Dragon Age One Shots

Lemonade, Dorian

With a bit of swagger and the occasional waft of his hand, Dorian was able to ignore the unseemly glisten of summer sliding down his back. Or so he assured himself as he walked down the picturesque sidewalk of your average suburban neighborhood. A few adults stood outside, waving hoses haphazardly at flowerbeds, but for the most part the day was owned by children.

One of which was refusing to let him pass.

"Hey, hey mister," the scamp shouted, both hands waving for Dorian from behind a card table. A white poster board, glowing under the striking sunlight, bore the advertisement that this was a Lemonade Stand which Dorian unfortunately had to walk in front of to get to his destination.

Trying his best to ignore the child's pleas for attention, Dorian managed to make it halfway past, when the kid shouted, "Come on! Cool, refreshing lemonade! You know you want a glass! It's for a good cause!"

"And what, pray tell, would that be?" he turned, curiosity holding him in place.

Before Dorian finished his pivot, the boy was already fishing out a red plastic cup from the stack under his chair. Beside him sat a girl in pigtails, at best four to five years old. She was busy coloring instead of diving into this business endeavor -- probably management then.

"All the money we make, see, it's gonna go to this thing. Uh, good thing..." their little salesman was losing his pitch fast, all his attention on pouring a thin stream of pale-yellow liquid into the cup. "Here!" he finished, shoving the cup at Dorian.

"I never said I intended to buy any. I was only asking what the money was earmarked for."

"But," the kids eyes drooped, his lips snapping right to crying, "but I got it for you. Poured it. Special made by me and my sister. Why won't you buy it?"

Fasta vass! The tears were coming quick and on command. Last thing he needed were people wondering about him. Groaning, he fished into his pocket. "How much? A quarter?"

"One dollar, please!" the tears vanished in an instant, replaced by a grubby hand clawing through the air.

"An entire dollar? For a single cup of lemonade? That's highway robbery!" Dorian froze, not about to bow down to a child's whims.

"But, but, it's already here. In the cup. Melting." And like that the waterworks were back, quite a few curious adults peering over at the strange man making a child cry. Damn it.

Snarling, he slapped a dollar into the kid's palm. "It can't be melting, it's liquid," he muttered even while taking the cup and nestling it to his chest. The entrepreneur folded his hard-won dollar up and began to stuff it into a lockbox under his chair, when he paused.

"You gonna drink it or what?"

Not particularly. Still... Placing the lip of the cup against his mouth, he let just a smidgeon wash against his tongue. Sweet Maker, did they throw an entire bag of sugar into this? With pinched eyes he smiled and said, "Yes, very tasty."

"And refreshing!" the boy shouted, trying to wave more people to his stand.

"Quite," Dorian gasped, dashing off to the house he wanted, which was conveniently two down from the lemonade stand. He was about to head up the trimmed walk to knock, when he heard the blaring of machinery from the side. Drifting over, Dorian stood with the cup of lemonade in his hands while watching a glorious man bent clean over.

With a whirring tool well in hand, he sliced through a thicket of weeds sending them splattering against the house's outer wall. Sweat glistened against those tan biceps flexing to a stretch, drawing Dorian's eye from the prodding veins up to the shoulders and down the sculpted scapulas. After that, they vanished under a cheap man's undershirt completing the gardener-hard-at-work look.

The weed attacker fell silent, the gardener's tool tumbling to the side as he drew a taut forearm against his forehead and swiped the sweat free. Crystal blue eyes opened and he smiled, "Dorian."

"I did not expect to find you getting down into the dirt," Dorian smirked, crossing closer to the man reeking of the sun, hard work, and pulsing testosterone. He thought himself a fan of clean sheets, air conditioning, and showered bodies. But finding him with cheeks flush from exertion, body glistening in sweat, and muscles aquiver as they waited for a new challenge Dorian's viewpoint was rapidly altering.

"What's that?" he pointed. A crude remark flared in Dorian's brain, but he swallowed it as he realized the gesture was to the cup in his hands and not lower.

"Ah, for you," Dorian said, stepping closer. The wind rustled through his love's hair smelling of clipped grass, summer heat, and that sandalwood shampoo he'd often find on his pillows come morning.

Reaching over with the cup, Dorian placed it in his love's gloved hands and smiled, "Some lemonade, to help you cool down."

"Thanks," he tipped it back, swallowing the gift fast despite the cloying sweetness. After wiping off the side of his lips, his Amatus smiled wickedly, "Though, I thought you were only ever here to heat me up."

Nipping his own bottom lip, Dorian's fingers rolled over his love's waist. The flimsy cotton, drenched from so much hot work, slipped upward revealing a tempting line of abdominals that looked as if they needed a good tongue bath. Hungry, Dorian swept his palm up his love's back, the muscles beinging to tremble as he pulled himself tighter to the man.

"I happen to come with many services," Dorian whispered, his eyes awash in the crystal blue before him.

"That so?" his love smiled, tender fingers brushing against Dorian's cheek before cupping against his waist. "I'm not certain if I can afford them."

"I suppose I can cut you a deal, just this once," Dorian said before diving for those wry lips that melted at his touch. Leather gloves roamed up his spine, as he took his chance to dig into the hot flesh under his love's flimsy tank top. Images of watching his love dressed in nothing but a g-string as he mowed that back lawn flitted through Dorian's mind. As the heat of their kiss increased, they transformed to what the two of them could do on a riding lawnmower -- the rumble of its engine aiding them greatly.

His hungry hand began to slide from cupping his love's bountiful ass forward towards the stick shift when a peppy voice shouted, "Hey! Hey Mister!"

Both men sprung apart, turning to find that cursed lemonade salesman peering in at them. Oh Maker, he must have seen them kissing. Which he could tell the other adults around here. Dorian risked glancing to his fretting love a second before honing in on the child. What would he do? Shout for help? Cry for a parent to save him? Get them banished? Start throwing stones? Anything seemed possible.

Raising his hands high in the air, the child exposed another red cup and his trusty pitcher. In his best salesman voice he shouted, "Do you wanna buy a glass for your boyfriend?!"