The date only became real to him once the ladies said they actually wanted to go. Not that he wanted Pretty to be stood up, it’s just… They’re talking about bathing and getting ready. They keep mentioning ‘the date’ so often that at this point it was becoming capitalized. The Date. They’re making it sound like it’s a really important night in their lives. Like it’s suddenly a “first day of the rest of my life” kind of day.
“Is it time for our date?”
Laudna sounds so delighted as she asks Imogen that Dorian tries not to sigh too audibly.
It’s nearing the golden hour and the pair are across the room, standing together by the window in Lord Eshteross’ manor. The fading light casts a soft pink glow onto Imogen’s skin and hair, drawing attention to the pretty dots scattered across her cheeks, the lovely indigo glow of electricity in her veins. She is all warm pastels, like the inside of his cloak.
Imogen pats her friend’s hand gently, “We still have time.”
“Should we freshen up?”
Imogen laughs at that, a little tension in her voice. Is she… Is she actually nervous for this date? What is there to be anxious about?
When he heard that Imogen asked Pretty out on a date, it barely registered. He’s had a lot on his mind the past few days. She’s said a lot of things to get what they needed from someone. Hell, they both have. Wasn’t it just another distraction tactic? A ploy to buy time for the infiltration team?
The date only became real to him once the ladies said they actually wanted to go. Not that he wanted Pretty to be stood up, it’s just… They’re talking about bathing and getting ready. They keep mentioning ‘the date’ so often that at this point it was becoming capitalized. The Date. They’re making it sound like it’s a really important night in their lives. Like it’s suddenly a “first day of the rest of my life” kind of day.
“Oh, we’re fine!” Fearne exclaims, fluffing her hair like feathers in a pillow.
He’s glad Fearne says it because Laudna and Imogen quickly agree with her and stop any further talk of getting ‘made up’. Now Dorian can stop wondering what Imogen could possibly do to look more beautiful than she does right now, lit from behind by the setting sun.
He sighs again, this time in gratitude that The Date is still two hours away. It will be dark outside by then.
__________
FCG has consistently demonstrated himself as a student of life. His curiosity is something Dorian finds most appealing about him, the most relatable. He supposes he shouldn’t be surprised when FCG asks, in his enthusiastic way, “What do you… What do you… Uh, what do you ladies like to do on dates? Like what’s your… Your ideal date?”
But he is surprised and he can’t help but look at Chetney, as if to ask: What the fuck is this?
“What everybody does, I think,” Fearne answers.
FCG prompts her, “Which is what? I don’t really know.”
“Dancing and eating and…” Fearne giggles mischievously. “So many things.”
Everyone laughs at that but even as Dorian laughs with them, he decides he's not going think about that at all.
“How about you, Imogen?”
“Oh. Uh…” She pauses for what seems like eternity before she shakes her head and shrugs.
“Have you been on a date before?” FCG prods.
“Uh…” She stands up from where she was leaning against the windowsill and looks away from the group, her face in profile. He swears her cheeks glow a deeper pink. As if she’s blushing. At the memory of a former lover? That’s the case, surely.
But she’s still quiet and Chetney breaks the silence by saying simply, “Oh, shit.”
“Oh. No?”
“No,” she says.
Dorian can’t believe it. He’s not calling her a liar, but he finds that hard to believe. She grew up in a small town, sure, but you’d think that would just make it more obvious how striking she is. He wasn’t talking about the electricity, though he’s sure that aspect of her certainly could spark interest on its own. He meant that he couldn’t see how anyone could meet Imogen and not want to spend more time with her.
“Oh, are you… Are you bashful about that?” FCG asks.
“No. About—Bashful about what not being on a date?”
“Or, you know, going on date?”
“Um… Y’know… No! It’s just, uh…” She folds her arms across her chest, her defensive position. “Like, y’know it’s… it’s hard to find someone who, y’know, if you’re on a date… It’s just that one person and you’re reading their mind and you know all the things that you’re doing wrong.”
“Oh, you can hear,” FCG says, so softly, so sympathetically that it was almost as if he was imagining exactly what Dorian was imagining: A teenage Imogen, her hair braided over one shoulder. She’s sitting on top of a split-rail fence, talking to a nameless, faceless boy. She’s swinging her feet, laughing and smiling, when she hears it – Imogen is fun, but she doesn’t exactly win a ribbon at the Fair – and the smile slowly, painfully, fades from her face.
“It gets really uncomfortable, y’know? Plus, y’know, people think you’re weird and then… they don’t…”
They don’t think she’s pretty? They don’t want to talk to her? They don’t ask her on a date? They don’t want to see her again? They don’t want to be in a relationship with her?
They don’t. That’s what she’s saying.
They don’t know the mistake they’ve made.
He wishes she was reading his mind right then, because he’d never be brave enough to say something like that out loud; too cliché, too cheesy. Worse, she might think he’s being insincere.
The ones who had rude things to say about her only thought it and didn’t say it, but he wanted to say something kind and only thought it.
Maybe that makes him worse.
__________
All the party have their eyes on The Date. Lord Eshteross has given them a golden opportunity for their mission, but they talk about picking up tomorrow instead.
“Seems more important than a date with an ogre kitchen guy...” FCG muses quietly.
“Thank you,” Dorian emphasizes. “The cook man was nice, but—”
He instantly regrets saying anything. He catches a glimpse of Imogen's expression and flinches; she’s blinking at him, surprised and a little offended. Her head tilts in a way that expressed not just confusion but… he doesn’t know. Almost like she’s disappointed. He immediately looks away, scratching absentmindedly at his face.
“He was very sweet,” she says clearly, forcefully. “You didn’t spend a lot of time talking to him, but the whole time you were back there we were having a conversation.”
Dorian tries really hard not to roll his eyes and he barely succeeds. Pretty shoved him back at the Soot and Swill, that’s not exactly sweet behavior, now is it? He’s seconds away from saying something he’ll regret, something fueled by his impatience, his irritation, his really bad day. He feels the words bubbling inside him, nearly pouring out.
Yeah. Sure. Great. Happy for you. Tell me all about that conversation. Why’s he ‘sweet’? What’d he say that made you so charmed by him? How’d he do it? What’s his secret?
He opts to bite down hard on the inside of his cheek instead.
“You really think you’ve found your soulmate?” FCG asks, his voice chipper and curious. “All three of you and this ogre?”
What, now we’re talking about soulmates? It shocks him, startles him, makes him angry how quickly he feels… Gods, what even is this frustrating, irrational feeling? Defensiveness? Possessiveness? Over what?
The ladies are a chorus of gentle denials, of course. “It’s about company,” Launda corrects him. “It’s about being kind.”
That’s it. It’s the kindness Imogen has shown him. That’s what it is – nothing more than that. She has always been kind to him. She was one of the few who shared his genuine grief at the loss of Bertrand. Now with his brother’s situation, she has consistently tried to put his mind at ease, to comfort him. Even when he is paralyzed with fear, she is always trying to come up with a plan.
The conversation with Artana Vho was a disaster and that’s why he's been “distracted” all day. He told her - an infamous bounty hunter - all about himself and his brother. Yeah, he’s the ‘talker’ of the party indeed.
If Imogen’s empathy is a light, it'd be really nice if she would shine its warmth on him today. Isn’t that where his ridiculous feelings of exasperation are coming from? A pitiful attempt to hoard her attention and compassion?
Even thinking it is absurd. She so easily, so readily shows kindness to all of them. She is clearly sweet to Laudna, her strange half-dead friend. Ashton is blunt, rough-around-the-edges and FCG is frankly over-curious most of the time but she’s been nothing but kind to them. She treats Fearne and Orym as though she’s known them as long as he has. She’s even been gentle with their new, strange gnome friend. Dorian isn’t special. He’s not. So why would her showing kindness to Pretty be any different? It’s not any different.
But his mouth betrays him as he asks, “Can we make it a speed date?”
Ashton nods, seems to think the ladies should just get The Date over with; they seem as impatient to finish this endless conversation as Dorian is. “Go on the fucking date so we can go back and drink in the near fucking future,” they say with intensity. Well, Dorian can agree with that. Just go on the date and come back. Hurry it up.
“Yeah but what if… what if we fall head over hooves with him?!” Fearne exclaims.
Dorian refuses to entertain that idea for even a second. “What if it’s a terrible date? Two of you have never actually been on one before!”
Well, that makes two things now that he wishes he hadn’t said, especially when he looks at Imogen. Her lips parting and closing, parting and closing, like she wants to retort with something but struggles to know what to say. Truly, she should demand an apology for having her vulnerable admission of romantic inexperience immediately thrown back in her face. He knows he’s being insufferable and the longer this conversation drags on, the more he’s regretting his words. He wants to walk away. To cool down. Can he do that please?
“There’s no expectations placed on this,” Ashton says. “I think it’s just a good time for everybody.”
He feels Orym’s eyes bore into his skull. He doesn’t need to be able to magically read thoughts to know what Orym’s thinking - he has a wide, shit-eating grin on his face, his eyes glowing with amusement. His thoughts are obvious. Yeah, it’s just a good time. Aren’t you having a good time, Dorian?
“It’s the end of the work day,” Orym says, turning to Imogen.
“So, now’s the time to go visit her!” she insists.
“I mean, maybe.”
“She’ll be wanting to get done with everything and then we can like… jump in and she’ll be like, try to, y’know, ‘Fine, let’s talk really fast,’ and she might give something away.”
“So, we’ll just quickly rattle the information out of her, find this person, wrap it up quick before your date.” Orym isn’t looking at any of the ladies as he says it. He’s staring straight at him. Dorian knows what this is – a bait, a challenge, but he falls headfirst into it anyway.
“Oh, I’m sure we’ll be done in time,” he sneers.
That makes it the third stupid fucking thing he’s said tonight. As the smile on Imogen’s face slowly drops, so does the feeling in the pit of his stomach.
__________
On the walk back to the cable car he’s quiet as his friends talk and he has a moment to be honest with himself. He hasn’t really addressed this feeling he’s had all day. He doesn’t have a name for it. It’s like dread, except he wants to keep it. It’s as if something is just out of reach but he’s staring at it from far away. It’s like a trill from his flute, this strange quavering vibration his veins. It feels like… he doesn’t know how to describe how it feels except that it’s too much and that it makes him frustrated. He doesn’t know what to do with it.
He also knows that it’s ridiculous of him to think his opinion about The Date matters. He doesn’t get a say. Who they see, what they do, where they go, how they spend their time… it’s their own business. The Date has absolutely nothing to do with him. It’s not about him. He’s an adult for fuck’s sake, but he’s acting like a sulky, spoiled…
And then it hits him: Childish.
That’s not the right word for how he’s feeling, but it’s certainly accurate for how he’s behaving.
When he steps into the car, the shame rides with him. He wants to apologize to Imogen because even though he’s said rude things about The Date in general, they always seemed to be directed at her. The two of them are almost never alone though, always surrounded by their friends. It doesn’t matter. He knows that even if they were alone, he wouldn’t know what to say. Wouldn’t know how to even begin explaining himself.
In the reflection of the cable car window he can see Imogen sitting, her eyes clenched shut, gripping FCG’s hand tight. He hears her quietly whispering to herself: Pasture, fence, Flora, sunshine… Pasture, fence, Flora, sunshine… Pasture, fence, Flora, sunshine…
She has always tried to help him. Why has he never tried to help her? He wants to. He wants to be the one talking her through her fears, the reason she sighs in relief at the end of a cable car ride, the one holding her hand—
He feels the shame sink deeper, settle in and wedge there.
It’s something unrestrainable, something desperate, this feeling he has. About that, at least, he’s certain.
Dorian is excited to be a part of this pageant. He can practically hear his mother's disapproving scoff at the idea, but he's having fun. He always has fun with this crazy group he found himself amongst. He's currently wearing a large grin as he watched Dariax sneak forward, no doubt about to do something mischievous.
Sure enough the dwarf makes a hand gesture and mutters something Dorian can't hear from where he is. However, what he does hear is the sound of a fart noise emanating from the stage where Lisle is giving her answer.
Dariax gives a giggle which only makes Dorian smile wider. He watches as the woman shakes it off and continues talking.
Dariax does it again before turning to Opal, "I got your back, Opal, I got you."
Something warm furls in Dorian's chest. No matter what Dariax always has their back. He'll jump into the fray without a moment's hesitation. It's one of the things Dorian likes so much about Dariax.
Dorian watches as Opal reaches out and grabs Dariax by the face and plants a kiss right on his lips.
Dorian's smile falters as the warm furl turns cold. He tries to smooth the frown that's taken up residency on his face, but the flush on Dariax's cheeks makes it difficult.
He turns, reaching for a glass of water to distract him. He's thankful that Fearne gets called onto stage next. He can concentrate on her, she's always entertaining.
Dorian doesn't even notice that Dariax had approached him.
"Did you see what I did to Lisle?" Dariax asked proudly, a wide grin on his face.
Dorian can't help the smile that tugs at his own features, "Yes, that was a good one."
"Thanks. I thought so too. She's a real bitch," Dariax turned to watch Fearne.
"Yeah," Dorian agreed, his eyes unable to leave the dwarf. There was something about him, but Dorian couldn't place it, something that warmed him.
-
Dorian walks off stage, a rush or adrenaline at the response. He rather liked his outfit, and it seems the crowd did too.
"Thank you for that, Opal, I've always wanted to do that. Something like that," he smiled at his friend.
"Wow, you're hot," Opal praised.
"What a great outfit," Fearne added.
Dorian smiled, "Thank you."
"It's so sheer," Fearne eyed his outfit as she spoke.
Dorian felt himself grow shy, "I know, I just-" he trailed off.
"Hot," Dariax nodded, his eyes trailing over Dorian.
Dorian dipped his head as a blush surfaced on his cheeks. He ducked away to grab his cloak, putting it back on. He found he didn't know how to handle being under the scrutinizing gaze of Dariax.
He's relieved when the Dwarf's attention is turned back to the stage.
The relief is short lived, however, as Cinna takes the stage, catching Dariax's eyes.
"Oy, Tin-Tin, I'll see you later on," She winked with a sly grin.
Dorian can't help the cold furl that once again takes up residency within his stomach.
"Are we meeting up with her later?" Dariax blinked, looking at Fearn, Opal, and Dorian.
Opal leaned over toward Dariax, "It might just be you."
"Okay," Dariax nods easily.
Dorian can't decide if Dariax understands the Dwarven woman's intentions, but the cold furl doesn't relent regardless.
-
The pageant is over, and everyone has gathered on the stage for the winner announcements.
"Okay so our first runner up is the illustrious Cinna Brightbow," Ruby announces, clapping.
Cinna jumps around excitedly before grabbing Dariax's face and giving him a big kiss.
Dorian's smile dropped.
"Looks like I won the contest, huh?" Dariax chuckled.
Dorian let out a scoff that he didn't intend to. He cleared his throat, trying to cover, thankfully no one seemed to notice.
He didn't like the way he was reacting to the attention Dariax was getting, but he couldn't help it. He didn't even know what the reaction was. It's not like he was jealous. That would be ridiculous. That would mean he had feelings for the Dwarf. That couldn't be right. It....couldn't.
The sound of cheering and clapping pulled Dorian's attention back to the stage where Opal was accepting her crown. He clapped and put a smile on his face, but it's forced. His mind was too busy processing the new revelation.
As they leave the stage, he notices Orym slip away, and Opal head off in the opposite direction. He reaches Dariax and Fearne.
"Dorian," Dariax grinned as he approached.
"Hello Dariax," Dorian tries to act natural and not like he just realized he was head over heels for Dariax.
"Do you want some funnel cake?" Fearne asked, holding out the gently powdered fried bread.
"I do. And maybe one of those beers. But first I have a riddle for both of you. Are you ready?"
"Totally," Dariax stared up at Dorian with wide eyes.
Dorian felt that familiar warmth in his stomach again.
"A half-naked Genasi, a six-foot tall feywild faun and a tiny robot walk into a bar. Who wins the drinking contest?"
Fearne smiled, "Well, I already know the answer to that."
"What is it?" Dariax asked, looking genuinely perplexed.
"It's the six-foot tall faun," She grinned.
"Oh you think so?" Dorian smirked.
"I don't think, I know," Fearne's smile widened.
"I'm not good with riddles," Dariax shook his head, "But I'm happy to do drinking."
"We'll find out the answer together," Dorian gestured to a local tavern.
"Should we change?" Fearne asked glancing down at her still ripped dress.
"Oh," Dariax pulled off his cloak.
"Should we?" Dorian glanced down at himself. He rather enjoyed wearing his outfit.
"You definitely shouldn't," Dariax's eyes trailed over the Genasi.
Dorian felt a blush fill his cheeks. "You don't think so?"
Dariax met Dorian's eyes, "No way."
The warmth pressed up from Dorian's stomach to his chest. God he was so gone on this man.
-
Dorian was several drinks in and if you asked him, he'd tell you that was why his cheeks were so flushed. It had nothing to do with the dwarf who kept trailing his eyes over him.
He fidgeted and cleared his throat as Dariax once again drug his eyes down the length of him.
"You really do look nice," Dariax grinned up at him.
"Thank you," Dorian bowed his head.
"You're welcome," Dariax took a swig of his beer. "You're cute when you blush."
Dorian cleared his throat as his cheeks flared more.
"It's strange cause people flirt with you all the time. You think you'd get used to it," Dariax shrugged.
"Me? What about you? You were the one who got kissed twice today," Dorian pointed out with a scoff.
"Yeah, I guess you're right," Dariax puffed his chest proudly.
"Speaking of," Dorian glanced down at his drink, "You uh, didn't meet up with Cinna."
"Who?" Dariax frowned as if he didn't know the name.
"The dwarf that kissed you," Dorian glanced up, his eyes meeting Dariax's.
"Oh right. Well, you wanted to go drinking," Dariax shrugged.
"You wouldn't rather be with her?" Dorian hated the way his voice sounded hopeful.
"No," Dariax answered as if it were obvious.
"Oh," Dorian smiled down at his drink.
"I'd rather hang out with you any day," Dariax continued, forcing another flush to Dorian's cheeks.
The Genasi felt Dariax's eyes slide over him once again. He glanced up at Dariax and wondered what it would be like to kiss him.
Dorian downed the last of his drink just as Fearne reached their table with three more drinks in hand.
"I'm gonna turn in for the night. You can have mine, Dariax," Dorian pushed the new drink towards the dwarf.
"Oh, thanks," Dariax lit up.
"Goodnight, Fearne," Dorian gave her a nod.
"Goodnight, Dorian," Fearne smiled sweetly at him.
Dorian took a deep breath and leaned forward to press a kiss to Dariax's cheek, but at the last second Dariax turned a met Dorian's lips with his own.
Dorian pulled back in surprise. "Oh."
"Goodnight, Dorian," Dariax winked.
"Uh...goodnight, Dariax," Dorian's cheeks were once again flushed as he turned and hurried out the door.
The warmth filled his body as he made his way to bed.
Consider buying me a coffee, I would really appreciate it!
I got a beautiful gift fic from @nilboxes the other day and I love it so much. Thank you! <33
The uncharted territory of the Arbor Wilds proved to be quite the challenge for the Inquisition’s army to traverse. Any trek to roads less travelled was quite the task, but Vax was as optimistic as he could ever be. This would be a decisive battle for the Inquisition. Corypheus had begun to consolidate his army, and that meant they could strike them where it hurts.
Lady Morrigan had volunteered to accompany them, much to Dorian’s vague displeasure and Vax’s delight.
“These wilds have much history,” Morrigan said. “One could only surmise what it is Corypheus intends to find here.”
Vax smiled, his handsome, rugged features lighting up and softening when he did. “We’ll have enough spies to slow down Corypheus’ army until the rest of Cullen’s soldiers arrive.”
Morrigan smiled, the kind that had a sardonic bent to it, but was not in any way unkind. “Such confidence. But this place is not so kind to visitors.”
“With your expertise, Lady Morrigan, I am confident we are well equipped to handle whatever the Arbor Wilds will throw at us,” Vax grinned.
Morrigan chuckled and their conversation continued.
Dorian watched this entire scene playing in front of him with a small grimace. Never let it be said that it was easy to be the Inquisitor’s lover, considering how his dear amatus flirted when he likely didn’t intend to. Had the Inquisitor not just had his tongue down Dorian’s throat just hours before, he might have believed otherwise.
That said, Dorian ignored the exchange, or at least tried to. He side-eyed the pair, hating that they were a pair, and rolled his eyes at yet another set of playful banter. One would think the Inquisitor had his fill of dark-haired mages with a penchant for sarcasm, apparently not.
Before Dorian could interject a comment between the both of them, a sudden gust of gelid winds blew through them.
“It seems we might be expecting a snowstorm,” Morrigan said.
Vax’s face straightened from the easy smile into one slightly more serious, but calm. “Then we should prepare camp before it hits, if there’s anything I learned at Haven, it was these things could hit quite fast.”
He winked at Dorian. “Seems like we get to rest up early tonight, love.”
Dorian made a face. “In the face of a delightful snowstorm. I heard.”
Vax grinned, but said nothing else as he began to call for camp to be made somewhere suitable to weather a storm.
The efficiency of the Inquisition army had them huddling in tents. Vax had pulled him into their tent the moment the furs and the blankets had been laid out.
“Come inside before the snowstorm starts,” Vax said.
Dorian scoffed as he allowed himself to be undressed to his underclothes. “Isn’t this funny, I would think you would prefer a different bedmate at this particular time.”
Vax looked a little surprised. “What?” he began, and his eyes lit when he came to a realization, followed by a small chuckle. “Is this about Morrigan? No, of course not, love, it’s only a bit of banter.”
The upturned chin Dorian put on communicated that he was not yet fully convinced. But Vax knew a quick kiss to his chin as he slid his hand beneath Dorian’s shirt would be a good start to an apology.
“She’s clever, confident, powerful and I like her,” Vax murmured, “Because she reminds me of you.”
Dorian made a small smirk. “Such sweet words, dear Inquisitor,” he said and as much as he wanted to he couldn’t bring himself to be upset for long, not when those hands had traveled south, eager and promising endless pleasure with teasing caresses.
“Is it working?” Vax asked, lifting Dorian into his arms and lowering them both to the makeshift bed.
“I am not quite sure, perhaps a more thorough demonstration is required,” Dorian answered, slipping his hands between them to give Vax’s groin a brief squeeze through his trousers.
Vax captured Dorian’s mouth in a searing kiss. “I am at your service.”
The snowstorm began to fall in earnest outside, but the lovers hardly noticed and wouldn’t even feel the biting cold until much later when they wake up to the storm still raging on after they had finished their lovemaking and fell asleep in each other’s arms, only to find that the best thing to do would be to indulge in each other’s passions once more.
All your art is so great, I'm really happy I found your blog this year. Also just a fair warning to you (and Dorian): If you keep drawing Vax with that pretty blush I'll have no choice but to lure him into my bed ... it's doing things to me. ;)
Funny thing, hit on Vax and suddenly an angry Vint appears. Works every time.
