Spellbound

12. Grapes from the Free Marches

Dorian had opened the windows in his room and a fresh breeze that indicated the arrival of early spring ventilated the perfumed air. Tevinter's climate was warmer than Lavellan's home, even at this time of the year, and the distance they had from the city allowed a rush of fresh air in.

When Lavellan passed the window, he sent a yearning glance at the meadows and trees outside. A dark haze seemed to cling to them like to the rest of Tevinter, but he much preferred the touch of nature to this house crafted by humans. His bare feet hadn't touched the grass in weeks, and he felt he was losing his sanity because of it.

Before Dorian could catch onto his mournful expression, Lavellan faced the mage. With the confidence of three men, Dorian strutted through the room to reach his desk and sunk down on the chair. His elbow came up on the tabletop beside him to beckon towards the platter full of grapes arranged there.

"Look," he offered.

Lavellan looked, unimpressed. When his face didn't change, the sly smirk of Dorian's lips faltered. His eyes yearned for a reaction when none came.

"They are grapes," Lavellan pointed out when the mage waited fruitlessly. His snarky commentary got him a huffed laugh from Dorian.

"They are grapes I imported from the Free Marches. Your home country, if I am informed correctly."

Lavellan's face froze. Suddenly, those grapes looked more familiar to him than anything else in this room. He could pinpoint which travelling merchant always sold them to his clan. He knew how the surface burst under his teeth and how he had loved to suckle on them until they were disgusting back when he had been a child.

At the change of demeanour, triumph returned to Dorian's face. His fingers plucked a grape from the stalk and offered it to Lavellan.

Wary of the bait, Lavellan eyed as if it would grow teeth and bite him if he didn't pay attention.

"You want something in return," he predicted, and Dorian's teeth flashed when his grin broadened. His free hand patted his thigh.

"Sit here and I will let you have it."

Lavellan's eyes flicked from the grape to the man's lap. Their height difference was noticeable, if not as scandalous as between Dorian and the Bull when they had kissed earlier. Yet, the human was well-built, and his broader body would dwarf Lavellan.

Unwilling to get into such a vulnerable position, Lavellan crossed his arms. Stubborn minds clashed when Dorian shrugged and popped the grape between his own lips. His jaw moved when he chewed it and gulped it down. His pleased noise irked Lavellan's strained nerves.

He took a second one and offered it to Lavellan.

Tense, they stared at each other.

Dorian ate the grape by himself. And another. And another.

He was halfway through the stalk when Lavellan's resolve crumbled. He was frantic to have even one grape that tasted like home before they were gone. Despite knowing he got baited like a dog, Lavellan couldn't resist this rather fair offer. Sitting on Dorian's lap wouldn't kill him.

When he inched a step forward, Dorian halted in his tempting act. He licked some juices off his fingers and patted his thigh again, offering it.

With his teeth clenched, Lavellan came closer. Dorian waited for him as if he was a frightened Halla, and when Lavellan was within arm's reach, he lifted his hand to guide him in by the small of his back. His touch was warm even through the layers of clothes separating them. Lavellan pretended he didn't recoil as he sat down with both of his legs on the right side of Dorian's body and facing the table.