn't. Fenris felt at peace here, like he belonged, and that was the first time he'd ever truly felt that way in his whole life. Of course, it had everything to do with the man in his arms. He nuzzled another feather-light kiss to Dorian's forehead and finally closed his eyes, content to continue resting with him. He'd slept more than he had in ... well. Ever, really. Dorian's comforting weight settled something inside him. They would both be alright.

Though by appearance Dorian seemed frivolous and nonchalant, perhaps even blasé, the mage was far from it. His eyes saw more than many assumed, and his mind was full of more things than luxuries. Dorian’s public image was a calculated one, exuberant and unashamed to make the world see him as he was and to spit in the faces of those who had tried to change him, but also to keep the eyes and minds of the public on what he wanted them to see. The things that he had endured, Dorian did not wear on his sleeves but instead held them close and hidden because his past was his own, and not the right of every passing eye to look upon. To say that he was overly sensitive to the way he was perceived hardly scratched the surface, and it was why he had shut down upon their escape from that horrid warehouse. Why Dorian carefully schooled his features as he was helped back home. Dorian didn’t want to be looked at with eyes full of pity, sincere or otherwise. He was too proud for that.

Too proud until he saw Fenris.

Even with hazy eyes so unused to light for being held in darkness for so long, Dorian knew it was him. His soul knew that it was with enough certainty that he didn’t have to trust in his unfocused vision, and he crumbled, just a little, at his touch. For once, that didn’t feel like a weakness, but he fought to hold against the inevitable collapse of his facade until he was home.

Returning there was both comforting and charged with a horrible anxiety. It was familiar, but half-lucid memories of that night made his skin crawl and his throat close. Dorian gave up his pride then, and he asked Fenris to stay with him in a voice that was more vulnerable than he had ever let it be before. He asked him to stay but he asked for more than that too, pleading with him to hold him close because Fenris would help keep him here and not lost wandering in the labyrinth of his nightmares. Those horrible things still crept into his chest, but that solid, comforting touch kept them from sinking into his heart and it helped soothe his tumultuous mind.

That murkiness had lingered, though, that first night and each time he woke, he woke disoriented. It was terrifying, but each gentle touch pulled him out of that darkness, out of old memories and new ones, until they lost their power over him.

Dorian felt those delicate kisses to his forehead and he stirred. His eyes opened slowly as if he barely had the energy to do so but he held Fenris tighter as he returned to the waking world. He had no sense of time but no urgent need to reacquaint himself with it either. “Fenris,” he uttered softly, affectionately. Of all the words in all the languages he had ever known, that was the only one he wanted or needed and it was the only one in his mind and on his tongue.

Fenris knew intimately the incredible amount of bravery it took to lower fortified walls and allow anyone to see what pain lay there, much less to invite them inside. He'd admired Dorian before, but those feelings had deepened considerably, warming through him the moment he was asked to remain. He stopped him, too, before Dorian could plead for anything. "I will do anything for you," Fenris had told him then, reaching out to clasp those skilled hands in his own. "You need only ask." It was far more than a statement; it was an oath, and one he would uphold for the rest of his life. With any luck, it was obvious in the way he'd gazed at him then, green eyes bright with an intensity he couldn't help.

They were words that led him to Dorian's bed, though not quite in the way he'd imagined weeks ago (and he had imagined it). Not that Fenris minded in the least. He was all too happy to be there for his mage throughout the night; every time Dorian made any kind of noise in distress, he murmured gentle reassurances and reached out to touch. It helped that he'd always been a light sleeper, waking at the slightest noise and reluctant to return to sleep after, lest there be some kind of threat. But here, with Dorian, the weight and warmth of him so close, he felt safe. It was easy to tend to him whenever he needed, and easier still to fall back asleep afterward once his mage was settled again. As much as it broke Fenris' heart to see him in such pain, he was relieved to find his company seemed to be helping. That was the thought that carried him back to that darkness, and the thought that lingered with him now while he looked at Dorian in the half-light of the morning, admiring those fine features soft from sleep.

Hearing his name spoken so warmly and with such fondness made his heart squeeze. "I'm here," Fenris replied in a low, rumbling tone, almost as if he were purring. So much for his prickly reputation. He began rubbing Dorian's back in a gentle, soothing touch up and down his spine, before he settled his arm around the mage's waist to keep him close. "You can keep resting," Fenris added after a moment in that same voice, an obvious bid to coax him back to sleep.

He'd been choosing his words very carefully those past few hours, highly aware of any language that might sound like he was telling Dorian to do something rather than suggesting. Fenris would be at his side regardless. All he wanted was to support him at whatever pace he needed in his recovery.

Never once in his whole life did Dorian ever believe he would have opened up this much to anyone. That he exposed his heart and soul and then invited someone into them? It left him without words. But more than that, it felt like being set free. Liberated from the expectations of the world but also his expectations of himself. Unchained from all the pessimistic beliefs that held him back. Dorian reached out for Fenris, but Fenris reached out for him in return and the feeling of that was indescribable too. With those hands holding his own, Dorian could feel the strength in them, and in those verdant eyes, Dorian could see the depth of a promise that drew him up and made him feel steady and calm and hopeful. “Please stay with me,” Dorian answered then, his pale eyes returning that oath and devotion with the same passion and intensity.

Sleep hadn’t come easy to Dorian in the hours after his escape, and it was fitful too, but even in his restless dreaming state, Fenris’s hands and the sound of his voice were like beacons, drawing him back to shore. Dorian could let go of that fear of being pulled under and eventually, he had been able to rest. The warmth of the man beside him and his steady breathing kept the waters of his soul calm and Dorian knew, beyond any doubt, that he had found something precious here, something he will never let go of. Love was a heady, powerful thing and Dorian couldn’t remember all the reasons he had been so afraid of it before. Here, held in Fenris’s arms, there was nothing but peace.

Fingers curling in the fabric of Fenris’s shirt, Dorian sighed at that gentle caress to his back. Those words echoed in his head too, I’m here. They were so simple but they meant so much to him, just like the movement of Fenris’s hand along his spine. “One could argue this still counts as resting,” Dorian mused, a little more of his humour coming back to life as those dark feelings began to lift.

Began, because they still lingered, their claws still hooked in him just a little, but Fenris’s presence was slowly giving Dorian the strength to pry those things out of his heart and cast them off.

Fenris enjoyed words quite a bit; learning the shape of new ones and assembling them the way he liked, as if they were colors on a palette just waiting to be crafted into a painting. But sometimes, words weren't necessary. That's how he felt when Dorian asked him to stay. No phrase in any language he knew could have possibly conveyed what he felt in that moment, so he said nothing. All Fenris did was draw close to wrap his arms around his mage as if he were the most precious thing in any world. And to him, Dorian was his world. He felt it shift inside him, a monumental, earth-shattering realization that he was now committed to one person, body and soul.

At Dorian's sigh, Fenris shifted onto his back—slowly, carefully, giving him plenty of time to resist the change in position—before drawing the mage close again so he could relax almost completely on top of him. This made it easier to curl both arms around Dorian, too, which he liked very much. That weight, while light, brought so much comfort to Fenris. It settled his racing heart, reminding him of the fact that they were both here and safe and alive. There was nothing more terrifying than the thought of losing Dorian forever. He couldn't bear it. He wouldn't.

Just as his presence brought light to the darkness lurking in the corners of Dorian's mind, it was Dorian's humor that made relief wash over him in waves. Fenris chuckled and turned his head to press another kiss to his mage's cheek. "You must be awake if you have enough presence of mind to sass me," he noted dryly, a relieved and happy smile melting his whole expression. There was no more reason to hide his feelings from Dorian. It seemed so utterly pointless after everything. Fenris still felt strange about it, of course, simply because he was so unfamiliar with allowing anyone to see inside his heart, but the fear had completely fled.

With a soft sigh of his own, he gave Dorian a gentle squeeze. I'm so thankful you're here, he wanted to say, but didn't. They could speak of serious things later. Or, really, whenever his mage felt comfortable. Fenris was perfectly content to simply bask in the warmth of his presence right now, all too eager for the chance to hold him like this when he felt no pain at all. It was a concern that lingered at the back of his mind. Would a stray caress trigger the lyrium markings on his skin? How long did they have before each bright line flared as if he were being rebranded again?

He pushed it from his mind. He didn't want to allow any fears to creep into their time together. Not right now.

Being wrapped in Fenris’s arms, shielded and held close, was so much better than any words could have been in that moment. No errant fears could assail him, no worries over what could happen when he closed his eyes could haunt him. Dorian’s entire world narrowed to the space they occupied here in his bed; his sun the warmth in Fenris’s touch and his stars the brightness in those green eyes. His heart and his soul reached out for Fenris’s and he felt complete, this feeling of a missing piece finally being found.

Though Fenris had given him the choice to resist, Dorian hadn’t taken it. He hadn’t even hesitated to follow, and he settled against Fenris completely. The rise and fall of Fenris’s chest helped to keep his own breathing even and slow, even as flickers of darkness lashed out at him, and the steady beating of his heart seemed to urge Dorian’s to try to match its rhythm. All of those things, and those arms wrapped around him, and the sound of that laugh, they all reminded Dorian that he had survived, that he was here, and so was Fenris, and that was all he needed. All he wanted.

“Sass,” Dorian echoed dramatically, though with a fond smile. “I would never.” Which was a lie, they both knew. Smart little remarks came to Dorian as easy as breathing, but his teasing could be gentle and fond, or, with Fenris, touched with a deeper feeling, with love, too.

Seeing that smile stole Dorian’s breath away and he reached up to brush a lock of silver white hair away from Fenris’s face. His fingertips lingered, following the shell of his ear to the hard line of his jaw, light and delicate and full of a thankfulness and a love that he couldn’t put into words. Thank you for staying, that touch whispered. And thank you for giving me a place here, it shouted as he rested a hand over Fenris’s heart.

It might have been a small, insignificant thing to other people, but feeling Dorian follow where he led without any hesitation made tears briefly prick at the corner of Fenris' eyes. None fell, thankfully. But to be so trusted by someone was an intense feeling, and he felt deeply privileged for it. What a priceless gift Dorian was offering him, one he would treasure as long as he had it. Fenris closed his eyes for a moment to savor that feeling, bright and delicate, like a rare flower stubbornly sprouting through the polished walkways of a busy city street.

Fenris made a noise not unlike a displeased cat, even if it was ruined by his continued smiling. "You would always," he said, equally fond. Then, softer, "And I would have you no other way." Fenris had made a promise to himself that he would be more honest with Dorian, and he fully intended to make good on that. This was where it started, in the little moments, baring his heart carefully but willingly.

Part of him wanted to kiss Dorian then. The mage's touch woke heat under his skin, not like a brand, but a slow, simmering warmth as if sipping a fine wine. It was a quiet yearning, though, easily tucked away to be examined later. Fenris satisfied his desire by tracing the mage's delicate features with his eyes, loathe to ruin this by pushing anything that was unwanted. "Your braid is coming undone," he commented idly. The mage had spent the better part of an hour plaiting his hair the night before when they were both too shaky from nerves and stress to really sleep. It had been nice. Soothing in a way Fenris never would have imagined it being, particularly since he was so reluctant to turn his back to anyone.

Except redoing said braids would necessitate Fenris moving from his current position, which he made absolutely no effort to do. In fact, he reached up to play with Dorian's hair instead, twisting a soft strand between his fingers. I will always stay here, he said without words, one arm still curled protectively over the mage's back. Then he dragged a finger across the delicate rise of Dorian's cheekbone. Eventually, Fenris' hand drifted to cover the one that had settled over his chest. And you will always have a place in my heart.

Relief clung to the tails of that trust that Dorian had put in Fenris, this realization of not having to fear for himself when he was here with him, body and soul. It had always been a difficult thing for Dorian, to trust anyone, and it came slow and with so many restraints and restrictions, and it was fleeting and fragile. But this was unlike anything else. This trust was unconditional and as strong as those warm hands that held him close. Dorian could give into it and so he did.

A smirk tugged at the corner of Dorian’s mouth as Fenris quipped back but it quickly turned into a soft smile. For the briefest of moments, too, the feeling of tears welling in the corners of his eyes surprised Dorian. That someone could want him without wanting to change him, to correct him, or reshape him, was so overwhelming and if he hadn’t given his heart to Fenris already, it would have been given to him now. Wholly and without hesitation. “Well, good,” the mage replied, voice tight with the effort it took to stop any more tears from forming, yet it was also warm. “Because this is who I am.” Dorian was speaking of more than his teasing little remarks now, scratching the surface of a million different things, and if they broke through that and exposed it all, he was actually ready.

That want to close the small distance between them with a kiss was one that was shared by Dorian too, that warm little feeling thawing him out from the inside like drinking tea after a cold venture out in winter. But he resisted it, not because he was afraid or hesitant, but because he cherished this gentle intimacy more than he could have ever believed and he did not want to bring it to an end. Dorian had never shared a bed like this with anyone, had never touched someone with almost trembling fingers with just a desire to feel and not for a means to an end. Oh, he wanted to kiss him and he wanted to know what it would be like with him, if every flowery piece of prose was right that love changed the way everything felt, but he wanted to wait. Just a little longer. Dorian wanted to slowly rewrite every experience he had ever had, to replace each with Fenris instead, and so he resisted that urge to kiss him and continued to comb his fingers through those pale locks.

“I suppose I shall have to redo them,” he answered, though he made no movement to do so yet. It had been soothing, plaiting Fenris’s hair the night before, even when his shaking fingers caused him to lose stands and ruin the braid. So he would let it come undone and start again as he basked in the calm that wrapped around the two of them.

Closing his eyes, Dorian lost himself to the feeling of Fenris’s fingers in his hair, and the arm around his back, and everything those touches said without the silence being broken. As Fenris’s hand came to rest over his own, Dorian felt a squeeze in his heart and he shifted until he could press a delicate kiss to the back of Fenris’s hand. It spoke volumes for itself, the depths of his feelings somehow all in that simple gesture, but the words came to him and refused to sit on his tongue and be idle. “I love you.”

The more time they spent together, the more Fenris began to see their shared similarities. They were both slow to trust and controlled the way others perceived them, not just physically, but with their personalities, too. Where Dorian deflected by drawing attention, Fenris deflected by drawing away, offering up a stoic and uninterested air when he really felt anything but. It wasn't just incredible that they'd found each other, it was incredible that they felt comfortable enough to be themselves. This was a precious thing, and Fenris felt so thankful.

He didn't need Dorian to explain the tears. He had a very strong feeling he knew where they came from, and he felt the same. "Who you are is beautiful," Fenris replied, voice rough as he reached up to tenderly cradle the mage's cheek. Thumb brushing over the rise of Dorian's cheekbone, he gazed up at him through half-lidded eyes, helpless to stop the adoring look that warmed his whole expression. They didn't need to delve into their shared hangups and trauma, all the thorny parts of themselves with deep, deep roots. Not right now. They could, and he knew they would likely need to at some point, but for a little while, he wanted to keep this soft, quiet space where Dorian could rest.

It was new to him, too, this sort of nesting they were indulging in. Fenris was used to being desired by people, their interest usually pushy and conditional, but to be desired simply for his company ... that was new and surprising. He sighed again when Dorian continued petting his hair, leaning into the contact. Rewriting old experiences was a lovely idea, something he could sense the two of them exploring with each touch and quiet look. This was a slow exploration, a savoring, and he loved every minute of it.

"Do you want braids?" Fenris asked, curious as he ran his fingers through that fine, dark hair. He would need to learn how to do them properly, but he made a more than willing student. Particularly if it meant more time spent like this, indulging in Dorian's company and attentions. Oh, he liked that very much.

Another smile tugged at his mouth when he received a kiss to his hand. Fenris didn't hesitate to reply to Dorian's declaration, but his heart began racing a little when he spoke the words, "And I love you," in fluent Tevene. It was a gamble. This could bring up too many memories of the past and possibly hurt Dorian. He was always so careful, too, of keeping his knowledge of certain things close to his chest, only revealed when absolutely necessary lest it be used against him. Everything he had and knew could be sharpened into a weapon, a tool, but Fenris was so tired of constantly being on guard. He wanted to express how he felt to the man he adored in a language he'd painstakingly pieced together twice, a culture he'd fought to be worthy of.

That he used the masculine form of Love was deliberate, too. He watched Dorian with a slightly hesitant look, hoping this was okay, but fully prepared to never mention it again if not.

Robbed of the ability to speak, Dorian could only regard Fenris with affection softening the sharp lines of his face and bringing a new life to his pale eyes. To be touched so tenderly, to be able to inspire that kind of look in someone like the one he saw on Fenris’s face, Dorian had no words. And still, to know that someone could love him just as he was, to find all the pieces of him beautiful, was overwhelming in the best possible way.

There were many dark corners inside of him, places where his past haunted like ghosts and daemons, waiting to strike and try to claim him and everything he loved. They were horrible, frigid things that had frozen other people out, but he’d done that too, holding them all at arm’s length, afraid to let anyone see. That ice had thawed, but those dark things couldn’t creep from their corners, unable to overcome the warmth and the love and acceptance that Dorian felt here. In the dark hours after his escape, they had bubbled closer to the surface, lashing at him in nightmares and shapes in his vision on waking up, but they had been silenced by a touch, or a quiet word, and slowly their hold on him slipped. Wrapped so carefully in Fenris’s arms, Dorian believed that perhaps he could finally heal. Really heal, and not just the fragile way he was held together by pride and bravado.

Curling a lock around his fingers, Dorian smiled as Fenris leaned into his touch. It was a small sign of trust and it added to everything else in this moment that had Dorian wondering how ever he could have deserved this. Devotion washed over him like a wave and he was pulled under by it and so willingly did he give in. All his heart, all his soul, he offered them all up as he sank further, cradled by his love and those arms around him.

“If you did them.” It was a shameless answer, but Dorian didn’t see any reason to play coy. Even if they didn’t turn out perfect, Dorian could easily give himself over to the feeling of Fenris’s fingers in his hair. Anything to keep him close, because here, he felt safe.

His heart stopped and his breath caught in his throat when Fenris spoke, the words both familiar and so, so foreign in his ears. They rang in his chest, echoed in his mind, and his hands trembled. It had been so long since Dorian had really heard Tevene spoken to him, and certainly never in that tone and never those words. Pushing himself up onto his elbow, his eyes found Fenris’s and held them, his awe and love bright in his own. “I love you,” Dorian repeated in the same language, as his fingers lighted on Fenris’s cheekbone, across his lower lip. “I love you.”

Gently, so gently, he brushed his lips over Fenris’s before burying his face against his neck. A few tears did fall this time, as he could not stop them, but he couldn’t help the smile on his face even as he sucked in shaky breaths in the wake of this emotional upheaval.

Fenris didn't know what Dorian had experienced—not recently, and even less so in his past—but he knew trauma intimately, and it broke his heart to see those signs in the mage. He hoped, yearned, that with each gentle touch, he was conveying none of those daemons or dark things could possibly frighten him. If anything, Fenris only wanted to hold him closer, to chase away every awful memory and rewrite over them until they held less and less power over Dorian. Until those terrible things held less power over both of them. How could he feel anything but protective and fiercely proud of the man who had stared down a nightmarish reality in the face and survived? And not just survived, but became better?

He, too, wondered how he'd managed to do anything worthy of Dorian's love and trust, but he tried not to linger on the thought. This wasn't a time for Fenris' daemons and dark things. They were quiet now, near-silent, all his attention focused upon the beautiful, clever, skilled mage in his arms. And then they were talking of hair-braiding, and he felt his ears heat. "I would like to," he admitted, a bit sheepish. It was such a silly thing to be embarrassed about, but he was still learning how to open up his heart without getting flustered. Small steps. "Would you teach me?" There was no rush to do it now. In fact, he was pleased to find Dorian hadn't moved either.

Heart in his throat, Fenris watched the mage very carefully after his confession. He didn't want to guard himself, but it was difficult not to when he was so uncertain how his sentiment had been received. Would Dorian reject this part of him? Did he phrase the words wrong? Could he really claim a language he'd stolen from the mouths of his masters, piecing it together in his mind when he was forced into silence?

Fenris didn't realize he'd stopped breathing until Dorian found his eyes again, and he exhaled heavily, all that anxiety leaving him in a rush. To hear I love you being spoken back to him was like a song, so sweet he felt goosebumps flare over his skin. He was smiling against that finger on his lips, and when Dorian kissed him, and still when he felt those tears and answering smile against his neck. Fenris held onto him tighter than before in that moment, pressing his mouth to the top of the mage's head tenderly. "Soulmates," he reminded him in Tevene, voice a low rumble again, his heart so, so full.

Knowing that Fenris had seen spectres of the things that haunted him, even the most vague flickers of memories falling from his mouth in statements spoken half-asleep, and that he had remained, had chosen to embrace him and still chase them away instead of withdrawing, granted Dorian a new kind of strength he didn’t know it was possible to possess. Some day, those things would not come quietly, but Dorian didn’t fear their power anymore, not when even the smallest, simplest gesture of Fenris’s could bring all of those daemons to their knees. Dorian was loved in spite of those things, just like Dorian loved Fenris and wanted to help him strip the power from those dark things that clung to him too.

“I would be delighted,” Dorian answered, pushing thoughts of darkness and daemons away to be dealt with another time. For now, he wanted to stay present in this moment and he caught the way the tips of Fenris’s ears flushed and re reached out to run his fingers over one point, feeling that heat against his skin. A soft smile settled on his features as he continued to follow the line of Fenris’s ear with the tips of his fingers.

Dorian’s heart squeezed as he looked at Fenris in those few moments after his confession, the way he seemed to retreat, as if he were unworthy of the words he himself had spoken, of the language he had used. But he was more worthy of it than any other Dorian had known, and he spoke it with an earnest and a beauty that few did. He tried to convey all of that in whatever manner he could with his entire body and heart and soul.

In an instant, all of that tension was gone, released in a single breath and that smile on Fenris’s lips burned into Dorian’s mind and into his heart, a memory that he would cling to, one that could banish even the strongest of daemons. Clinging to Fenris just as tightly, Dorian felt his heart flip hearing that word spoken to him, the feeling of it rushing through him, warm and bright like a sunrise after a long, dark night. “My heart. My soul,” he murmured quietly in return, punctuated by a gentle kiss to Fenris’s neck.

Those moments of half-formed fears in Dorian's sleep, however brief, instantly woke Fenris every time he heard them. And even then, even when faced with a darkness he could neither see nor fight, he felt nothing but a fierce protectiveness surge up inside him like wood catching fire. It licked across his skin and warmed through his heart, and Fenris drew the mage close, murmuring words of comfort back to him. He wasn't sure whether Dorian even knew he was speaking, or there, but he tried to coax him out of his nightmares all the same. That was the thing about him—Fenris was so impossibly in love with Dorian that he wanted to spend the rest of his life doing things like this. Being there for him, cuddled close, when the darkness pressed in and threatened to consume that light he saw burning so brightly in Dorian. If he could protect that, he would always be perfectly content.

All this careful, slow exploring made his heart race just a little, but Fenris was a master of self-control. That light, grazing touch against his ear only drew a soft intake of breath from him, lips parted, before he released that tension in a slow exhale. It helped to focus on the way those shadows fell from Dorian's expression, making him look years younger, as if freed—briefly—from those nightmares still lurking in his mind. He is so beautiful, Fenris thought, marveling. His own hand dragged lightly over the mage's jaw, then down over his neck, careful in his exploration.

His heart skipped a beat at that smile, though, as it always did when Dorian turned those soft expressions toward him. Oh, they were dangerous. So incredibly dangerous. But he couldn't muster the energy to care. Fenris liked that he could feel safe here with the mage, even if his past crept up and tried to ruin it all with whispered words in voices he desperately wished he could forget. For all the memories that slipped through his fingers, many terrible ones remained, stubborn and persistent. But Dorian chased them away. Dorian always chased them away. He felt so relieved in the wake of that, sliding his hand back down so that he could wrap both arms around the mage again, one hand resting at the top of his spine protectively.

Never had Fenris expected to be anyone's heart or soul, and the words made him swallow hard, so many emotions swirling inside him like a maelstrom. Then a quiet little breath escaped him when he felt those lips against his neck. "Dorian," he rumbled, a warning in his tone despite the fondness. He liked these attentions very much, but any more of that in particular and he'd be forced to untangle himself from the mage for a bit. That would be fine, if it became necessary. He wouldn't venture far, and he'd only need a few minutes and very sobering thoughts to will away his arousal. (Of those, he had plenty. There were certain other mages he could think of that would inspire nothing but chastity.)

Though they clouded his vision and mind, those nightmares, they hadn’t been strong enough to eclipse Fenris’s presence. The protective way he held Dorian, the soft-spoken words, the solidity of him. Not one of those nightmares, however powerful, however small they made the mage feel, had been able to take any of that away from him, that almost blinding light that drew him back from the ledge.

Dorian believed he possessed control over himself too, a strict self-discipline, but it was helpless in his moment, worn down by the events of his capture and this desperate want to touch and be held and to stay here, in this brilliant world that only contained the two of them. Everything was the delicate heat at the tips of Fenris’s ears and his soft inhale and the way his lips parted. And oh, the way he looked at Dorian, with those brilliant eyes and the mage wondered what he thought about as he kept his gazed fixed on him, if it was anything like what Dorian thought as he looked back. Over and over, swirling thoughts of how deeply he loved him collided with countless little things, how he had never known a colour to be so vibrant as he the colour of Fenris’s eyes, or something to be as soft as a lock of his hair. But also how he had never known a tenderness in how close Fenris held him, or a sweetness in a voice when he spoke to him. All this thoughts were scattered like flower petals on the wind as he felt that touch to his jaw and down his neck, slow and delicate.

If Dorian knew just how much he helped Fenris in chasing away his daemons too, his heart could have burst. He had hoped to have some power over the darkness that tried to pull Fenris down with claws and fangs, that he could banish them, even if only for a little while. With all his strength, Dorian would help protect him, this man that he loved beyond what words could express, for as long as he stood by his side. Forever, he hoped. Held so dearly, Fenris’s arms both wrapped around him, Dorian gave himself over to that hope completely.

Struggling for a moment to breathe, Dorian felt that rumbling utterance of his name in his chest, in his soul, and glowing embers sparked to life inside of him. He took the warning for what it was, though, with a quiet huff of laughter as he shifted a little and removing the temptation to continue to kiss the column of his neck. “Fenris,” he whispered back, full of love and a hint of a sheepish apology. Dorian carded his hand through Fenris’s hair again, more and more of the locks having come loose from the braid, as he held his gaze. It was less searching and more just an open admiration of the man in front of him, his soulmate.

In the quiet moments, when Dorian was sleeping soundly and all was still, those voices crept up on him. Her voice. Because for all the time Fenris spent at Danarius' side, it was Hadriana who spoke to him directly and most frequently, delighting in his discomfort and imagining new ways to torture him. She spoke to him at night in her grating voice, whispering that he was less than nothing, a pet better suited to the floor than anyone's bed. It took every ounce of his strength not to react, the tension in his body the only indication that he was distressed at all.

Dorian's steady breathing helped. He could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest, and he tried to match that gentle motion, slowly coming back to himself with each slow inhale and exhale. Pushing her toothy grin from his mind, Fenris replaced the image with the way Dorian had looked at him when he asked him to stay. How could he be nothing when someone so wonderful looked at him like that? It filled him with a warmth so powerful he began to relax in earnest, relieved tears pricking at the corner of his eyes. He'd never felt more hopeful of their future together than in that moment.

He wondered, too, what Dorian was thinking when he looked at him now, wide awake and seemingly content to trade soft touches and softer looks. It was a strange thing to be admired. Fenris wasn't used to it, but then, neither, it seemed, was Dorian. They were stumbling through this together, guided by the warmth of their feelings for each other. He thought of his discussion with Prompto then, and how he'd said All time did was make it stronger. Fenris felt that now with certainty, resting his palm against the side of Dorian's neck, mesmerized by the steady heartbeat he could feel beneath his fingers. They were playing with fire. He knew that. But he couldn't resist with the mage exploring him in return, not when they finally had a chance to spend time together like this.

They couldn't seem to stop gazing at each other. It made Fenris smile, which tugged into a smirk at Dorian's half-apology. "You are very tempting," he said, the words rough, but still gentle. He was teasing, in no way pressuring the mage to do anything other than exist however it suited him. If anything, Fenris felt jittery with happiness, a bright, bubbly feeling that eclipsed the heat lingering behind from those kisses. And the way his name was spoken. He desperately conjured up an image of Anders in his head, the sneer that always curled his mouth whenever he saw Fenris, and that took care of that.

He winced. Perhaps too good of an image.

Eyes fixated on Fenris, Dorian could not, even in his own head, truthfully define all the thoughts in his head as he looked at him. Love, it seemed, was an entirely confusing thing but Dorian found that for once, not having all the answers or the perfect summarization of something wasn’t such a bad thing. That indefinable quality, the aetherialness of it, warm and all encompassing… Dorian was content just to be swept away by this, by the gentle way that Fenris touched him, and the beauty of his smile, the sound of his voice, and the depth of this love that the felt for him.

That was what he was thinking as he gently followed the planes of Fenris’s face, the cut of his cheekbones, the line of his nose, the fullness of his lips. And though his mind was nearly eclipsed by this slow exploration, he was suddenly more aware of the hand on his neck and his heartbeat thundered louder, beat harder, as if it wanted to be felt. This was very much playing with fire and yet Dorian had no fear of being burned.

Dorian felt that smirk tug at his heart, his chest tightening just a little, and he so desperately wanted to try to kiss that look off of his face. “You are too, my heart,” Dorian almost purred in return and he stroked Fenris’s lower lip with the pad of his thumb gently.

Catching that wince, Dorian returned his hand to Fenris’s hair, twisting a lock around his finger. “Too much?” There was no judgement in his tone, no disappointment. All that was there was love and a desire to make sure that Fenris always felt comfortable and if that meant going slow, Dorian would do just that. All he really wanted was to be here, held close like this. Everything else could wait. This feeling of love, of safety? It was everything.

Fenris really liked expressing himself with his hands. He spoke with them when he felt distracted and, usually, excited; and he made food with them, working breads into loaves a particularly favored pastime; and he even plucked out notes on the lute that he'd learned by ear, eager to make new things—nice things—with them. Perhaps it was unusual for a warrior, but Fenris' hands were also incredibly sensitive. He had no calluses to speak of because he'd always worn gloves while working. In fact, he always wore gloves full stop. It provided an extra layer between himself and other people, a barrier Fenris could establish to maintain his distance.

All of that flew out the window with Dorian. It made him shiver to feel skin beneath his bare fingers, a simple act that felt so intensely sensual for him. Fenris had hesitated before he removed his gloves the night before, but he was reaping the benefits of that small act of bravery now. To feel the mage's steady, if slightly elevated heartbeat against the warm curve of his palm was unlike anything he'd ever experienced, and Fenris gently slid his thumb against Dorian's pulse, absently.

His own heart was beating in time with the one under his fingers, made faster at the My heart and that gentle touch gliding against his bottom lip. Fenris kissed Dorian's thumb, resisting the urge to nip. Self-control. He could do this. Lounging in the very comfortable bed of a very gorgeous man who looked at him like he was something to be treasured was the stuff of fantasies, but Fenris was committed wholeheartedly to Dorian's recovery. His comfort level eclipsed all other concerns, and if he had to think of the dirty genocidal mage to ensure that, he would.

Except now he had to explain it. Fenris shifted a bit, blushing. "No," he replied, a little stiffly. "I thought of someone unpleasant to ... regain my senses. It was more effective than I anticipated." He returned his wandering hand to cradle Dorian's back again, a soft look returning to his eyes. "You are safe here with me. I promise."

Never had Dorian expected that something so simple as a gentle touch would undo him like it did, but he realized, too, that it was just different with Fenris. The softness of Fenris’s hands and the way he moved them was unlike how anyone else in his entire life had touched him. There was a kindness in the way Fenris explored him with his hands, and a love. So much so that Dorian was amazed, mesmerized by him.

He was thankful, too, that Fenris had taken his gloves off because the warmth of his skin against Dorian’s had been one of the strongest comforts as the mage struggled to overcome the nightmares that tried to keep him buried in the dark. Now, awake, it just sparked a gentle heat under his skin, one that kept him here and left him with soft imaginings of what their future together could hold. The slow movement of Fenris’s thumb over his pulse only made his heart strain more, wanting that future more than he could put into words.

Feeling that kiss against the pad of his thumb, a shiver danced along Dorian’s spine and his lips parted as his gaze remained fixated on Fenris so intensely. Holding on to his wits was becoming more difficult with each little thing like this, the intimacy of it all. If he wasn’t so afraid of losing that control so soon after everything that had happened, he would have willingly given it all up for Fenris. Without question, Dorian trusted him so deeply, but right now, Dorian didn’t trust himself.

Still, when Fenris moved, Dorian moved with him as if they were one body just like they were already one soul. “Should I endeavour to behave, would you be able to think only of me?” This delicate but powerful little thrum of possessiveness took Dorian a little by surprise and for the first time in a long time, Dorian blushed with an apology in the way he moved his hands through Fenris’s hair. “I know I am safe here, Fenris.” That was something he knew with everything that he was.

There was something incredibly heady about the fact that they weren't giving in to each other quite yet. Fenris only knew fast, desperate, fleeting—this was an altogether new experience, just like everything else that had to do with Dorian. He liked that. It was fun, and he couldn't help the slow, satisfied smile against the tip of that finger. The way Dorian's gaze shifted, darkening like a stormy sky, was utterly riveting, and the way he felt the mage's shiver run through him only made this all the more enticing. Fenris kissed that thumb again with more purpose, then he shifted to kiss each one of Dorian's fingers, watching the mage's face carefully. If he saw any flicker of discomfort or uncertainty, he would stop immediately.

His heart was pounding wildly when Dorian spoke next. Fenris was distantly aware of the fact that his breathing had stopped briefly while he processed this information. "You don't have to behave for that," was what he said before he could filter himself, low and husky, and he swallowed hard. This was edging closer and closer to something he'd tried to keep hidden, but if Dorian felt the same ... Fenris exhaled quietly and closed his eyes for a moment, letting the comforting sensation of those fingers in his hair relax him. I know I am safe here warmed him all the way through, and he blinked his eyes open to focus on Dorian again, a renewed determination in his gaze.

"I am yours," he murmured quietly, highly aware of the use of that word and what it meant, given his history. But he wanted to be possessed by Dorian. Fenris made that choice freely for himself and no one else. It was the next part that he feared might be too much. "Sharing you with anyone would be ... difficult for me." Just the thought of it was like fire burning in his chest, but he breathed through it, forcing air into his lungs. This was important. He needed to be honest with Dorian if they had any hope of building a future together. More than anything, he wanted that. "I am ruined for anyone else. I wish to devote myself to you, Dorian. To protect and care for you as long as I live. If ... that is what you wish as well."

It was difficult, not retreating every time he opened his heart. Fenris struggled with that now, a hesitance creeping back into his eyes even though he fought it. This was what he wanted, and there was a fire in his gaze because of it. That intensity hasn't diminished in the least. How could it? Dorian was here, and they were speaking of their love for each other.

Waiting and patience had never been things Dorian had been known for, and especially not in situations that involved sharing a bed in the more figurative sense. Rough and emotionless, sating a primal need and then parting ways forever. This was something else, it was fulfilling more than just that fundamental desire to be close to someone and be touched, it was mending his heart and his soul and then filling both of them up with these feelings of love. Once again, Fenris was overwriting everything inside him, slowly, with each touch and smile and word.

Dorian’s heartbeat quickened as Fenris kissed his thumb and then turned to give the same attention to the rest of his fingers. It was certainly edging closer and closer to that precipice and Dorian was so willing to be pull there, even if he was worried what waited for him at the end of that fall. More than anything, he was just afraid of the panic gripping him if he let go completely and if he lashed out, half-blinded by fear, and hurt Fenris, he would never forgive himself.

“Perhaps I should, either way.” With a deep breath, Dorian tried to keep himself calm even as the sound of Fenris’s voice worked him up just a hairsbreadth more. There was a shift in the air around them that Dorian noticed. It was in the way Fenris’s eyes closed and in the way they fluttered back open, in the way he looked at him and the sound of his voice. Dorian was holding his breath too, though more because it felt caught in his throat, and he was pinned by that gaze.

It was not lost on him, Fenris’s choice of words. That he said it that way, with all the meanings of those words coming together, was a tremendous thing. And then Fenris continued and Dorian found himself hanging on each word, waiting so impatiently for the next one as if they were the only things keeping him afloat and, perhaps, they were. Tenderly, Dorian combed his fingers through Fenris’s hair, not paying much mind to the fact he was only undoing his braids from the night before. Resting his palm against Fenris’s cheek, Dorian brushed his thumb across his cheekbone as he regarded him for a moment, a softness in his pale eyes that they had never really known before, lit by a fire inside of him.

“And I am yours.” Dorian had never given himself to anyone else, but he willingly and completely had given himself to Fenris, to this man who possessed his heart and his soul, held them in his hands and at his mercy. It was…. almost liberating. “I don’t want to be shared. And I don’t want to share you with anyone else.” No, there was no way, not with how demanding this love inside of him was and how utterly devoted he was. The quiet promise of a future together, too, made Dorian selfish. “I do,” Dorian replied, voice breathy and trembling. “I wish to stay with you for as long as I live, Fenris. Everything I am, I will give to care for you, love you, shield you, until my heart has beat its last.”

If Fenris was worried about going too far, Dorian hoped his meeting him there quelled that fear. As that hesitance started to bleed into those green eyes, Dorian’s pale ones only grew more certain. The fire in him was fed by the intensity that still held fast in Fenris’s expression too. “I love you,” he whispered again, leaning in to gently, tenderly kiss him.

It didn't take exceptional observation skills to tell neither of them had very much experience with healthy romantic relationships. Fenris didn't dare assume anything about Dorian's past; rather, he quietly noted their shared behaviors, careful not to push past any boundaries unless specifically asked to. He'd remained in Dorian's apartment and crawled into Dorian's bed because he was invited there, just as Dorian had waited for Fenris to initiate touch that first night they met, and again the second night, when he'd felt compelled to lean against him. They were respectful of each other, and such a wonderful thing was more precious to Fenris than he could possibly say. It made him feel like maybe, just maybe, this might actually work between them.

Fenris watched the mage through half-lidded eyes as he pressed one final kiss to Dorian's knuckles, gentle and reverent. "Do whatever pleases you," he answered, resting his head back against the pillow again with a little sigh. "You are perfect as you are." He was as relaxed as a cat lounging in a patch of sun, so perfectly content he certainly would have started purring if he actually could. Heat still thrummed just underneath the surface, but it was easily ignored in favor of admiring the incredible man above him. Fenris wasn't simply attracted to Dorian's appearance, breathtakingly beautiful as he was. He was also attracted to his clever sense of humor, his sharp mind, his desire for knowledge and learning, and his seemingly endless capacity for kindness. All of those things and more were why Fenris loved him.

That Dorian could feel the same—it was still difficult to fully accept, but easier when the mage looked at him as if he were hanging upon Fenris' every word. Being the sole focus of those soft, pale eyes was captivating in a way he'd never known before. And when he felt those skilled fingers return to his hair, Fenris leaned into the contact, greedy for it, making no effort to hide that fact now. What would be the point? And with them declaring their love for each other now, confessing that they wanted a future together—it was too much, and yet, it was perfect. His heart soared. There was so much longing in his gaze, but relief, too, and amazement, his arms squeezing Dorian just a tad possessively.

Then Fenris inhaled sharply at that last declaration, his exhale caught in the kiss that followed. It was so tender, so loving, that he lost himself in their gentle press of lips, dizzy with how it felt to kiss someone he loved more than life itself. It was staggering. There was so much more to kissing when it was with someone this special, and he could easily lose himself in it. He did, actually—a soft noise escaping him before he could stop himself. That's when Fenris eased back to gently nuzzle their noses together and catch his breath. He reached up to run his fingers through Dorian's hair, too, fussing a bit. "I am yours, and you are mine," he murmured quietly in Tevene.

Using the word relationship to describe any of Dorian’s past encounters would have been generous at best, and to call them romantic at all would have been a delusion. That had been how he had wanted it back then, something quick, transient, and with no strings attached. There were no feelings involved, just bruising touches and teeth and desperation and then it was over. But that didn’t have a place here. This was something precious, something Dorian wanted to touch without breaking it with soft hands and warmth and love. And he could feel something similar in Fenris, past experiences that needed to be unlearned, but that was what they were doing now. Dorian opened himself up, reached out for Fenris while waiting for him to reach out in turn and they met in the middle, cautious and respectful and it was a beautiful thing.

How many times had someone called him perfect? For the briefest of moments, Dorian tried to remember each one but found none that he couldn’t hear in Fenris’s voice. There had always been a piece of him that was wrong, some part that needed to be fixed or corrected or removed. Dorian had never been perfect to anyone, but he was perfect to Fenris, to the man he loved, and it made his heart hurt in such a pleasant way. It was a yearning and this overpowering feeling of finding a place he belonged and Dorian never wanted to let it go. Shifting closer, Dorian rested his head on the pillow next to Fenris. “I feel the same way about you.” Because Fenris was perfect to Dorian. His strength, his conviction, that wit of his, the softness behind his eyes… Even if Dorian sat for days on end, thinking of all the things he loved about Fenris, he would still need more time.

The possessiveness in the way Fenris held him was comforting because it made him feel wanted but also safe, protected from himself and his past and anything else that could try to hurt him. His heart was unguarded and his soul was in his eyes as he looked at Fenris. There was no reason to hide the way he felt so he didn’t. Still gently combing his fingers through Fenris’s hair, Dorian smiled.

Kissing Fenris felt so much like learning to control lightning, the way it moved under his skin, crackling and hot and powerful, but this wasn’t daunting or terrifying. It made him feel weightless. Dorian felt that quiet sound in his chest where it burrowed into his heart and it took root and bloomed when Fenris’s hand was in his hair and he spoke to him again. “Always,” Dorian replied, just as quietly.

Cautious was indeed a good word to describe how Fenris felt about all this; cautiously hopeful for something he'd thought he had once when he didn't have it at all. It disgusted him to think of it now. How he'd trailed after Danarius for years, doe-eyed and naïve, so certain that true love was conditional, and that he was lucky to have whatever scraps were handed to him. It took years to untangle that from the broken fragments of his memories, and longer still to realize it hadn't been his fault. That was much of the reason why Fenris clung to Dorian now, terrified to lose him but loathe to make him feel cornered or controlled. What was the balance? Where was the line meant to be drawn?

Perhaps, with more time and patience, they would discover those things together. Fenris knew without any lingering doubt that this was love. It had to be. The feeling burned inside him like a persistent ache, but it was also comforting, too. Enthralling. He watched with great interest as a complex set of emotions flashed across Dorian's face, finding himself trying to identify each one not because he was wary, but because he yearned to know everything about this man. Fenris was utterly fascinated, so much so that he almost missed Dorian's murmured words to him.

His heart stopped. Everything stopped.

And then he was moving again, shifting closer so that he could press into the mage and kiss him breathless. He was half-aware of the noise he'd made, but it was lost in the heat of Dorian's mouth, and that was just fine with him. Still, Fenris was careful not to allow this fire to catch too quickly. It would have been easy, giving in—Dorian was so warm, and so responsive, and his heart soared with the knowledge that he loved him without strings. But he slowed the kiss after a moment or two, realizing through the haze that he'd reached up to gently cradle the mage's neck. Probably a good idea to stop.

Drawing back a little, Fenris was treated to another unguarded look from Dorian. It made him smile, warm and amused. "That look of yours will be my undoing," he murmured, his easy tone suggesting he was perfectly fine with that. How could he not be? Dorian was offering him a rare, priceless gift, and he would treasure it for as long as they had this together. Fenris' heart whispered that something would try to steal this happiness from him, but for once, it was easily ignored in favor of their gentle exploration.

Those fingers returning to his hair made Fenris sigh heavily again, half-lidded eyes continuing to peer at Dorian from across the pillow. There was little space between them now, their legs tangled at some point, and that suited him very well indeed. "I miss the smell of the sea," he said after a long moment, absently running his fingers along the mage's side. It was a passing thought, something tied up in many places he'd visited and not just Tevinter. Kirkwall had smelled strongly of it, too, clinging to everything and everyone as if they'd sprung up from the water themselves. Whether Dorian shared the sentiment or he simply wished to continue resting, Fenris didn't mind. He felt comfortable here. Content.

Before the world had made him jaded, there had been times Dorian had thought he’d been in love but he had only been a child and all of those feelings had been torn apart unceremoniously and with immense cruelty and it spoiled the idea of love for him. Love had turned into a fairy tale, a myth. Something written about that wasn’t real, or maybe had been once but no longer. At first, that had stung like an open wound, but eventually it became scarred and calloused and Dorian didn’t feel anything at all. In time, Dorian had given up on the concept of love, of deep connections, until now. That broken child in him, the one who had believed in love, desperately wanted to hold fast to Fenris, to keep him close, because this was everything he had wanted when he was young and not so disillusioned. But Dorian didn’t want Fenris to feel like a caged bird either, wings clipped.

There would be moments when he stumbled and his lack of experience would show, but Dorian was committed to this and that gave him the confidence to push forward even though he was uncertain. That confidence, and the love that he felt, even if it felt like a smouldering fire inside of him, at once too hot and soothing.

His breath caught in his throat as Fenris moved and it remained stuck there until Fenris kissed him. Still, he couldn’t catch his breath but that was alright as he gave in, his hand sliding down Fenris’s neck, over his shoulder, where he held tightly. He leaned into him too, the solidity of him pressed against Dorian’s body making that fire inside of him burn hotter but also keeping him grounded. Despite a pang of longing in his chest, Dorian was thankful that Fenris had the control to slow down and the mage smiled ever so slightly against his lips, amused and thankful at the same time.

“Will it now?” His tone was coy and teasing, but also affectionate. “That smile of yours will be mine,” Dorian offered then, as if to level the field. Each one of those smiles was special, especially because Dorian knew how rare they were, and he would never take one of them for granted but instead treasure them forever.

It was calming, laying this close to someone with no expectation for anything other than to bask in each other’s company and this love they shared. As Fenris talked of the sea, Dorian tried to remember the sound of it as well as the smell. Traveling by water always turned his stomach, but there was something soothing about the sound of it. It reminded him of summers away as a child, away from the city, away from his parents, away from expectations. “I miss the sound of the waves more.” Curling in just a little, Dorian shifted to be closer to Fenris as he spoke.

For what little time they'd spent together in the grand scheme of things, Fenris was beginning to feel more and more assured that their pasts wouldn't ruin this precious, wonderful thing between them. Not if they continued respecting each other, and certainly not if they proceeded at this pace—slow, steady, and simmering with a delicate heat. There was passion inside Fenris to be sure, something he knew would feel very intense if he gave into it and allowed it a place to catch fire, but he liked the fact that Dorian seemed to be interested in simply spending time with him first. It made him swallow hard against a sudden lump in his throat, so unfamiliar with being treated with such respect and care by ... anyone, really. He wanted to express the same sentiment to his partner in every sense of the word, and oh, did it feel so thrilling to think that about Dorian.

As if on cue, a single dark eyebrow rose when Fenris heard his smile was apparently that compelling. It seemed a strange thing, but then, he couldn't quite stop the butterflies in his stomach, or the clear amusement and fondness on his face. "You offer me your weaknesses freely," he teased, reaching up to gently card his fingers through Dorian's hair again, brushing silk strands away from his face. It said nothing of the fact that he did the same, of course. That was the whole point of this light-hearted banter between them, and it warmed him all the way through to play around like this—no pressure, no expectations. Just them.

Then Fenris hummed, a low, soft noise in agreement at Dorian's comment. The sounds of the ocean were indeed soothing; waves crashing against a rocky shore, the cry of seagulls overhead. Fenris closed his eyes and wrapped his arms securely around Dorian when he felt the mage shift closer, gently nuzzling his forehead. "I used to sit on the docks in Kirkwall sometimes," he murmured, surprised that he was sharing this information. It was meaningless, really. Nothing particularly fascinating. But the quiet intimacy of this moment compelled him to share.

"It wasn't far from Varric's tavern, and Hawke used to live close. At first it was just convenient, but then ..." He huffed. "I liked the noise. Docks are loud, and full of busy people. I suppose there's some irony there. Slaves built it, but I—kept going back." He didn't expect Dorian to say anything; in fact, he half-expected him to have fallen back to sleep already, which would have been fine. Fenris hoped he might be relaxed enough for it, and was careful not to move just in case his mage was resting again.

However short it might have been, the span of time between the moment they formally met and now, it almost felt to Dorian like a lifetime. Time was irrelevant here, in these moments they shared where Dorian could finally be free of his past and he could look forward to the future without being afraid or empty-hearted. And then Fenris would touch him and time would stop, and nothing mattered but the fire he slowly built up under Dorian’s skin, its warmth spreading through him slowly but with determination to claim everything. It was calm now, but it could easily turn into an inferno if Dorian let it, but this… this was all he wanted. This slow burn.

For now, it was more than enough to just be with Fenris like this, held close, safe and protected. And he wanted to do the same for him, for this man he loved. Dorian wanted Fenris to felt safe with him and just as happy as Dorian did every moment they were together.

Reaching out, Dorian gently ran his fingers over the arch of his brow, tracing the curve of it as a warm smile pulled at his lips. A smile that twisted into a little smirk at Fenris’s words and Dorian leaned in close before he replied. “An invitation to use it against me.” Softly following the line of Fenris’s jaw with the faintest touch, Dorian’s pale eyes lifted to hold Fenris’s emerald ones in their gaze. “Just like how I will use yours against you,”

Dorian felt that hum in his chest with how close they were pressed together and it was comforting. Just as Fenris’s arms encircling him was comforting, and Dorian’s eyes closed as he settled against him, just listening to his breathing and to the sound of his voice. As if already half-dreaming, Dorian could hear the gentle waves lapping at shore, and the wind dancing between the blades of tall grass. There was a new sound here though, one that was somehow just as familiar as this old childhood memory and just as soothing. It was the sound of Fenris’s voice.

The mage was certainly drifting away, carried by the warmth of those arms around him and the gentle tones of his voice. Dorian found himself trying to picture this memory of Fenris’s, this busy pier and the tumultuous waves that rattled the rocky shoals around Kirkwall, old and weather-beaten ships creaking as they rocked back and forth. It was different to the quiet way Dorian knew the sea, but no less beautiful. Different, but the same. Just like the two of them.

It was that thought that lingered in Dorian’s mind as he fell asleep again.

That soft touch along his brow left heat in its wake, at once sharp and pleasant, and it only burned brighter when Dorian smirked. Part of Fenris was curious about whether this was what it felt like to wield fire, but those thoughts were fleeting. All his focus—and his breath—was stolen away the moment Dorian shifted closer. Still, it made him smirk in return, slow and satisfied. "You make defeat sound very sweet," Fenris commented idly, trailing the tips of his fingers along Dorian's spine, back and forth, back and forth. "Clever."

Perhaps to anyone else, their words could be easily misconstrued. They talked of possession and exploiting weaknesses as easily as they discussed their shared love of the sea, but Fenris felt nothing but respected by Dorian. Treasured, even. And that was a wonderful, delicate thing, something that didn't make him feel trapped or manipulated. He was free to be with Dorian because he chose to, and he'd never experienced anything close to that before. Even in Kirkwall, where he'd spent the most time and formed actual friendships, he'd still felt uneasy, bracing himself for when he inevitably would have to leave. It was nothing like that here, and he exhaled softly, relief and gratitude washing over him like warm, rolling waves along the shore.

Fenris felt it the moment Dorian drifted to sleep, his body relaxing and breath deepening, and he smiled softly to himself. There was nothing more humbling than being trusted so implicitly like this, or that his embrace could offer a place of quiet shelter and safety for someone so special. It made him swallow hard, suddenly overwhelmed by his love for Dorian. He didn't know what the future would bring, but he knew he was eager to see it so long as they were together.

Cradling the mage gently, Fenris pressed a soft kiss to the top of his head and closed his eyes. He didn't sleep, but he allowed the warmth of being tangled up with Dorian to carry him back to that noisy dock filled with heavy crates being moved and shouts of welcome at approaching ships. Finally, he felt at peace. Finally, Fenris was home.