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Lavellan is supposed to use this quiet day at Skyhold to look through reports, some weeks old already.
Naturally, he's spending the majority of it in bed with Dorian.
Leliana and Josephine will not be pleased.
With Dorian's naked chest behind his back and bold hands lazily exploring whatever skin they can reach, he finds it really hard to care. Still, he tries to concentrate on the next report. (He's not afraid of his advisors, no matter how much Varric likes to tease him about it.)
“Be honest with me. Do you have an aversion to my hair?”
Lavellan blinks, confused at this sudden question. He can't quite read the tone in Dorian's voice, but strong arms tighten around him and stop him from turning around, effectively preventing him from looking at Dorian's face.
“You never touch it, even when we are... together.”
Lavellan frowns at the reports. He closes his eyes and imagines the black shock of hair, slick looking and no doubt artfully shaped even now, despite what they had been doing not so long ago.
“I wasn't sure if I was allowed,” he answers hesitantly, truthfully.
The firm hold on him lessens, but he doesn't try to turn around yet. The arms on his chest wander until warm hands come to rest on his stomach.
“Don't be ridiculous. Other people appreciating my hair is part of the reason I groom it so exquisitely.”
Lavellan uses this chance to glance at Dorian, notices the small smirk before it vanishes, the mischievous glint in his eyes that is not so easily hidden by the other man.
“You're going to complain about me mussing it up as soon as I touch it, aren't you?” he accuses with no small amount of amusement.
You have to give it to Dorian Pavus, he does the hurt look very convincingly. "Your words and scepsis wound me equally.” The fingers on Lavellan's stomach twitch, almost tickling.
Lavellan can't suppress a small snort, turning back to the neglected reports. “You're incorrigible.”
And in the next breaths he realises what he just said, to whom he just said this to so carelessly. Since that horrifying meeting with Halward Pavus he had been so careful with his choice of words. Lavellan curses himself viciously in his head, wonders if he can still salvage this peaceful moment. He puts the reports away, and carefully turns around in Dorian's loose embrace, his voice very quiet. “Dorian, I...”
But there's no pain on Dorian's face. There's only tenderness there, so prominent Lavellan has to swallow, his throat suddenly very dry.
Dorian presses a kiss to Lavellan's temple, then another to his nose. Their eyes meet again — Lavellan is captivated, unable to look away even had he the desire to do so. Dorian hums, obviously pleased, before finally touching their lips together, barely separating them before he whispers, his voice soft like another caress, “You simply know me too well, amatus.”
Lavellan smiles and presses their lips together again. He chides himself, for forgetting that he is not the only one who has become stronger — had to — living without the secure foundation of his clan and unwillingly named the leader of a human organisation.
Dorian, too, had experienced much, confronted his very human demons in the form of his own father — still fighting the toxic beliefs he had to live with for so long.
He kisses Dorian again, more firmly now, and then there are no more words exchanged between them.
(To say Leliana and Josephine are not pleased with Lavellan's progress into his report backlog would be an understatement.)