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“Dorian?” Alistair tapped on the door quietly.
“I’m fine, go away.”
“Fiona and Helisma said you weren’t in the library all day.” He slipped inside. “Are you - what’s the matter?”
A lump of blankets moved in the bed. “It’s stupid. Go away.”
The Warden sighed as he sat down on the bed and patted the covers. Somewhere in here was the man he loved. “You know I won’t.“
The lump shifted and grumbled. A hand crept out and pointed at the teapot. "If you’re going to stay here and annoy me, at least get rid of that.”
He reached for the tea and took an experimental sniff. Smelled like grass. Bland and boring. “Not a good blend?”
“Fucking stripweed tea,” the lump groaned. “I hate stripweed. It gives me hives and makes my nose run.”
Alistair put the teapot outside. “Babe, why didn’t you go see a healer?”
“I look like shit, amatus. Absolute shit.”
“You could never look like shit.”
“Hah, challenge accepted, you ass!" The blankets were thrown back and Sweet Andraste he never thought Dorian could look unattractive but Maker, he’d managed. His nose was puffy and irritated, one eye looked in danger of swelling shut entirely, and angry pink and red welts covered his chest and throat. "See?” The mage demanded. “Absolute shit.”
The other man winced in sympathy. “I fell in a patch of rashvine a few years ago. Oghren called me Itchy Ass for three solid weeks." He reached out, thought better of it, and sat back on the bed. "This looks … worse. A lot worse.”
Dorian flopped back down. “That’s a fine way to say I look terrible.”
“How could you let it get this bad?”
“This was just two sips!" He whined, tugging the covers back over this face. "Two sips this morning because I grabbed the wrong fucking teapot this morning at breakfast and I’m pathetic and just want to be miserable over here in my ugly sniffly little corner.”
Alistair squeezed what he was pretty sure was Dorian’s hip. “So you’re sulking?”
“Yes. Very busy schedule." The mage’s voice was muffled by the pillow. "Sulking, then moping, perhaps I’ll throw a tantrum later if time allows.”
The Warden scooted closer. “What about pouting?"
"Not on the agenda." Dorian sounded grudgingly amused.
"Can you delegate any of this?" He laid down next to the other man. "Perhaps to your very devoted amatus? I’m quite good at moping; watch how far I can stick out my bottom lip.”
Dorian chuckled. “I know all about what you can do with that mouth of yours." He threw an arm over the Warden’s chest, then slowly oozed out from under his blankets to drape over him. "You really don’t want to stay here though. I’m terrible company when I’m like this. Ask my mother.”
“Hush, babe." Alistair kissed the top of his head. "We have some sulking to finish. Together.”