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The knock came as Dorian was painting the last stripe of a rainbow flag on his cheek. His hand jerked, and the red streaked at an angle across his face. “Vishante kaffas!” he muttered, then raised his voice to be heard over the music he was streaming. “Who is it?”
The door creaked open, and the voice that followed was low, just audible over a guitar solo. “Dorian…”
“No, that would be my name!” he quipped before he had quite registered just whose voice that was. He spun on his heel.
The sight of Halward Pavus standing in his dorm room, dressed “down” in chinos and a button-down shirt, felt like a punch to the stomach. Dorian had to stop himself from physically doubling over. “What are you doing here?”
“Checking in on my only son, who didn’t come home for Satinalia or for his summer break.”
“Has it occurred to you that I have a very good reason not to go h… not to go back to Qarinus?” Dorian turned back to his mirror, grabbed a tissue from his dresser, and tried to remove the red streak from his cheek.
“You will look at me when we are conversing,” Halward said.
“That’s rich, lecturing me on courtesy when you’ve arrived in my home without an invitation or so much as a phone call.”
“I am your father.”
Dorian scoffed. “As if you think that carries any weight after what you tried to do to me.” The red was not coming off his cheek. He needed water, possibly soap. “I’m going down the hall to fix the fuck-up you caused on my face,” he announced. It sounded more like an invitation than he intended, but he gathered up his makeup kit anyway and stalked past his father and out the door.
“What in the Maker’s name are you wearing?” Halward exclaimed when Dorian’s back was turned.
“It’s called Pride,” Dorian said, marching down the hall without turning. “Something you used to have in me, once upon a time. Something I’m learning to have in myself.”
“You have so much to be proud of - your name, your family, your skill and intellect - and this is what you choose to take pride in? Your… deviance?”
Dorian kept his head high, but internally part of him crumpled. He was glad his back was still turned to his father, because he knew he wasn’t keeping the pain and disappointment off his face. He took a deep breath and forced his face to relax as he pushed open the bathroom door and nudged the doorstop into place with his foot. He needed the promise of a quick escape route, the knowledge that anyone walking down the hallway could see and hear them if something went wrong.
“I take pride in who I am,” Dorian said quietly to the bathroom mirror, but he sounded unconvincing even to himself.
“You take pride in defying me and soiling the family name,” Halward said. There was a moment of silence while Dorian wet a washcloth and began wiping off the red mark. “What does the flag on your face mean? I saw rainbows on everything when I was walking up from the parking lot.”
“The same thing as my jacket,” Dorian said, “Gay Pride. You couldn’t have picked a more apropos weekend to turn up and try to shame me into carrying on the family name.”
Halward was quivering with fury, and Dorian could see it in the mirror. He turned to face his father; he couldn’t have his back turned - even with the mirror there - if his father was this angry. The last time he’d turned his back on an angry Halward, he’d wound up locked in his chambers with a black eye he didn’t remember receiving, and two weeks later he’d heard about the plans for the blood ritual.
When Halward spoke it was low and seething. “Clearly I should have come for you sooner. These southerners display their aberrations like marks of honor. I should never have allowed you to remain in such an environment. It encourages the worst in you.”
This conversation was starting to shift from uncomfortable to potentially dangerous, and Dorian needed out. Then he realized the error he’d made: his father was between him and the exit. Forgetting his kit on the counter, he sidled around Halward and began backing toward the door.
Halward followed him toward the door, his voice growing louder. “You disgust me, putting your own base pleasures above your family’s legacy. And then you come here, where apparently every student in this third-rate university shares your deviance. You are coming home with me today, young man, and you will fall in line.”
Dorian took the last step back into the hallway and collided with something - or someone. He turned as he fell, trying to get his bearings, but then the someone caught him. His awkward turn had him laying in the someone’s arms, and he realized he knew the person: Cullen Rutherford, who lived two doors down, Cullen Rutherford who had an infuriatingly distracting habit of walking shirtless back to his room from the shower just as Dorian was stumbling toward the bathroom in the morning. Their faces were only inches apart, a lock of tousled blond hair nearly brushing Dorian’s forehead. Cullen winked conspiratorially and then leaned his face closer and - Maker - pressed his lips to Dorian’s.
His heart was racing, and he couldn’t tell how much of that was from the argument with his father, how much from nearly falling, how much from the kiss. Cullen smelled of coffee and hair gel, and his lips, though chapped, were just about the gentlest thing Dorian had ever felt. Then, all too soon, it was over, and Cullen was pulling him back to his feet.
They were surrounded now by people with blond, curly hair, chattering away as if nothing had happened. Or perhaps they were talking about the kiss - they seemed to be speaking Fereldan rather than Orlesian or Trade. Dorian could just see Halward standing a little way down the hall looking dumbstruck. Cullen leaned down, close to his ear, and whispered, “C’mon, let’s get you out of here.”
Cullen’s hand rested gently on the small of Dorian’s back as they trooped down the hallway with the rest of the Rutherfords. By the time they reached the staircase at the end of the hall, Dorian’s heart was no longer racing and he was starting to feel steady again.
The chatter in Fereldan continued as they descended the two flights to the ground floor, Cullen joining in occasionally. His hand never moved from Dorian’s back, as if he was trying to reassure Dorian with that little touch. It seemed to be working.
At the base of the staircase, they flocked out the door. The sun was bright and warm, promising a hot afternoon. Dorian turned to Cullen. “You know, that’s not going to hold him off for long.”
Cullen sighed. “I hadn’t dared hope it would. Which is why the next thing we’re doing is calling campus security. Did you let him into the building?”
“Oh. No. I don’t know how he got in.” Dorian realized he hadn’t even thought of it, as distracted as he was by his father’s sudden appearance, but the dorms were keycard access only.
Cullen pulled his phone from his pocket. “That’s reason enough to report to security, not to mention the fact that he was harassing you.”
Cullen made the call to security, and, after some back-and-forth, the security office agreed to have one Halward Pavus removed from the premises.
“Now that’s done,” said Cullen, slipping his phone back into a pocket, “how are you feeling?”
“Much better, thanks to my own personal knight in shining armor,” Dorian replied, stepping forward and placing a hand on Cullen’s chest, fingertips just brushing his throat.
Cullen blushed and rubbed the back of his neck, not making eye contact. “I’m not usually so… er… forward… I just… er…”
“That had better not be an apology.”
“Oh.”
Cullen finally met his eyes, and Dorian’s breath caught in his throat. He missed a beat, then said, “Perhaps I should need rescuing more often.”
“Or maybe we shouldn’t need a rescue to…” Cullen trailed off. Dorian wasn’t entirely sure which of them initiated the kiss this time - maybe it was both of them. Cullen’s hand found the small of his back again and pulled him in closer, while Dorian’s hand crept up to cup the back of Cullen’s neck. Dorian’s palms tingled when Cullen flicked his tongue along Dorian’s lower lip. He parted his lips, eager for more.
Dorian barely registered the commotion from the tow-headed crowd a few steps away on the sidewalk. “Rosie, stop staring!” said a firm female voice. “We can start walking to the parade; they’ll catch up.”
Dorian felt Cullen’s lips turn up into a smile at that, but they just went on kissing. Pride could wait. Or perhaps Pride was exactly where they were.