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The gold scales came in just below his hairline and covered his entire back. The pattern was nearly perfect interlocking diamonds in gold and green down his spine. The perfect symmetry faded out where the scales curled around his hips and down his thighs. They were faint tendrils, nearly single lines of scales laid over skin, down his legs and arms.
He wasn’t quite cold-blooded, even the highest of the high bloodlines were too human for that, but he was crankier in cold weather. High summer saw more smiles and fewer flashes of irritation. Ashur was sprawled out in the morning sun shining through the window. The rains would be back by midday, Tarquin’s knee was sure of that, but for a few minutes, they had buttery sunlight making the scales shine.
Ashur wasn’t good at being still, so if he was willing to take a few moments to sprawl out in the sun and just be, Tarquin would take it. He reached out and stroked a finger down the scales, then along his shoulder, where the skin was warmer.
“What time is it?” Ashur muttered.
“Early, go back to sleep.”
He stretched again and nodded. Sunlight turned him into a lizard on a warm rock. That nod was friendly and agreeable. Agreeable, Ashur. That was a rare thing. Tarquin smiled and traced the tendril of scales on his arm.
The patterns often ran in the bloodlines, and the high bloods were all proud as hell of them. Plenty of people had tattoos mimicking these patterns. Mages would play them up. The scales were a mark of power and old blood. A few scales here or there would be tied together with the tattoos to make it look far more intricate than it was. Scale patterns like Ashur’s made some people positively giddy with jealousy.
The eyes and the weird mouth weren’t quite as fashionable in Tevinter these days. They tied that many old bloodlines together and started to get old traits. Ashur kept most of it hidden. Long sleeves, high collars, and a carefully controlled manner of speaking that kept the fangs well out of view. It was rare for him to let any of the walls down for anyone else.
Tarquin had wormed his way into being an exception. The longer this went on, the more gaps in the armour Tarquin got to see. Steady eye contact in a bright room. Ungloved hands. Sleeves rolled up. An unguarded smile. That one had taken him by surprise. Ashur was beautiful when he smiled, and Tarquin had been trying so hard not to notice just how good he always looked.
He didn’t try so hard now. He let himself watch all the beautiful little details. Gold and green against the white of the sheets. The blanket wrapped around one foot and dangled off the edge of the mattress. The tall, slanted attic windows draped patches of sunlight along the floor up and down the long, thin room. The rest of the space wasn't furnished. They didn't keep anything here. Most of the room was empty except for this little oasis of pillows and blankets, and Ashur lying half asleep.
Ashur rolled over and yawned, mouth splitting open and teeth fully extended for a moment before he blinked up at Tarquin. Tarquin got the full show. The golden eyes were shot through with that same sea green as the scales, and the slit pupil narrowed to a slit in the bright sunshine.
“I’m hungry. Do you want something?” Tarquin asked.
“No. I value my life too much to risk your cooking.”
“Oh, shut up,” Tarquin said, slapping him on the shoulder.
He laughed and reached out a hand, running it up Tarquin’s thigh. Casual, comfortable. His hand was warm, and he had long, elegant fingers. He rubbed a thumb along Tarquin’s skin and leaned over to press a kiss just below his knee.
“I’ll go down and get something from the bakery,” Ashur said. “They’ll be open early.”
“Stay here, the sun will be gone soon. I can wait.”
“Maybe we’ll get a sunny day.”
“Shrapnel in my knee says no. There’s a storm waiting in the wings. Enjoy your sunshine, lizard boy.”
“Maker help me, you’re hard to love sometimes.”
Tarquin laughed. He ran his fingers up the back of Ashur’s head. He kept his hair short, but Tarquin still liked the way it felt under his hands, and Ashur leaned into it. His cheek against Tarquin’s thigh, and his eyes fluttered shut again.
“We should go to Rivain for a month in the height of summer. You can spend all day on the sand like this.”
“Too much work to do for that.”
“A week then.”
“Do you need a beach vacation?”
“Yeah. Someplace quiet, far away from everyone else. Just sun and sand and a little cabin. Fresh fruit and a campfire at night. Just you and me and nothing to do.”
“That’s not a bad fantasy.”
“We could do it. The shop will run without us.”
Ashur didn’t shoot the idea down, but he also didn’t commit to it. He wasn’t good at putting the work down. He’d probably get two days into a beach vacation and start planning something. The warmth of the sun could only slow him down so much.
Then again, if he were the type of noble to lounge on cushions in the sunshine, Tarquin probably would have run for the hills a long fucking time ago. The moment was perfect, but neither of them could live there. Neither of them wanted to. Not for long. Not forever. But they could have a few more hours.
Tarquin let his hand wander down Ashur’s shoulder and his arm, and then across his chest. He traced familiar lines and details like he hadn’t done it a thousand times before. There were lines of scales across his stomach and hips, but his chest was smooth, warm skin. There was a scar from that job a few years back on his ribs. There was a line of hair leading down his stomach. There was that single line of turquoise scales running down the side of his neck. Familiar. Still beautiful.
“Roll over.”
“Why?”
“So I can rub your back. You’re actually relaxed enough to try and work some of those knots out.”
Ashur laughed. He rolled over and stretched back out in the sun. He wrapped his arms around a pillow and spread his legs a little. The unmade bed around them was rumpled and soft. Outside the window, there wasn’t much to see but the skyline and fluffy white clouds against a blue sky.
Half the Imperium wanted something from this man, and Tarquin let himself have a moment of appreciating that he was the one who was here. He kept that thought to himself. Plenty of people wanted Ashur for the magic, the perfect golden scales, and powerful bloodlines. He didn’t love being reminded of it. Still. He could have anyone, and here he was, settling in for some rangy old soldier with a bad attitude and nothing to offer.
He worked the heel of his palm against the tight muscles of Ashur’s shoulder and got a happy sigh.
Ashur belonged to some other world, and sometimes it was all Tarquin could see. Gold and glittering scales. Power and magic. Ashur needed to put it all down sometimes, to stretch out and run his hand along Tarquin's thigh and just be. Quiet and warm and together. This little attic apartment on the edge of the ravine just above Dock Town was a secret from that world.
A space for the two of them and only the two of them.