i come with a gift for vergil. i... well i tried to bring him a bottle of wine, but every time i bought one it kept transforming into something labeled The Forgotten Blood of Dead Gods. no idea what that's about, but maybe he still can make some sort of use of it. cheers?
"A gift?" Vergil inspects the label, face neutral. "The name seems a bit… excessive."
A glint of curiosity appears in his eyes when he opens the bottle and takes a careful sniff of it. "It does not smell like poisoned, but then a good poison hardly does."
Vergil pours the wine into a glass and tilts it, the liquid sloshing around.
His eyes narrow slightly, "Looks like a regular wine. But, my experience with things like that tells me to be cautious. You will not take offense if I study it before I decide what to do with it, will you?" He is not really asking, his gaze on you. A small smile graces his lips, before it slips with a gentle nod sent your way.
"You have my thanks for the gift. And, before you go," Vergil looks at you closely, "you mentioned that you bought several bottles that turned into this?"
"I would like to take a look at them, if you will."
Tamaris Surana and Vergil Surana in a fic for @aubergion to celebrate the oc kiss week 💙✨
When the door to his office opens, Vergil doesn’t look up from the document in his hand. The person who enters the room without knocking, is allowed to do that.
If the circumstances call for it.
“Vergil. I need your opinion on something.”
Vergil hums in agreement, his gaze still glued to the paper. “In a minute.”
The numbers aren’t right. The price of powdered lyrium from their regular supplier went suspiciously up and he really needs to look closer into the quality of the batch they sent lately.
There’s a slight buzz in the air, a taste of clean magic he associates with Tamaris but he doesn’t let it distract him.
“I would really prefer it now.” Tamaris says, a slight hitch in their breath.
Vergil’s brows furrow, his focus dropping from the document, “What is it-”
The thick paper crumples in his hold.
Tamaris stands in the middle of his office. Perfectly fine, if not for the faint glow surrounding their form.
They are glowing. Their eyes are glowing.
And the buzz intensifies. Now he can feel the magic in the air more clearly. It comes out in waves, no, pulses, like a heartbeat. Elevated one.
Tamaris grimaces in a way that he thinks could be an attempt of a smile on any other person who seems to be in pain.
He is up before he knows it.
“What happened?”
Vergil reaches for them, almost touching, when a stray electricity charge sparks and dies over his fingers, leaving a slight sting in its wake.
He hasn’t called for that, and one look at Tamaris tells him that they haven’t either. They step back from him, their eyes wary.
“The artifact.” They say, hands curled into fists. “It released its energy when I was studying it.”
Vergil’s eyes widen, “And you absorbed it.”
This is not good news. Tamaris’ mana well is already deep - their natural ability to replenish any lost power without much problem is a thing Vergil would like to study closer, given the chance. Any addition to their magic essence is like pouring liquid to a full goblet and watching it overflow messily.
“I can not harness it anymore. It destabilizes my own magic and,” Tamaris rubs their sternum, “it feels… unpleasant.”
“We need to release it.”
“Yes.” They nod slowly, and Vergil moves towards them again.
“Can you walk?” Vergil asks them, while mentally he’s crossing out a list of potential spots for getting rid of extra mana flowing through Tamaris’ veins. Basement? No, there is a chance of a blast and he isn’t sure if the structure would hold. One of the upper rooms? No as well - the ceiling could cave in if something uncontrolled happens and people might get hurt.
“I can.” They answer, already turning to the door and stumbling over their own feet. They catch themselves on the doorframe, face pulled into a displeased scowl. One that vanishes as quickly as it appeared when Vergil grabs his coat and puts it over their shoulders. The hood over their head almost hides their startled look, “What are you doing?”
“I will carry you.” Vergil says, “We are going to the roof.”
Distracted by his words, Tamaris doesn’t react until he hauls them up in his arms.
“I can walk!” They protest, though their hands find purchase over Vergil’s neck when he starts walking. “Put me down.”
“No.” Tamaris blinks up at him, their eyes shining like a lyrium potion. “The faster we get there, the quicker you get rid of that extra energy.”
Vergil is pleased to notice that the runes seamed in the coat subdue magic residue that seems to leak through Tamaris’ iron control.
“I am not injured.” They grumble under their breath, squirming in his hold, “If someone sees-”
They stop moving with a soft gasp when Vergil uses more force to press them towards his body.
“No one will see a thing.” Vergil says, leaning down towards their face, “Trust me.”
A slight pink hue spills on their cheeks while he’s holding their gaze, his fingers curling tighter on the thick fabric over their thigh. They don’t say anything, a quick tongue darting over their dry lips - something that catches Vergil’s attention. After a moment longer, Tamaris just nods and turns their face towards the crook of his neck. Soft puffs of their breath warm his skin, their fingertips grazing his nape, in a repetitive circle motion.
Without a thought, Vergil’s mouth brushes the sliver of skin of their forehead peeking from under the hood.
“We are almost there,” he whispers, calling up on his magic to take the strain of his muscles when he’s taking the stairs up to the roof.
@heniareth I present you a very short Valentine's drabble of our modern au (cursed texts) settled in the future, where Vergil has his potion shop and is happily reunited with Ilanlas 💙😘
“There is no such thing as a love potion.”
“There is!” Reflexively, Vergil leans away from the phone screen thrust into his face, “See! It says here-”
“I assure you that any information presented on this webpage is false.” He states dryly.
The woman scowls at him, visibly displeased with his interruption. “What kind of potion shop doesn’t sell love potions?”
“This one.” Vergil’s customer smile is saccharine sweet. “Because they don’t exist.”
The client snorts, “Then you must be a scam. Just you wait until I’ll write you a review-”
Vergil is this close to rolling his eyes, barely stopping himself from doing so openly. “If you are so insistent on acquiring such concoction, I recommend visiting Wonders of Thedas. They specialize in exotic things.”
“Aha! So you admit that you don’t want to sell it to me!” Vergil is very grateful for the wide counter separating him from the woman, currently thrusting a finger at him. What is wrong with this person, so aggressively trying to invade his personal space?
Taking a deep breath he says, “I do not sell love potions.” He pretends he doesn’t hear the quiet snicker coming from the back office. “Now, can I help you in any other way?”
The woman squints at him. “No.” She throws her head back, long braid flying like a whip behind her as she marches to the entrance, closing the door with such force the window glass shakes.
Vergil closes his eyes with a sigh, “I hate this time of the year.”
“You don’t like Valentines?” A clink of porcelain and smooth voice to his right makes him open one eye, taking in the man standing next to him. There’s a cup on the counter, steam rising from it in delicate swirls.
“Not particularly.” He reaches for the cup, inhaling the scent of herbal tea. He doesn’t recognize the blend. “What is this?”
“Love potion.” Ilanlas says with a straight face that cracks at the look Vergil gives him. “I poured lots of affection into making this, you know.”
Soft laugh bubbles in his chest, along with the warmth he feels when he takes a sip of the tea. The taste is different from what he usually drinks, with more bitter tones mixed with palpable sweetness of honey. Privately, he calls it Ilanlas’ special blend - for all his Dalish heritage, his tea steeping is still wicked.
Vergil swallows another, longer sip, gaze on the man. The silent, expectant look in his eyes melts into a pleasant smile when he sees that Vergil doesn’t spit the tea immediately.
“Thank you.” Vergil says, mouth brushing inked forehead, his hand cupping Ilanlas’ sharp jaw.
“You’re welcome.” Ilanlas purrs, leaning into his touch just before their lips meet in a short kiss. It is quickly broken at the jingle of opening doors, though their eyes stay on each other for a bit longer.
“I’ll catch you later.” Ilanlas squeezes Vergil’s side before he slips back into the back office, tempting sway to his hips making it hard for Vergil to turn away and face another customer.
Ilanlas Mahariel and Vergil Surana starring in a fic for @heniareth to celebrate the oc kiss week 💙✨
Vergil turns the corner and steps into a garden. It is a small private space with a couple of trees and a few bushes. There is a patch where he grows his herbs, a rectangular box of dirt that is insulated from the floor with wards. In the middle of a cobblestone path are two wooden benches and a low table. It is a place to unwind, listen to birds that sit on the branches and read a book, if the weather is nice.
There is also where Ilanlas made his spot for archery practice. Or more like, where he comes when he wants to practice alone, without anyone spying on him.
Hone his skill or let out some steam.
Like he does now.
The bushes obscure the view, but the dull noise of an arrow meeting its target reaches Vergil. It repeats in semi-regular sequence, a background noise that Vergil closely listens to as he opens the basket of goods he carried with him. After a quick arrangement of its contents on the table, Vergil sits back. And waits, a small journal balanced on his knee.
Sometime later he hears soft clatter of arrows being put away with the rest of the equipment, water splashing and nearing steps.
Ilanlas eyes Vergil, and the table - honey cakes on a plate, a bowl of blackberries on the side. He walks slower, but doesn’t stop or approach.
Internally, Vergil sighs. Stubborn man.
“Ilanlas.”
Ilanlas stops with his back turned. The skirt of his armor brushes his thighs, leg wrappings mysteriously missing since their little spat.
He turns slightly to Vergil, face suspiciously neutral.
“A moment of your time,” Vergil says, gesturing at the empty bench, “if you would.”
Ilanlas hesitates, glancing at him and the food again. Vergil notices how he rolls his shoulders back before he makes the decision. With a swift precision, Ilanlas crosses the short distance and takes a seat. He stays quiet, arms crossed, legs comfortably spread - Vergil forces his gaze not to linger on the bare skin of his thighs shamelessly peeking in-between the stripes of his leather skirt. Instead he meets Ilanlas’ eyes, catches a flash of wicked satisfaction crossing his face before he is back to the annoyed-neutral one.
With a tilt of his chin and one brow up, Ilanlas oozes the “What do you want?” question in spades.
Vergil smothers another sigh that wants to escape him, reaching for a cake closest to him.
“You were right.” He admits, tearing the cake in two and popping it into his mouth. It is spongy and very, very sweet. He might have put too much honey in the batter.
“I know I was.” Ilanlas speaks with confidence, “I always am.”
Vergil bites his tongue, indulging the man with his silence on the matter. He is here to make amends, not to add more oil to the fire. After all, last night after the argument, Ilanlas went to sleep in another room, but he came back way past midnight to their shared bedroom. He barely spoke to Vergil and left as much space between them as physically possible without rolling out of the bed.
Vergil doesn’t intend on sleeping like that for the next night.
“Are you ready to do something about it?”
“I cannot.” He holds his hand up when Ilanlas’ lips pull into a hard line. “Not yet. I need proof. Solid one. I can’t hurl accusations without hard evidence.” He should bring some water to wash down the taste of pastries. It lingers around his teeth. “Amaranthine’s nobles haven’t forgotten that I let half of their city burn.”
“He did something to the well. Only water source for the alienage.” Ilanlas uncrosses his arms, elbows digging into his thighs as he leans closer. “People say it’s because he’s got plans for space and needs to get rid of the elves. That the fire hasn’t spread far enough to touch their homes.”
“That is his work, without doubt.” Vergil agrees, “but we need to be patient. Think of it as a hunt.”
Ilanlas snorts. “If I were the hunter here, he would have already occupied one of the branches.”
A small smile blooms on Vergil’s lips at the venom colouring Ilanlas’ words. If only things would be that simple. “I sent a letter to consult a friend on the matter.”
Ilanlas hums, easily catching on the meaning.
“And in the meantime, I have secured a water source for the alienage.” Vergil wiggles his fingers, Ilanlas’ eyes following the motion.
When Ilanlas gets up without a word, the smile freezes on Vergil's face. Then, the man plops himself next to him, his thigh a solid press next to his own leg.
The other half of the honey cake is deftly brought up to Ilanlas’ mouth, along with Vergil’s hand still holding onto it. Their gazes locked, a deliberate scrape of teeth on his fingertips just as Ilanlas’ lips close over the treat. Vergil’s fingers are sticky from honey and now wet thanks to Ilanlas. The man smirks at him, then chews and swallows, a slight grimace crinkling his eyes, “Sweet.”
“Have a berry then.”
“I might,” Ilanlas’ voice matches Vergil’s low tone, “If you pass it to me.”
Such simple words shouldn’t just make him so warm and reach for Ilanlas’ jaw, fingers caressing the soft underside as the man lets him tilt his head up.
“Any other wishes, when we are at it?” Vergil asks, mouth brushing the corner of Ilanlas’ lips that curls up under his light caress. A hand at his nape stops him from moving further and he stills for a moment.
“I have a list.” There’s a hint of playfulness in Ilanlas’ voice when he shifts his face away from Vergil’s, catching his eye. “But I’d really like those berries now.”
Vergil huffs, amused by the chase he is being set on. “Of course, starling. Coming up right now.”
Ilanlas looks pleased by his little win, firm warmth of his leg shifting impossibly closer to Vergil’s when he passes him the fruit bowl. Some of the blackberries glisten with spilled juices, staining Ilanlas’ fingers and mouth. Vergil watches him digging into them until almost nothing is left. Ilanlas knows he doesn’t like them as much, so he doesn’t offer to share. But what he doesn’t mind doing, is to have some taste straight out of those tempting lips.
This time, it’s Ilanlas who cups Vergil’s face, leaving a quick peck to his mouth before teeth close over Vergil’s lower lip. Not giving Vergil a time to react, when his tongue quickly soothes the sting then uses the distraction to kiss him fully, just as he likes to.
One stronger breeze rustles the leaves and makes Vergil shiver, just as Ilanlas stops their kiss.
Ilanlas glances at Vergil’s open lips, soft sigh shared between them before he stands up. Vergil’s eyes fall to the leather skirt, his hand following his gaze and resting on Ilanlas’ waist.
“Where are you going?”
“We are going.” Ilanlas tugs at his hand and Vergil gets up from the bench. “I need a change of clothes.” He sniffs, “and maybe a bath too.” Ilanlas adds with a smirk.
The fingers of their clasped hands intertwine easily when they start walking towards the entrance to the building, “One of the things on your list? Maybe I can assist with that.”
Wyn Surana and Vergil Surana in a fic for @ash-soka to celebrate the oc kiss week 💙✨
Vergil flicks his wrist, droplets of darkspawn ichor falling from the blade in his hand. He glances at the body at his feet, the creature unmoving. One more corpse to the pile they are going to burn later. His companions look unharmed - Sten stands nearby with arms crossed, staring at the battlefield. Leliana and Zevran sit on the grass, weapons scattered around them, sharing a waterskin in silence. Morrigan hides from the glaring sun under the tree, its branches thick and old. Wynne and Alistair seem occupied, the healer checking the cut on his cheek, while the man whines loudly about the pain.
Vergil snorts at the display, knowing that Alistair loves playing the part of poor and injured boy so Wynne fusses over him.
“She knows he’s acting.” Wyn says next to Vergil, his backpack in his arms. They left their things behind as soon as they sensed darkspawn ahead.
“And she still indulges him.”
Wyn grabs a small pouch with protective runes from the pack, “They both like it. Now, where do we light the fire?”
Vergil looks around the field, “Any spots you recommend? You are the specialist here.”
“The offer stands, you know.” Wyn grins at him, stepping closer, “I could teach you how to handle the spell and not burn yourself.”
Vergil tilts his head to the side, mouth curled in a smirk, “I don’t have to play with fire when you can do it.”
“How you flatter me,” Wyn’s eyes gleam, hand reaching towards his face. He doesn’t move when his fingers brush against his cheek, catching stray strand of his hair. Tucking it behind his ear with gentle focus, one that makes him lean forward, closer, like on an invisible strand tugging him towards Wyn.
“It’s fortunate that I’m very good at lighting things up, don’t you agree?” Wyn bats his eyes with a soft laugh.
“Indeed-”
“You two! Kissing over darkspawn’s corpse is gross!” Alistair’s voice carries through the field and both of them step back to scowl at the man, now snickering at their expressions.
“No one is kissing! And you are gross!” Wyn shouts back with a roll of his eyes, while Vergil just shakes his head at the bickering that just started.
--**--**--**--
Later that day, Vergil walks carefully through the foliage on his way back to the camp, watching his step on the forest floor. A full basket hangs on his arm - he had luck with finding a patch of elfroot and some mushrooms that he thinks are edible. There is always a chance that Morrigan will throw away half of them with some scalding choice of words, but it is worth a try. The food on the road turns to be really boring after a while.
The dark slowly falls around him, but he doesn’t summon a wisp to light his way. The camp is near, its fire already a solid point for him to walk towards. Just one more bush to pass on his way and-
“... both of you have a responsibility you need to keep.”
“What are you trying to say?”
Wyn’s question makes Vergil stop on his track. He is hidden by dense shrubbery but he holds still, curiosity spiking.
“That you can’t let yourself be distracted, young man. Love is a selfish thing and often demands all of your attention.”
Love? What is Wynne talking about? Vergil strains his ears to hear Wyn’s answer, the silence on his part prolonged.
“I think you see things that aren’t here, Wynne.” Wyn says, slowly but clearly. Like when he wishes to end the topic he isn’t in the mood of talking about. “Now, if you excuse me, I really need to check on something.”
He hears Wynne murmuring something under her breath and walking away. But he doesn’t have much time to react when Wyn stomps his way towards his hiding spot.
Hiding?
He isn’t hiding. He has just paused for a moment, wary of the treacherous ground under his feet.
And there’s Wyn before him, a couple of wisps flying above his head. Hands on his hips, knowing smile on his face.
“Eavesdropping?” Wyn tsks, “That’s unbecoming of you.”
Vergil snorts at the playful tone of Wyn’s voice, “Was that a private conversation? I haven’t noticed.”
Wyn is watching him closely, biting his lip briefly. He looks like he thinks on saying something, then changes his mind. “What do you have there?” He asks, reaching for the basket over Vergil’s arm.
“I found some elfroot.” Vergil says, showing him his spoils.
“And these?” Wyn pokes one brown mushroom, “For eating or poisoning?”
“That will be seen.”
“Hopefully Morrigan will be merciful and won’t let us eat them if they are poisonous to teach us a lesson.” Wyn nods, fingers playing with a strand of his shirt.
It makes Vergil’s eyes wander along the line of Wyn’s neck, delicate skin on display with his hair up in a bun.
The basket lands on the ground, light of the wisps reflecting in Wyn’s eyes when Vergil steps closer to the man, hands gentle but firm on his body. Guiding him, and Wyn letting him do it, until his back meets the bark of the closest tree, Vergil’s body slotted to his, Wyn’s arms finding purchase on Vergil’s shirt. Mouth brushing over his throat, lips closing over a spot where his pulse flutters under his caress. He feels the gasp under his mouth when he nips at the skin, feeling Wyn’s fingers digging into his back when he works on the blooming mark that might be small but noticeable.
With a couple of small kisses left along the column of his neck, Vergil leans back, pleased by the slight blush painting Wyn’s face.
“If you aren’t asleep by the time I finish my shift tonight, we can continue.” Licking his lips, Vergil untangles himself from the man, who doesn’t make it easy for him, tugging at his shirt.
“Teasing me with a good time?” Wyn pouts when Vergil steps away as he leans in for a kiss, “Maybe I will be asleep then.”
Vergil grabs the basket and starts to walk away, “Your loss.” He throws over his shoulder, amused by the look on Wyn’s face.
"What is this? A Crow? In my bed? Before midnight?"
"Oh, very funny. Is it still too bright for you to go out, my dear?"
"The sun is too bright in here."
"Yes, yes. You are absolutely right. Now, maybe I can help with that?"
"How exactly?"
"Let me show you. It involves my lips."
