iix. closed.

[liberalum]

WHO: Dorian Pavus and Iron Bull
WHAT: After some time away, Dorian arranges a nice fucking romantic evening in, in which nothing goes wrong!!
WHEN: Late Wintermarch.
WHERE: Skyhold, Iron Bull's room.
NOTES: None yet!

[ As soon as he's done, Dorian realises the dreadful mistake he's made.

It's too-- something. Perhaps each individual element would be fine, innocuous even, on their own, but altogether -- the new bedsheets and drapery he'd ordered in Halamshiral, the candle sticks which smell far too strongly of vanilla (now that he's lit four of the fucking things), the wine, the book he'd bought on a whim that he suspected Iron Bull might like, the dainty array of summery fruits and cheeses to see them through the bleakness of winter-- what was he thinking? It's just too--

Something.

Exasperated, Dorian puts out all four candles, lights one again, then two when it looks suggestive, stashes the other unused two into a drawer, then eyes the bedsheets before allowing them to stay, but the window dressings he'd bought out of a desperate desire to do something about the draft should definitely come down. They're meant to drink and then fuck each other until staying the night seems like a health and safety measure, at what point does interior decoration come into that? But first, the food can go, and without yet knowing exactly what to do with it, Dorian lifts the small platter, the edge of which catches on the edge of the candleholder.

The candle tips, the flame catching the edge of the Orlesian drapery. ]

Fucking--

[ Dorian sets the tray down with a slam and waves his hand to extinguish the flames with a gust of ice magic, but not before the smell of burning silk has mingled something hideous with the vanilla still lingering in the air. And several dates have bounced their way onto the floor, and so by the time Iron Bull does arrive, Dorian is already on his hands and knees. Ha ha. (He thought he had more time.)

(He did not.) ]

Comments

[qunari]

[ Bull simply chuckles against the crease of his mouth. ]

What? Massage isn't civilized?

[ And as if to make his point, those massive hands crept up Dorian's back to knead at his shoulders in slow, rolling motions. Just steadily working down the graceful curve of his back, not with any real goal in mind, but...

This was nice. Easy. They deserved easy every once in a while, the way things tended to go around here. ]