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The recently made Magister is so thankful to be out of that blighted meaning. He and Mae were trying to recruit more Magisters and had even been approaching members of the Publicanum to join the Lucerni through a fun night of wisp darts, fine wine, and political conversation. It was dreadful.
While the Publicanum members were more open to their words of rousing reform filtered through delicate and refined tongues, a lot of the Magisterium members did not buy their plans. Most of the Altus class enjoy their lives, abuses and all, and see no point in changing things, and frankly, it’s disheartening. If he has been made to feel like a wide-eyed idealist of an upstart at every meeting he might as well give up. He knows reform will not be easy, but Maker it is hard.
Mae is so practiced at it, has been for years and he feels like a fish out of water. He used to know what he was doing those few years as House Pavus’ well-heeled scion, but apparently, all knowledge of that period has fled him. He quite liked his little mantle of being the social pariah, but it becomes a nightmare when it affects you personally.
Trying to rebuild his reputation and not make a fool out of his House had been a trial, one that his mother would not lay off about. Thankfully, she has elected to stay at the Qarinus estate and only slanders him in her letters, especially those about him still needing a wife.
He sighs as he walks down the stairs from the hole-in-the-wall coffee house they had elected to meet at with some of the Laetans and the young Altus Magisters who thought it apt to slum it. He is thrilled to know that tomorrow he has more meetings, lobbying, and even a Senate Hearing to attend. The thrills of bureaucracy.
Matthieu is supposed to visit this week, something about feeling raggedly depressed. When they talked this morning via the sending crystals, he was particularly curious about his plans for the day, which leads Dorian to believe he would be there when he gets home or on the morrow. It would do them both some good to see one another again, he dearly missed his Amatus and while they found ways to stay connected through letters, parcels, and the crystals, it has not been the same.
As exits the building, he sighs looking up at the sky, as he prepares to send for a carriage when he feels a tug on his wrist. He unhands the figure in the dark-colored robes and allows storm magic to pool in his hand. The man lets out a small familiar laugh and pulls back part of his hood, revealing the blonde hair and electric blue mark of Ostwick’s Libertarian Fraternity of Enchanters that he knows all too well.
Dorian allows the magic in his hand to fizzle as Matthieu takes his hand again, pulling the Altus into a nearby laneway against a wall. There, he is pulled against the former Inquisitor's chest, breathing heavily. Matthieu runs a hand through his hair, allowing his hood to fall, “Appreciate the warm welcome, Magister Pavus.”
“My pleasure, Amatus,” Dorian scoffs lightly as he presses a kiss on the side of his partner’s lips.
“You would have electrocuted me?” Matthieu says with a flustered smile, letting out a small laugh. The Free Marcher gently runs his hand up and down the Tevinter’s back. Their embraces were different now all things considered, but he nonetheless still feels at home there.
“You could have been an assassin and then you would be sorry,” the new Magister says, rolling his eyes at his partner. “Besides, I’ve done much worse than that.” He punctuates his remark with a finger on Matthieu’s chest, and a smirk, causing his partner’s eyes to widen.
He is not quite sure what he awoke in his dear Matthieu, but the Altus finds himself pressed up against the wall they were just resting against with his partner’s lips against his. Not that he minds, after all. Matthieu’s hand holds his forearm so tightly, as if he’s afraid to let go and the Altus will be gone. It makes Dorian yearn to ensure his broken lover that is the furthest thing from the truth.
He grips the former Inquisitor's waist, with one hand to pull him closer, as the other creeps its way up Matthieu's back and into his hair. Matthieu lets out a moan, as his Tevinter partner kisses him deeper and fondles the hair against his neck. As Dorian feels Matthieu loosen the grip on his forearm, he slightly smiles into their kiss, knowing that his partner is more comfortable and less unsure.
Matthieu breaks apart from him with a smirk and begins to pepper a trail of light nipping kisses around his jaw and down his neck. Considering it is altogether harder to touch him when missing a hand, Matthieu had worked to find alternative ways to show his affection. And his Amatus is nothing if not thorough. As Matthieu does this, he finds himself letting out an unwanted light moan that only encourages the Free Marcher’s further.
When Matthieu hears this, he pulls back, looking at the Tevinter with a pleased albeit hungry smirk on his face. Dorian rolls his eyes as if to say ‘Get Back to it’ and Matthieu beams at him, before becoming once again preoccupied with a particularly tender spot on his neck. As Matthieu works as the spot with his exceedingly talented mouth, the Altus finds it harder to control his altogether more frantic and wandering hands. They trail all over his lover’s body, doing all they can to get Matthieu closer to him. Maker, he missed this.
He hurriedly tears Matthieu’s lips away from where they were previously occupied, needing them more than a Templar does lyrium. His partner more than indulges this desire and moves his hand up to the Altus’ neck. As Matthieu plays with his hair, Dorian seizes his arm tighter and lets out another muffled moan.
As they break apart, panting heavily, he hears the resounding sound of Mae’s laughter from the rooftop and that of others in short pursuit. Fasta Vass . He forgot about them. This is not good. And it’s certainly not as if they were quiet.
Matthieu keeps him pinned up against a wall in the laneway, and as much Dorian would love to succumb to his partner’s urges, anybody could find them here. There were, albeit true, rumors enough he is the Inquisitor's lover abound. But considering Matt is somewhat disguised and unrecognizable to the average Tevinter, the last thing he needs circulating is that he’s cuckolded the Inquisitor in a seedy back laneway.
He ducks under what is left of Matthieu’s right arm to get out of his tempting grasp. He sternly looks back at his partner, who is altogether appalled at his little maneuver. Matthieu, still looking thoroughly disheveled and panting from their little affair looks at him in sexually frustrated disbelief, “That’s not fair, Dor.”
“Do you think I care, darling?” He says with a smirk, causing Matt’s blue eyes to light up, seeing this as a challenge. As Matthieu tries to grab his arms tightly, as if to pull him back into another fit of passion, Dorian evades him. This earns him yet another pout. Maker, he is being difficult today.
“Matt, the walls have ears,” he says sternly, only causing Matthieu to smirk more at him more. The Altus runs a frustrated hand through his hair and prays that someone will remind him why he loves this insufferable man. He straightens his robes and adds a firm, “Let’s go.”
Matthieu nods at him and he lets out a thankful sigh, turning on his heel to leave. However, he feels a familiar arm slink around his waist and pull him back against him, halting him from leaving altogether. His partner’s long wispy hair tickles his neck as the former Inquisitor whispers, “What’s the worst they can do?” into his ear and grips his waist tighter.
Festis Bei Umo Canavarum. If only he couldn’t hear the voices of the Magisters he had just met above them. Mae wasn’t thrilled he was bowing out of the meeting early tonight on account of a headache from too much political discussion. If Mae finds him here pressed up against a wall in the throes of passion while she’s been putting on fake smiles and meddling he will never hear the end of it.
But his Matthieu, who he hadn’t seen in several months, is nuzzling his neck teasingly and pressing up against him. Maker they need to get home now. Preferably so they don’t end up disparaging themselves in some other back alley.
His partner runs a hand along his side, and Dorian shivers under Matthieu’s gentle touch. He tries to hide the pained sounds in his voice as he says, “ Matthieu Sebastian Trevelyan, ” under his breath.
Matthieu lets out a groan and stops what he’s doing, burying his face in Dorian’s neck, “I’m in trouble, aren’t I?”
He sighs contently, altogether pleased that Matthieu has finally got his meaning. He nudges Matthieu with his shoulder, so his partner moves and he can turn to face him. The Altus reaches a hand out to cup the other mage’s face, “Matt, I love you dearly . But can we please take this to the apartment?” He urges before throwing his partner a smirk, “You can indulge yourself the moment we get there.”
The former Inquisitor’s insecure expression softens into a smile as he takes Dorian’s hand and gives it a squeeze, “What are we waiting for then?”
The Altus is only a little startled as his partner quickly kisses his cheek and starts dragging him through the back alleys and laneways of Minrathous to find their way home. They probably should have called a carriage, but the night is young and they could more than defend themselves. Besides, it’s altogether more enjoyable to watch his partner desperately try to find his way home while Dorian gives him unhelpful navigation advice from behind. It would make things all the better if and when they finally made it back to his apartments.