Sisters of Tevinter

Memories of the Grey

   Slats of molten orange sunshine turned Dorian's hair to ebony, casting his face in lines of tiger agate and brass. Max smiled softly, drawing the back of his hand fondly over the curve of the mage's cheek from where he laid beside him. 

   They'd fallen asleep late last night, thick tomes of magic and poems scattered around them on the mattress and on the floor. Of course, most of their attentions had been focused on each other during their studies and wordsmithing, through laughter and touch and kisses, but Max set the recollections high on the shelves of his mind-- reserved only for some of his greatest memories. 

    Now sunshine spilled through the window of Dorian's chambers, dawn rose over the mountains in all its warmth and glory. Despite the sun, the room was still bitter with mountain chill. Max had to curl his legs beneath him, tangled haphazardly in the quilt. 

   Dorian shifted, wincing with a soft groan. "Mm, daylight already?" 

  Max laughed, pressing a kiss to the mage's temple. "Good morning." 

   "As nice as it is to hear those words from your mouth," Dorian yawned, rolling over. "I need my beauty rest. Far too early." 

   The mercenary smiled, warmth tumbling in his chest as he leaned down to kiss the exposed toffee skin of the mage's shoulder, tugging at the back of his shirt. "But I am awake."

   He caught the ghost of a smile on Dorian's lips over his shoulder. Max buried his face in the crook of his neck, resting there with an arm draped over the spellbinder's side. He smelled of cinnamon and parchment. It was nice. This was nice. 

    "Moonbeam, I don't believe I'm bound to your consciousness." Amusement colored his voice and wrapped him in silk. 

    Max laughed softly, cuddling closer. "We should get up. We have to go today." 

    "Go?" Dorian reached behind him to run his fingers through Max's hair. 

    "Mhm." The mercenary murmured against the mage's skin. "The Hinterlands. The Nightingale is sending us to find the Grey Warden living there. He'll know what to do about the emerging Darkspawn if he hasn't been informed already."

     "Yes... you mentioned that." Dorian yawned, teasing a silver curl from its sleep mussed bindings. He rolled over to face Max, the sugary orange sunshine turning his eyes to rings of nectarine. "It's barely dawn." 

    "I would bet money Jor is awake and dressed." 

    "Jor is borderline psychotic." 

    Max laughed softly, brushing his lips against Dorian's as he propped himself up on his elbows to rise. "Come on." 

    A coffee hued hand caught a fistful of his white shirt collar and dragged him down again, bearing over Dorian, who gave an impish grin. "It's cold, Amatus." 

   Max's cheeks warmed at the Tevene term of endearment. Loosely translated, it meant 'heart key,' or something else equally sappy. His father had called his mother that to placate her when she'd been seething for too long. It had worked on her, and it certainly worked on the captain. "Oh, don't say that." 

    "Why not? I think it suits you." Dorian craned his neck to kiss the mercenary's nose. Max's face turned softly pink as he ducked his head. He was melting against the mage, he couldn't help it. His body lost its strength around him, as if siphoned away by something coated in sweet black sugar. 

     "We'll never leave this bed." 

    "Now that sounds better." Dorian grinned up at him, running a hand over the knots in Max's shoulders. The mercenary blushed deeply, closing his eyes with a steadying inhale and smothering a smile. The aches were eased under the gentle pressure of the mage's fingertips.