#dorian x anders

[lorandesore]

Equilibrium

[barbex]

Happy Friday!! How about ❝  i’m not gonna pretend anymore.  i’m still fucked up from it all and i don’t know when it gets better.  ❞ from the emotionally charged sentence starters? For a pairing of your choice?

Thank you for the prompt! For @dadrunkwriting, a bit of pre-dorianders.

---

"What's he doing?"

"I don't know, he just stands there." Both men are scrubbing and peeling potatoes for the communal kitchen of Skyhold, while they keep glaring at the prisoner holding his face towards the sun. "Maybe he just likes sunlight."

"Don't get much of sunlight down in the dungeon."

"Not sure about letting him run around out here." The man throws the potato in a tub of water and picks another from the basket. "That Kirkwall mage blew up a whole chantry."

The other man scoffs. "He's ain't hiding bombs under them robes."

"How would you know?"

"Shut up. The Commander wouldn't let him out here without checking."

Dorian lets his attention wander from the potato peelers to the mage and Commander in question. Cullen sits on a pile of planks, frowning at a paper in his hand. Dorian saunters over and clears his throat to draw his attention.

"What do you want, Dorian?" Cullen's voice carries the familiar tension of a blaring headache. 

"Bad day, my dear Commander?"

"No."

The Kirkwall mage, Anders, steps out of the sun, closer to Cullen and him. He wipes a strain of hair from his face. The magic suppressing wristbands glitter for a second as the light hits them. "He has a headache and he doesn't want to see a healer for it."

The frown on Cullen's forehead seems to grow with every second. "I'm not letting you have your magic to heal me."

Dorian lets a purple drop of light run over the back of his hand. "Yes, yes, magic, so dangerous." 

Anders giggles. A delightful sound that causes a smile to spread on Dorian's face, without his allowance. 

"I don't need magic to set your neck," Anders says with a shrug.

Cullen looks up, wincing at the movement. "My neck?" 

"You can't even turn your head right." Anders gestures at Cullen's posture. "Probably a pinched nerve at the back of your head and at your lower back. You're practically listing to the side. But what do I know, I'm just a healer."

"And you don't need magic to fix it?" For once, Cullen doesn't even frown.

"We just need a bench or something for you to lie down on. And I need Dorian too."

Dorian raises an eyebrow at Anders. "Many people think they need me, but I'm not so generous with my attention."

"Pff," Cullen snorts. "As if attention isn't the only thing of interest for you." 

"Gentlemen," Anders says before they can snipe at each other. "I see a bench in the shade there, it would be perfect for this. Shall we?"

After some huffing, just for show, Dorian finds himself at the end of the bench, holding Cullen's ankle. "I have you known, my speciality is decidedly not healing."

Anders chuckles. "I'm aware. I assure you, we have no need for your speciality. At least I hope."

"What?" Cullen, flat on his stomach on the bench, struggles to get up.

"A joke, Commander," Anders says. "Relax." He shakes his head with a smile, blond hair brushing over the edges of his lips. When he leans forward, his hair swings like a curtain, hiding his eyes. He places his fingers on Cullen's back, the wristbands jingling, and feels along his spine through his shirt. Then he stops and presses hard. Cullen groans as Anders moves along his spine. "Now, pull on his leg, hard." 

"If my parents could see me now," Dorian grumbles as he pulls.

A strange sound comes from Cullen and Anders lifts his hands. "There, you can stop pulling now."

Dorian shakes out his hands, a bit more dramatic than necessary. Anders grins at him as he helps Cullen to sit up and places his fingers at the back of Cullen's neck. "Turn your head, slowly."

There is a sound like gnashing teeth, loud enough for Dorian to hear, and Anders drops his hands. "There. Slow movements for the next half hour. Frankly, you should rest, but I doubt you're the kind of person who knows how to do that."

"How about you take a rest in your office," Dorian says. "And I will watch over Anders. I even promise to check his robes for explosives."

Cullen rolls his eyes. "No need for that. Just make sure that he stays inside these walls and doesn't have access to magic. And some people do not think favourably of him, so be careful where you're taking him." Cullen leaves with a nod, walking straight and easily, almost a swing in his steps.

"You've changed that man's life," Dorian says. But when he looks back at Anders, he doesn't see the expected smile on his face. "Are you alright?"

Anders lets out a bitter laugh. "No, I'm not alright. I had an exceptional amount of shit days, recently. I’m still fucked up from it all, and I don’t know when it'll get better."

Dorian thinks for a moment. "Come with me, I want to show you something." He walks towards the side of the castle that holds the camps of the Redcliffe mages. A few new barracks have been built since the last time he was here. The layout of this city inside the castle keeps changing, but Dorian soon finds the tent he is looking for. 

"Merribella, are you there?" he calls outside of the tent flap.

"Is it that damn Altus again?" comes from the inside.

Dorian turns to Anders. "One of the few who actually remembers that it's Altus, not Magister." He shoves the tent flap to the side. "My dear, I have someone with me I'd like you to meet."

A large woman with a child on her arm and a face that shows the traces of long, harsh years, stands in the middle of her tent and frowns at him. "I'm not dealing with another tevinter peacock."

"He is most definitely not a peacock, tevinter or other." Dorian steps aside and gestures for Anders to come in. "This is my reluctant friend Merribella and this —" he steps to the side, "— is Anders of Kirkwall."

Merribella stares at Anders, her mouth hanging open, until her expression slowly turns into a smile. "Anders, the rebel mage."

Anders fidgets with his hands. "I'm not sure..."

"Not everyone hates you, you know?" Dorian says.

Merribella's eyes snap to him and understanding dawns on her face. She lifts the baby in her arm to show it to Anders. "This is my grandson." She looks at Anders. "His name is Anders. He is a free child of a mage and will grow up with his family."

Dorian will never admit how many tears he shed this afternoon, but the kohl around his eyes is unsalvageable by the time he brings Anders back to the castle.

"Thank you," Anders says quietly. 

"Don't mention it." Dorian sighs. "I'm serious. Don't mention this to anybody, I have a reputation to uphold." 

"Of course," Anders says and faster than Dorian can react, he presses a kiss to Dorian's cheek. "You're still beautiful, by the way," he whispers near Dorian's ear. 

A guard takes Anders back to his cell. He looks over his shoulder at Dorian, smiling, glowing like a ray of sun, before the door closes behind him. For a long while, Dorian stands rooted to the spot.

"So," he says to himself. "This is that, then." His heart has no right to jump in his chest like this. No right at all.

[sulky-valkyrie]

WIP Wheneversday indeed!

tagged by delightful and glorious @barbex @cleverblackcat and @rosella-writes!

Dorian glanced over his shoulder.  “Shall we continue this discussion somewhere more private?”   “Trying to get me alone?” Anders answered, fluttering his eyes with exaggerated coyness.   Dorian started to walk away - no, swagger; he'd been around Isabela too long not to recognize a swagger when he saw it.  “Only if you say no.  Otherwise, I’m succeeding, aren’t I?”

tagging @pierogipie @favorofthewater @highwayphantoms @jellydishes @syrupwit

[ponticle]

Hey and welcome! Interested to see what you do with #10: “Excuse me. Excuse me! Yes, you. You’re sitting in my seat.” from the Dialogue prompts - maybe for Dorian and a character of your choice. Happy writing!

Thanks for the awesome prompt! Here's a little Dorian x Anders in a modern AU for @dadrunkwriting.

---

“Excuse me. Excuse me!" Dorian stalks forward, down the thin aisle of the plane, glaring more deeply as he goes. “Yes, you.” He reaches the interloper and stops the spot. “You’re sitting in my seat.”

The man looks up, recognition dawning that he’s being spoken to, but without a hint that he understands why.

“Yes, I’m talking to you,” Dorian adds. He drops his bag into the aisle, narrowly missing another passenger’s foot. Instead of apologizing, he glares at the stranger, until she looks away. He knows it’s not charitable, but it happens — it’s been a long day… week… year…

“Uh, sorry — “ The man pauses, looking down at the worn blue vinyl cushion beneath his thighs, as if a number will appear. When he can’t find one, he looks back up, a glint of blue in his eyes — there and then gone — and then he shrugs. “I’m sorry — I didn’t realize they were assigned.” He smiles gently, then, looking contrite, but Dorian has no patience for this; he his teeth, and huffs out a breath. 

“Well, they are. This isn’t one of those budget-airlines that lets everyone free-for-all at boarding…” He sighs. He should have been sitting in first class — would have been, if things had gone differently… if his life was different… but a plane this small has only one cabin, where he has to duck to avoid a head injury.

“So, which seat are you supposed to be in?” asks the man. 

Dorian barely avoids a growl as he produces his ticket and holds it up to the idiot’s face. “14B — it’s the aisle.”

“Ahh,” says the man. “My mistake. I thought it went alphabetically in from the aisle. I’m 14A.” He picks up his things — painstakingly slowly — and moves over toward the window. About halfway through, he looks back up at Dorian and asks, “You’re sure you wouldn’t rather just switch?”

Dorian’s eyes widen. 

“Enough said,” the man raises his palms in surrender and scoots across the vinyl with a squeak.

“Thank you,” growls Dorian. He sits heavily; his knees barely avoid banging into the tray table of the seat in front of him. He notices absently that the man next to him has to turn his knees out unnaturally in order to avoid the same fate — he must be tall. Whatever. 

“Home or work?” the stranger asks suddenly. 

“What?” snaps Dorian.

“Are you heading home or going to work somewhere?” 

“Oh…” Dorian wipes a hand across his eyes. He’s so tired. “Both… or…Neither… I…” but his words dry up. He’s going to his ancestral homeland, but he’s not going home. He’s not traveling for work, but there is work to be done.

Before he has a chance to say more, though, the man interrupts his train of thought by saying, “Don’t worry. I get it.” 

Dorian looks up at him, surprised.

“I don’t have a super clear picture of where I’m headed yet, either,” admits the man. Then he extends his hand toward Dorian. “I’m Anders.”

Dorian cocks his head to the side. Without moving he says, “I’m Dorian…”

Anders continues to hold his hand in midair — a gesture of good will or a threat, Dorian can’t tell. “Nice to meet you, Dorian.”

An awkward silence, and Anders keeps waiting. Dorian wonders why — is there a space for ‘friendly’ in this world? — but he’s curious, so hesitantly, he reaches across the armrest and makes tentative contact. Anders’ hands are warm and soft. 

“Nice to meet you too, Anders.”

[blarrghe]

“I didn’t expect you to be into cuddling.” “I’m not!” “Then what is this?” “Just… close skin-to-skin contact.” “Uh-huh.” I could totally see this for Dorian x anyone 🥰 WELCOME TO THE DWC!

For you, I took a stab at Dorian/Anders, since I know you love ‘em. Never tried to write this pairing before but you’ve made me a fan :P also I fell asleep and now it’s four am, way to almost miss my first time doing this XD @dadrunkwriting just some T rated fluff -- Sex with Anders is surprisingly incredible. Well, perhaps surprisingly is not the right word — the man who blew up Kirkwall's Chantry was bound to be passionate — but he's got Dorian all unwound now, brought to perfect relief after the tension of their day, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. Anders' touch works magic on his skin, and his hands always seem impossibly aware of where they should be, considering they’ve practically just met. Dorian’s always had a thing for hands; whether the dexterity of a musician's fingers, the smooth nimble motions of a trained mage, or the rough calluses of a warrior, he can find appreciation for any with skill. Anders’ hands are large and hard, strong, long-fingered and precise. Active hands, busy when he talks and alight with that infamous passion at almost all times. He uses them with soft skill, always just the right amount of pressure. When he’s focused — and he always gives their time together his complete focus — he moves them with slow, delicious purpose. They’re soft to the touch, skin new from all that scrubbing, but somehow perpetually stained. Even when they’re perfectly clean, the blood on them permeates, lends them a carefulness, makes his magic feel sad. Dorian is aware that he is mooning with shameful romanticism, but only over his hands, he reasons, so it’s alright. There’s just something about a healer’s hands.

He unwraps himself from his knot of tangled blankets and Anders’ ankles, and pulls himself up to a seat in the bed, then he flops over, his head falling onto Anders’ sharp shoulder like a feather pillow, his hips and ribs lined up snug with the pale skin and warmth of him. Anders smiles, and there’s a soft breath of laughter on his lips as he pulls the blanket up over them both.

“I didn’t expect you to be into cuddling.” Anders says as he wraps an arm up over Dorian’s shoulder, and pulls him around, into a new tangle of legs twisted over legs and long, encircling arms.

“I’m not!” Dorian protests, another worn out but restful breath leaving his lungs as he sinks deeper into the Anders-shaped pillow at his side.

“Then what is this?” Anders laughs a little more, his lips in Dorian’s hair, the vibrations tickling his scalp. A forehead kiss wouldn’t be out of place, he muses with more of that shamefully romantic ideation.

“Just… close skin-to-skin contact.” he says. 

“Uh-huh.” Anders kisses the top of his head and shrugs himself downwards on the bed, pulling Dorian with him and into his chest.

They fall asleep like that, close and quietly breathing, worn out together and at rest. Dorian will wake up in the night and wrestle with the notion of staying, but he can figure that out later. 

[midnightprelude]

Re-sharing my Dorian x Anders collection of shorts, Anders in Wonderland, because people are giving my rare pair OTP love and it’s giving me the warm-fuzzies. All established relationship, post-canon, rated E for Ch. 10, T or M for the rest. They’re old and I’m hopefully a bit better writer by now, but I still adore these two and hope you’ll like my humble offerings. ❤️

Ch 1: The one where Dorian is afraid to lose Anders to the taint

Ch 2: The one where Dorian describes life in Qarinus

Ch 3: The one where Dorian reminisces about Anders as a healer

Ch 4: The one where Dorian and Anders become professors in Ferelden. Dorian still hates Ferelden, but he loves Anders.

Ch 5: The one where Anders rescues all of the animals in Tevinter and keeps them at the Pavus estate.

Ch 6: The one where they get stuck in a cave.

Ch 7: The one where Dorian and Anders go to a party and start a food fight

Ch 8: The one where Dorian plans a nice dinner for reasons.

Ch. 9: The one where Dorian gives Anders presents.

Ch. 10: The one where Dorian and Anders have sex in a bath. (NSFW)

Ch. 11: The one where Dorian and Anders talk via sending crystal.

Ch. 12: The one where Anders has nightmares.

Ch. 13: The one where Dorian drinks stripweed tea.

[yamisnuffles]

[lorandesore]

My lord