#lavellanxdorian

[stellanimarum]

I just wanted to draw some soft Dorian, That is all. 

[vagabond-art]

pavellan for halloween

[biowarelove]

Dragon Age: Pavellan by MilesTheHuman

[biowarelove]

Dorian x Lavellan~ by LuLuXion

[gingerninja-blr]

No Sick Days

Inspired by my being so smug about everyone in the house getting sick except for me, but now I feel like poo, and apparently feeling like poo inspires me... Who knew? lol 

~~~~

  There was a bug sweeping through the Inquisition, waylaying scouts, soldiers, workers and the inner circle indiscriminately. 

  It seemed to have started with Dorian; one day he had complained of a runny nose and a minor headache, and the next he was utterly bedridden, and remained so for very nearly a fortnight. Then, Iron Bull caught it, and it spread from him to the Chargers, spreading through Skyhold like plague from there. 

  “If we could find a way to spread this to the red Templars, we’d be made...” Ysmere muttered as he carried a fresh pitcher of water to Dorian before going to check on Sera. “Coriffy-tits wouldn’t know what hit him.” He’d started to adopt Sera’s manner of calling the darkspawn Magister names, rather than dignifying him with his proper name. People were beginning to say she was a bad influence on him. He smirked. Between Sera, Dorian and the newly Tal-Vashoth-ed Bull, he was well surrounded by bad influence. Tal-Vashoth-ed? Is that how that works... Probably not. He thought, hurrying across the courtyard with his burden from the kitchen. 

  Despite being surrounded by the sick, Ysmere was finding the sudden mundanity that was filling Skyhold to be a welcome and refreshing change. Not to mention the smugness he felt at being the only one of the inner circle and his advisers that hadn’t been afflicted by the Nasty Lurgy. 

 It was the first time he’d felt useful without having to kill someone since being forced to join the Inquisition.

  Weeks pass. The minor plague passes, leaving the Inquisitor self-satisfied and seemingly unscathed. 

  The day dawned grey and damp in the Emerald Graves. The season had begun to turn and it was noticeably cooler that morning. 

  Dorian, as usual, was the first to awaken in the tent they shared. Muttering and grumbling as he dressed himself, the mage unintentionally jostled Ysmere awake. The Inquisitor, never to be mistaken for a morning person moaned and grumbled and Dorian thought nothing of it. 

  The tall elf sighed deeply and stifled a short fit of coughs after Dorian exited the tent to greet the day as he always did. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut against the piercing pain in his head. He rolled onto his back and ground his teeth, feeling as if some cruel person had snuck in during the night and carefully smashed every bone in his body and then pieced them back together in the wrong order.  

 He dragged himself reluctantly and painfully from his bedroll and dressed slowly, glad that it was only Dorian who he shared the tent with. He stifled another fit of coughs as he ventured out, trying not to show how much care he needed to take just to stand. He hoped he wasn’t swaying too conspicuously when Bull greeted him. 

Fortunately for him, it was the day they planned to leave the Graves. Dorian looked at him questioningly when he buckled himself to his saddle when they mounted up to leave. 

  “I didn’t sleep well last night.” He offered with what he hoped was a convincing nonchalance. 

 “Be glad for a proper bed again, yeah?” Sera said with a yawn. 

  Three and a half days back to Skyhold. Ysmere swore it was the longest three and a half days of his entire life. Three and a half days of trying to hide just how terrible he felt, hiding how every little movement of his mount pained him. The rough road was slow torture. He was sure everyone knew he was sick, but he was determined not to show it. 

 He knew he’d never hear the end of it.

 He never thought he’d seen something so beautiful as the gates of Skyhold as the party walked their horses under the massive arches and into the courtyard. 

  Ysmere recalled unbuckling himself from his saddle, and then a sensation of falling. Someone had shouted, he thought it was Commander Cullen, but he couldn’t be certain. The next thing he knew he was lying in his soft, warm bed, and there was a huge, calloused hand pressing a cool cloth to his forehead. 

  He blinked blearily up at Iron Bull, who smirked crookedly down at him. “Hey, boss.” 

  “Not so smug now, are you?” Dorian said tartly as he leaned over him, looking pleased with himself.  

[gingerninja-blr]

My Evil Tevinter Magister

 Ysmere sighed, closing his eyes and scratching at the fresh scab on the bridge of his nose. He made a sour face when he realized he’d just made himself bleed... again. He shifted restlessly in his chair, took a deep breath through his nose and forced himself to stay put. He knew that if he got up now he would never get the blasted reports all read, written or signed before morning. 

 He was just feeling so antsy. Disappointed, saddened and restless. 

 “Amatus? What is it?” Dorian looked up from his books, doing more incessant research. The couch was cluttered with papers, scrolls and books, leaving little room for the mage. Several notes, letters and scrolls spilled from the cushions with a dry clatter as the man stood. 

 The elf looked up at Dorian, a drop of blood sliding down the smooth, curving slope of his nose. He grimaced and wiped it away irritably, leaving a smear of blood on the back of his hand and across the bridge of his nose. 

 “Here. Stop picking at it, or it’s going to leave a scar.” The man said, producing a silken handkerchief and handing it to Ysmere. 

 “I’m not about to put a blood stain in one of your silk hankies...” He protested, instead licking the pads of his thumb and index finger and pressing them to the small wound to staunch the bleeding. 

 “Well, are you at least going to tell me what the matter is, before your fidgeting drives me mad, and I am forced to do something about it?” Dorian smirked, folding the handkerchief and slipping it neatly back into his pocket. 

 “I’d be delighted if you gave my hands something to do...” Ysmere smirked back, his fade-rift-green eyes full of mischief. He sighed then, unable to shake the strange melancholy that had held him since returning from the Frostbacks Basin. 

 “What is it?” Dorian persisted. 

 “Ameridan.” Ysmere frowned at a spot of spilled ink staining the wood of his desk. “It’s bad enough that the records of him being a mage were struck... but nowhere in the histories did it state that he was an elf. I know, I’ve read them all.” He said, shaking his head and standing to relocate to his bed. He was already dressed for bed, he might as well be there. 

 “There was even scandal when people speculated that Telani, an elf, was his lover. How many histories did the Chantry rewrite to suit their needs? How many other elves have been struck from the records?” He slumped on the edge of the vast four-posted bed. His brows knit as he stared at the mark on his hand. 

 “The hero of Ferelden is an elf. How long will it take before he’s forgotten, or struck from the history books? How long before I’m forgotten?” 

 “I did tell you before that no one would thank you...” Dorian started. 

 “I know, I don’t know... I guess...” He growled and got up and began to pace, glaring down at the carpet as he sorted his thoughts. 

 “It offends you.” 

 “Yes!” Ysmere agreed, full of exasperation. “It offends me greatly that the Chantry goes in and alters histories written by the very people who lived them! A-and then burns the evidence, just to suit their desires, to... To help justify an exalted march! It’s despicable that an institution that was created to aid those in need would stoop to such a thing.” He continued to pace, his hands waving and clawing at the air in frustration. He was always very animated when he was frustrated or angry. 

 As much as Dorian hated seeing him upset, he adored watching him, he was usually so reserved. When he lost his temper, though... He was just so lively. 

 “Like Red Crossing! It was a misunderstanding! A mistake! And it was recorded as such by the elves, and likely by the people of Red Crossing, but then the Chantry moves in. Turning it into an excuse to start an Exalted March because it wanted the land that Andraste herself had supposedly left to the elves.” 

 Ysmere slumped back on the edge of the bed once more with a sigh that sounded more akin to a growl. “They make the laws, then break them, or change them when it no longer suits them to honour them. They’ve been propagating hatred for so long, it’s become an accepted practice!” 

 Dorian sighed and crawled across the bed to wrap his arms around the elf’s slender middle and fastening his lips to the tip of one long ear. 

 Ysmere faltered mid-sentence, his lips parting with a soft gasp of surprise.

 “I’m sorry, I was ranting and being ‘too elfy’ again, wasn’t I?” He sighed somewhat contritely, quoting Sera’s oft heard accusation. 

 “Not at all.” Dorian replied, still nibbling at Ysmere’s tender earlobe. “I was simply concerned that you’d get yourself going again and miss yet another night of sleep this week. Which I am not allowing!” He said sternly, though his hands were beginning to wander under the elf’s loose robe. 

 Ysmere smirked as he looked down at Dorian’s wandering hands. “Oh, I see...” he chuckled, “Is this you’re dastardly plot to distract me from both my work and my ranting?” 

  “You’ve found me out!” Dorian gasped in theatrical shock before dragging his his teeth gently along the edge of Ysmere’s right ear. Delighted by the little mewling sound that came from the back of the elf’s throat as his eyes closed and his toes curled in the thick pile of the rug. 

  He let out the breath he’d forgotten he was holding as he felt Dorian’s hand slip past the loose belt of his robe and into the waistband of his smalls, while his mouth migrated from his ear to the edge of his jaw. he smiled slightly and tilted his head to offer more skin for Dorian to explore with teeth, lips and tongue. 

  “You seem to forget: the last time you tried this, you were the one who fell asleep first.” He teased. 

  “Call this-” Dorian’s fingers ghosted through the sparse curls crowning Ysmere’s cock, sending a tingling shock of magic through the elf’s groin causing a sharp gasp from the elf as Ysmere’s hips bucked suddenly. “my revenge, then.” The mage chuckled darkly in his ear. 

  “Ah.. oohhh... That’s cheating!” Ysmere groaned, back arching as he felt his cock grow heavy against Dorian’s palm. 

  “Of course I’m cheating!” Dorian laughed “Evil Tevinter Magister, remember?” He murmured the last, breath hot against the elf’s bite-reddened ear, relishing the profound shudder that coursed through Ysmere’s lean frame as he applied another pulse of magic directly to his shaft. Dorian smiled with satisfaction as Ysmere’s head fell back against his shoulder and he sucked in a breath between clenched teeth, his long eyelashes fluttered. 

  Ysmere’s entire body tensed as his world went white for a moment before he felt strong fingers wrap tightly about the base of his erection. He gasped and moaned loudly. “Tsk, tsk, you can’t come yet, you’ll soil your smalls, then where would you be?” 

  “I could always steal yours,” The elf’s chuckle was breathless “you and your silky underthings...” 

  “Do they even fit you?” Dorian inquired, his eyebrows quirking curiously, Ysmere grinned and nodded, mirth bubbling up from his chest. “We should go to Val Royeaux, get you your very own silky underthings. I’m sure that tailor would love to get his hands on you again.” He suggested archly. 

 Ysmere snorted. “He did rather linger on the inseam...”  He chuckled thoughtfully. “Still, most comfortable clothes I think I have ever worn.” He concluded before suddenly shrugging Dorian off and standing. “Though I’ve always been more comfortable naked.” He drew out the syllables of the last word as he turned back to the bed, slowly undoing the belt of his robe and letting it slip down his shoulders. He did everything slowly, his eyes full of wicked mischief as he gradually revealed his milky pale skin inch by inch. His shoulders and arms speckled with faint freckles and there was a small mole just left of his navel, the only visible mark on his slender, tightly muscled belly that wasn’t new scar tissue. 

  The elf smirked slightly when he finally let the robe drop and he shucked off the smallclothes before pushing Dorian back on the bed, capturing his mouth in a wild honey and elfroot tea flavoured kiss. 

  He did nothing in a hurry. His long, deft hands lingering over the belts and buckles of the mage’s stylish clothing. His lust was a long, slow burn, delighting in the denial of satiation. Ysmere would rather start in the morning, being brought to the very brink and being left hot and bothered and wanting for the entire day before finally finding relief late at night after being brought again to the brink of orgasm, over and over until his body shook and he sobbed with the need of it. 

  He knew well Dorian’s impatience, and he would never tire of teasing him. Ysmere, of course, took his time disrobing the mage, swatting his hands away playfully when the man tried to hurry him. Fleeting touches to reward bare skin each time he removed a different article of clothing. He laughed and finally gave in as Dorian made a needy sound and reached for his trousers for the fifth time. His skillful fingers undoing the final belt and buttons and tugging the offending material away in the space of a heartbeat, pulling the mage’s underwear away in the same motion and leaving him bare, panting and straining for the elf’s attention. 

  Ysmere was done making him wait. He moved away long enough to grab the small box that was kept under his headboard and took out a small phial of warming message oil. The scent of sweet cloves and elfroot filling the room as he poured a generous amount into the palm of his hand. Dorian groaned in appreciation as the elf took his length into his mouth, chasing his lips with his oil-slicked palm as they traveled slowly up his shaft, leaving him slick and glistening with saliva and warm oil. 

  He then proceeded to slick his fingers with more oil when Dorian stayed his hands. “Let me...” He breathed, reaching out, eyeing the elf hungrily. Ysmere smiled and relinquished the phial without hesitation, laughing quietly as the mage shifted him, shoving him back until his head hit the pillows with a soft woomph. 

  He gasped and arched as Dorian’s fingers sought his entrance, sending the same tingling magic through the tight pucker as he had applied to his shaft. 

  “Cruel man... You’re not going to let me last long, are you?” Ysmere groaned, grinding back onto Dorian’s fingers as they curled inside him, seeking out that sweet little bundle of nerves. Having found it he sent yet another shock of electricity, causing the elf to jump and writhe, his erection weeping and straining against the taught muscles of his belly, his own flesh quivered in response. 

  Reaching up, Ysmere wrapped his arms about the mage’s broad shoulders, pulling him down slightly as he pulled himself up, their lips meeting half way. “Please, I need... Give me your cock.” He pleaded, begging wantonly, shamelessly, as he rode Dorian’s fingers, crying out as the man smirked against his lips and sent another pulse through his body. “Mmnnngh... I wonder if you could do that with your cock...?” He murmured against Dorian’s lips, latching onto his bottom lip with his teeth.

  The mage’s eyes went wide at the thought. “I don’t see why I couldn’t...” He panted as he pulled his fingers out and slid himself into perfect heat. 

  Ysmere writhed beneath Dorian as he hilted himself. “Nnn, pala em...” He groaned, reverting to his native tongue as the man slowly began to move. A look of concentration on his face. 

  They shouted in unison as a burst of power was felt between them and Dorian was thrusting with sudden abandon, each time he struck home on Ysmere’s sweet-spot there was a new shock that had the elf sobbing, his cock jumping between them, slicking both of their bellies with his precome before finally, neither could take any more. 

  Dorian came with a wavering shout he wouldn’t remember producing, his back bent back like a drawn bow as his hips snapped and shuddered. His whole world focused into the point of their joining and the burst of agonizing pleasure that consumed and drowned him. 

  Ysmere’s world abruptly turned bright white and seemed to turn sideways on it’s axis. His scream was silent, his body drawn up as his shoulders lifted from the mattress as his seed shot between them. Everything seemed to disappear in a moment of perfect existence, or nothingness, perhaps. His mind empty of everything except sensation. 

  “Oh... Fenhedis...” Ysmere moaned softly when he finally came-to, sweat-soaked and gasping for air. Dorian was a heavy, comforting anchor laying over him, heaving for breath as if he had just run several miles. He smiled quietly and reached up a weak and shaking hand to ruffle the man’s jet black hair. 

  “My evil Tevinter Magister...” He chuckled softly before he let sleep claim him. 

[gingerninja-blr]

Not a Soft Ending

   It was done. Corypheus had been defeated. For good this time.

   The Inquisitor gave his brief few words of victory at the top of the steps entering Skyhold, but no one seemed to notice as he hung back, letting everyone pass into the Great Hall, shutting the massive doors behind them for the first time since they had come to this ancient place of refuge.

  Ysmere slumped on the step, struggling to catch his breath. He coughed and tasted blood. He sighed, knowing then that his wounds would likely be mortal. His head thumped lightly against the heavy, iron-bound wood of the Hold's doors, and he gazed up at the stars, watching as the scars left by the Breach flashed and rippled through the night sky.

  He wished suddenly that he had quill, ink and paper. To write an apology, to his Vhenan. Dorian deserved so much better. The Altus had laughed it off when Ysmere had tried to say any sort of farewell, or to even suggest that he knew, perhaps, that Corypheus would be the end of him.

 He always had so much faith.

 Too much.

 Ysmere had, at times, found Dorian's unwavering faith in him unnerving and misplaced. He could never be worthy of such trust or devotion. He felt the same about being made Inquisitor. He never thought he could succeed, how could he? He had, though... Or rather, they had. This wasn't his doing, it was the success of the people who had rallied around the banner Cassandra, Lelliana, Cullen and Josephine had held aloft, they had only made of him a weapon. A tool. A well honed and finely crafted tool, but a tool, none the less.

 Ysmere coughed, choking as the world grew darker about the edges. He didn't notice at first, but then the stars began to dim and slowly go out at the edges of his sight. His field of vision slowly narrowing.

 He was cold, he should have been shivering, he thought vaguely, and he felt desperately thirsty. Starless dark overtook him as his head lulled, and he could feel his breath rattle feebly in his chest. He felt a draft of warm air suddenly at his side as one of the great doors was pushed open, a distant, inquiring call, then, again, seeming almost frantic. He felt hands on his chest, the pain, sharp and bright, the only point of focus to his fading senses. He tried to lift his head, to see the source of that distant, so familiar voice, he thought he did. All he managed in truth, was a weak gasp before the darkness was joined by silence and he knew no more.

-------------------

Sorry, my head goes to sad, dark places at night when I can’t sleep. Also, been reading Lord of the Rings, sorry if it seems a bit... wordy. 

[elliotkaingrey]

Saw this at my store today and immediately imagined Dorian saying this to Cendres with overly dramatic flourishes and Cendres just grinning like an idiot because it’s Dorian and who the hell cares if what he just said was the stupidest thing ever and Cassandra is making disgusted noises in the distance, he loves his silly mage.