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“Dorian? It's the Inquisitor . . . I mean, you probably know that because of my voice and who else would be checking on you - anyways, I was concerned when you hobbled back to your quarters. It's not like you to leave a party early, especially when the fancy wine is out.” Ferron stepped into the room. It was supposed to be Ferron's quarters, but Dorian had already claimed it. He didn't mind, small spaces fitted him better.
“Ah, and the handshom p-prince comes to join me!” Dorian attempted to keep his words from slurring or blurring together. His light, bubbly tone and the unfocused look in his eyes were all indications that he was, indeed, drunk. His hand was around the neck of a bottle of a Tevinter wine that Ferron couldn't pronounce the name of. “Come here, I have a s-shecret.” He motioned towards himself with a lazy flick of his hand. He shifted and leaned forward on the couch, his lopsided grin still held like this was the best day of his life.
Ferron moved across the room, curious to hear what this secret was. Dorian was a very happy drunk, and one of his favorite things to do was gossip. It was harmful gossip - little things like which servants have crushes on who and how helplessly in love Blackwall is with Josie. Nothing earth shattering or evil. When Ferron got close, he saw how Dorian's eyes, not-so-subtly, raked over his features. He drank in all that was physically appealing about Ferron before his eyes lazily moved back to his face. “You know that Liv-vallin fellow?” He started, completely butchering his last name, although the smile he held could convince anyone he said it perfectly.
Ferron raised an eyebrow, slightly shocked that the conversation had turned his attention onto him. What did Dorian have to say about him? He nodded slowly, as if he was thinking about who this person was. “That's the Inquisitor, isn't it?” He asked, a hint of forced doubt in his voice. Even if he didn't play the part, Dorian would have told him anyways.
Dorian let out a soft giggle, “I've had a crush on him since we saved the time world,” he looked sheepish for a second until he let it all pour out. “He's cute and sh-steamy at the same time: I mean that voice! Oh how I would lo-love to wake up next to him - if you know what I mean.” He wiggled his eyebrows and flashed a suggestive look.
Ferron pressed his lips together, fighting the blush that rose to his cheeks and the amused smile that threatened to blossom on his lips. He thought about just egging Dorian on, but instead he decided to see what would happen, “I'm the Inquisitor, Dorian.”
Dorian didn't miss a beat, “All the better.” He smirked, straightening his back. His free hand closed around the collar of Ferron's armor and he used it to pull him forward. Ferron didn't resist the tug. Suddenly, Dorian was kissing him. He was surprised at first, but then the same airy feeling in his head and stomach he experienced when they kissed the first night at Skyhold began to blossom.
He was reluctant at first, not wanting to take advantage of Dorian's state or making this any more complicated between them, but all cares went out of the window when Dorian leaned back against the couch, taking Ferron with him. The wine bottle slipped from his hand and clambered to the ground - acting as the sound that sparked their internal fire. It was a moment of weakness, a burst of neediness to fill the hole that had been left in his heart because of the affection he was denied when growing up. He straddled Dorian's hips, pressing their chests firmly together as his hands curled into Dorian's hair.
Dorian's tongue ran along Ferron's lips before dipping into his mouth. His fingers worked against the buckles of Ferron's armor, his excitement growing at the pure neediness Ferron conveyed. He had been waiting for this moment since he could remember - the moment he would finally curb this mangled lust he felt for the strange elf. Ferron had tilted his hips downward and began to grind against him. His hands were all over Dorian, feeling every inch of his clothed body.
Dorian had managed to unbuckle his coat. It swished to the ground and pooled around Dorian's feet. Ferron took control of the kiss, gently biting on Dorian's bottom lip, forcing them apart. He slipped his tongue into his mouth, curious as to what the sensation felt like. Dorian lovingly sucked on it, creating a soft popping sound when Ferron pulled away. Ferron broke the kiss reluctantly, but he did not separate completely. He pressed his forehead against Dorian's as the two of them caught their breath. Dorian hummed contently, basking in the fading thrill on his lips. “What happened?” he whispered softly, a light frown on his mouth.
“Nothing, I mean...nothing wrong with you or - this. Well - there is something wrong but only because this isn't the time - or the place that I want my...” Ferron signed gently, blush rising to his cheeks as his hands slowly fell from Dorian's hair and into the space between them.
“What is it, Ferron?” he sounded more sober, slight concern rose in his vocals.
Ferron took another breath, “I...I've never...and you...you are so...perfect...now, in this place that reeks of death...and you being drunk...call me cliche but I want it to be the best that it can be...”
Dorian furrowed his brows, “...you want me to be your- why me?” he pulled back to look at Ferron's flustered face.
Ferron nodded slowly, “...I trust you, Dorian...you're sweet and caring...even if it doesn't go any farther...” his keen eyes connected with Dorian's, “I want it to be you.”
He was quiet for a moment, as if contemplating his words. With a slight nod, he reached up and brushed his thumb along the sharp raise of Ferron's cheek bone. “I would be honored to be your first - but I would rather do it when I can properly stand.” he smiled gently.
His ears turned bright red, “I didn't mean here and now - or soon - just...whenever?” his voice rose in pitch.
“Relax, Inquisitor, I've something in mind.” he spoke reassuringly with a devious grin.