Dragon Age One Shots

Valentine's DA, Dorian

Darkness envelops you. Not the spine-tingling, heart quivering, breath hitching kind. Not yet, at least.

"Dor..." you struggle to speak, stumbling at the taller man's body guiding/pushing you through the room. Warm fingers remain clamped over your eyes, not letting a sliver of light through. Even as your feet scramble across rugs, you delight in the taut body almost grinding against your back.

Until he suddenly pauses and forgets to tell you. His grip clamped to your face while your feet continue to walk forward nearly sends to collapsing to the ground, but he keeps you steady in his arms.

"Wait here," that delicious accent purrs in your ear.

The hands lower off your eyes, your lids rising, when a finger waggles in your face. "And no peeking. Maker knows you are the worst at following directions."

"Me?" You laugh at such an absurd idea. Still, your eyes remain closed tight as you listen to a scuffling. Dorian's voice floats around a echoing room. But despite the stones it's not chilly. You dare say it's rather warm all things considered.

"Yes, you, Inquisitor. Man who never has to take a single direction while drowning us in them. You, cast that spell, you swing that sword, you...stand there and look pretty."

You hear the sound of fabric falling, then something liquid being poured. Dorian continues to bustle about in a frenzy even as you playback his words. "Who's pretty?"

"Your Commander, naturally."

Rolling your eyes behind your lids, you mutter, "I'm sure Cullen will be delighted to hear you said that."

There's more. The scent of brimstone fills the air, and sure enough a second later you hear Dorian's personal fire spell. "What are you doing?"

"Wait and see. You southerners have no patience," his voice stopped drifting around the room and at least seemed to be in one place. Progress?

Another smell bubbled over the brimstone, this one of sparkling wine and rose petals, and you'd swear you could hear a bubbling spring inside this room.

"Very well, Inquisitor. You may open your eyes."

Whiteness stings at first, your hand raising to shield yourself, as dancing candles come into focus. Over two dozen of them. In the corner, you spot a bathtub filled nearly to the brim, rose petals dancing on the bubbles. Below the tub rests a pair of wine flutes and the just uncorked bottle, condensation dripping down the sides.

"Given the holiday," Dorian spoke, "I wanted to get you the best present in thedas."

Your eyes swing away from the relaxation escape to find his glistening naked body curled on his side. A hand dangles off the crimson sheets, fingers enveloped around a rose. Placing the flower to his nose, he breathes in the heady scent. "And there's nothing more perfect than me."