@ryuichifoxe oof this wasn’t supposed to be this long :P
Julian had turned in surprisingly early for the night. Except, maybe it wasn’t so surprising considering he’d been off on diplomatic missions for the past few weeks, Orlesian nobles hmming and hawing at him for being a Marcher of all things. They used any mistake against him, had he not been politically trained since he was walking he’d have been eaten alive.
So after all that he’d wanted to do nothing but hide away in his quarters over looking skyhold with only a certain lover to keep him company.
The sun was gone beneath the profile of the mountains around them, the night settling in on a chill and the sounds of the tavern and soldiers gossiping around campfires rise up from the courtyard below through the balcony doors left wide open.
He can hear Maryden strum her lute though he can’t make out the words, he recognizes Krem’s laugh, a boisterous applause rings out, dimmed by distance and unable to break the comfortable silence in the Inquisitor’s quarters.
He’s laying in bed when it should be time for supper, the sheets pooled down by his hips, yet he’s anything but cold. He runs his hands up and down Armel’s back, slowly and gently, reveling in the warmth of the other man and the pleasant burn in his body from their earlier activities. Everything feels as close to home as its ever been since the Breach first appeared, thanks in large part to the rogue drifting sleepily against him.
Armel’s a map of freckles and scars, auburn hair more akin to toffee and warm eyes he couldn’t possibly get enough of. That accent was also something to swoon over, but so were the gentle hands, nicked by practice with blades, always tender and handled Julian with care.
Armel’s fingers wander, tracing lazy circles against the thin white scars that encompass his wrists.
He can’t help the sharp inhale, a flash of something unpleasant in the past, something he kept buried for so long, now reigniting with such a desire to tell it.
Maker’s breath he adored this man… if he told only one person, he’d like it to be Armel.
But where to even start, “…It was when I was sixteen…Mariana, my youngest sister, she used to tease me all the time for never wanting to leave the estates.” He knows his voice is trembling just the slightest, enough for him to pause and swallow, catching his breath, “I was always either out on the archery fields or with my nose in a book. She told me I’ll never go on any adventures or experience things unless I sought them out… though I doubt these were the experiences she was talking about.”
@cornbeefroast
Even half asleep, Armel picks up on the heavier atmosphere and cautiously looks his lover's way. Julian's brow furrowed slightly, the ghost of an untold story haunting those hazel eyes Mel loves so much. Not sure whether a line has been crossed or not, he lightens his touch on those scarred wrists and simply watches.
At least until it becomes obvious what direction the inquisitor's story is taking. It's a history he's been curious about for ages now, but the apparent distress outweighs Armel's curioisity. He's already pushing himself up to sit by the time Julian's voice waivers, something he's heard one too many times and never fails to break his heart.
"Ye don't have to share this with me, love," Mel assures, bringing one of Julian's hands to his lips. "Not right now, not if ye don't want."
