[And it doesn't take him too long. He arrives after roughly 15 minutes, carrying a small gold pot with a small plant- low, with an almost moss-like base of small leaves, with tendrils that crept over the sides of the pot, promising vines. It was a plant native to the moon Adsum, carefully trained for gardens, as he had learned.
He hoped it would be appropriate.
He stepped into the bar, uncertain of what he was doing, and quickly spotted Arhen, his heart skipping three beats as he saw him.
Perhaps he was always too fond of him, but he was also never one for too much caution.]
Ah, there you are.
[He smiled, settling into place next to him, and took his hand in a moment of boldness, pressing a brief kiss to the back of it.]
[Arhen trailed off in surprise when Dorian took his hand and kissed it, trying to fight the flush threatening to creep into his cheeks. He wasn't some bare-faced child, he could hold it together-- but that was a potted plant, wasn't it? He'd brought him a plant.
He had to admit he hadn't expected this much, but it seemed as though Dorian truly did intend to court him, and the thought made his own heart skip a beat or two.]
Dorian. Did you really...?
[His expression softened, the smile on his face warm and fond.]
I wasn't certain if you'd like it or not. If you don't care for it, you're more than welcome to blame Jove- she gave me the idea, after all.
[He placed the plant in front of Arhen, gesturing and ordering them two whiskeys. He turned back to Arhen, his smile less the cutting smirk it usually was, and more honest.]
It's still young, but...given proper care, there will be flowering vines. I only know a bit of gardening- whatever I could pry from the gardener when I was curious, as a boy. But it should keep, ideally. I've seen more impressive examples of it around the moon. I couldn't tell you what color the blooms will be, it seems they come in nearly every color imaginable...but I do hope that you like it.
[He realized he was almost babbling, and he paused, chuckling softly to himself. He felt a bit giddy, if he were honest with himself, not that he could explain to Arhen, but he realized a moment too late that he was still holding his hand.]
Ah, I ought to give that back to you...
[He didn't really want to let go of him, but nor was he holding onto him. He took his hand back, resting it against the bar and managing a soft smile at Arhen.]
[He certainly didn't mind indulging a bit of babble, still smiling the whole way through that explanation-- and Dorian wasn't the only one who almost failed to notice he hadn't let go. It simply hadn't occurred to him, not with what he was used to from Dorian.]
It's alright, really, you don't have to-
[Arhen reached over to cover Dorian's hand with his own, taking it back himself. He hadn't missed the reluctance when he first let go, and was equally reluctant to give up anything he could get.]
And don't worry over whether I like it, of course I do. You have no idea how much I've missed having something green around.
[It had a bit of a wistful touch to it, a hint of something a little sad in his eyes despite the smile. He'd found himself actually missing Skyhold, here, and how much homier it felt in comparison to the ship.]
[Dorian was almost caught off-guard, but he found himself smiling when Arhen took his hand back, an almost wistful, near bittersweet smile.]
I wish I could offer you a greenhouse but...I'm not certain your shipmates will regard me too fondly if you turn the cargo hold into a small garden.
[He smiled a bit, just this side of a smirk, and in a moment of boldness, reached out with his other hand to take Arhen's face, resting his palm against his jaw and gently touching his cheek with his thumb, following the tattoos on his face.]
Perhaps- but they have no say in what I do with the cockpit, now do they? And I'm sure I could encourage vines to grow along a bunk...
[He put some serious thought into that, if the contemplative look were anything to go by-- but it faded at the unexpected touch to his face, the familiar way Dorian's thumb trailed along the lines of his vallaslin. Arhen's eyes closed reflexively, content enough to simply let the attention continue.]
-did Jove teach you about those, as well as my preferences?
[His eyes never opened, but one side of his mouth quirked to match the faintly amused tone of his voice.]
No, she did not. You're almost entirely a mystery to me. A charming one, for certain, but a mystery nonetheless.
[He smiled softly, his expression gentle and honest now that Arhen's eyes were closed, and he leaned forward, briefly kissing him. It was just a moment, but more certain than his previous kisses had been.]
What are they? What are these preferences, beyond a care for charming and attractive men?
[That kiss only made it all more familiar-- were it not for the admission that he remained a mystery, Arhen could almost think this was just as things were supposed to be.
Perhaps it still was, though, in a way, and he was comfortable enough to lean in and rest his head on Dorian's shoulder, eyes half-open and looking rather like a sleepy cat.]
We call the tattoos 'vallaslin'. Blood writing. You've seen elves wearing the same patterns, haven't you? They're not a decoration for us, each of them represents one of our gods.
[He kept his voice soft, out of habit. Surely none on this distant moon would care for elven ways save himself and Dorian, but he wasn't used to sharing this with others.]
Mythal, in my case. The Protector and Mother. [And, with a small grin at Dorian-] Also the patron of love, as it happens.
[Dorian smiles softly, though he is entirely uncertain here. Sex and physical intimacy were far easier than emotional intimacy.
Oh, he longed for it, to have someone who lived him for who he was, but he never really thought it possible. Dorian knew who he was, but in some ways he still carried the shame of being an anomaly in Tevinter, of knowing that who he was was something that even his father could not accept.
He leaned his head against Arhen's, and he smiled softly, fondly. His heart thudded in his chest. This was so different from anything he had known.
[If the teasing lilt in his voice were any indication, he took no offense to it as things stood; the return of that affectionate little gesture was a soothing thing, helped to ease what remained of any worries about this meeting. The way he fit against Dorian's side was a wholly familiar thing, the warmth and weight of him was reassuring, and everything else was so easy to forget.]
[He hesitated, and then put an arm around Arhen's waist. He was uncertain what to do, or where to start with this, only knowing that he wanted this, he had wanted it for years.
But now that it was here, love and caring seemed vast and daunting.]
Mm. I usually find you're the sort of cruel that I happen to like, though.
[Encouragement was a dangerous move, at least if he expected things to stay as they were. Arhen shifted easily to make himself more comfortable there, turning more toward Dorian and reaching up to drape an arm across him in return.]
But if you feel like making it up to me regardless... you can always tell me more about how they suit me. I won't mind at all.
Which way should I flatter you? Perhaps I ought to say that The Protector would be a terribly auspicious patron for the Inquisitor.
[And he chuckles softly.]
But I suspect that if you wanted to hear someone rhapsodize about the Herald of Andraste, you'd look elsewhere.
[What he means to say is that he has the markings of the patron of love on his face, and he's brought the promise of something like that to Dorian. That Arhen is like a spirit that stole into his heart and brought with him the Spring to thaw the ice around it.
He wants to say these things, spin him poetic words, but he can't. The words die in his throat, and he can't bring himself to do more than think them.]
What I can tell you is that they set off your eyes beautifully, and they very nicely follow the curves of your face, amatus.
[He says the term of endearment, and even though it's an admission of caring, it's safer when he can pretend that Arhen doesn't speak any Tevene.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Action!
He hoped it would be appropriate.
He stepped into the bar, uncertain of what he was doing, and quickly spotted Arhen, his heart skipping three beats as he saw him.
Perhaps he was always too fond of him, but he was also never one for too much caution.]
Ah, there you are.
[He smiled, settling into place next to him, and took his hand in a moment of boldness, pressing a brief kiss to the back of it.]
no subject
[Arhen trailed off in surprise when Dorian took his hand and kissed it, trying to fight the flush threatening to creep into his cheeks. He wasn't some bare-faced child, he could hold it together-- but that was a potted plant, wasn't it? He'd brought him a plant.
He had to admit he hadn't expected this much, but it seemed as though Dorian truly did intend to court him, and the thought made his own heart skip a beat or two.]
Dorian. Did you really...?
[His expression softened, the smile on his face warm and fond.]
no subject
[He placed the plant in front of Arhen, gesturing and ordering them two whiskeys. He turned back to Arhen, his smile less the cutting smirk it usually was, and more honest.]
It's still young, but...given proper care, there will be flowering vines. I only know a bit of gardening- whatever I could pry from the gardener when I was curious, as a boy. But it should keep, ideally. I've seen more impressive examples of it around the moon. I couldn't tell you what color the blooms will be, it seems they come in nearly every color imaginable...but I do hope that you like it.
[He realized he was almost babbling, and he paused, chuckling softly to himself. He felt a bit giddy, if he were honest with himself, not that he could explain to Arhen, but he realized a moment too late that he was still holding his hand.]
Ah, I ought to give that back to you...
[He didn't really want to let go of him, but nor was he holding onto him. He took his hand back, resting it against the bar and managing a soft smile at Arhen.]
no subject
It's alright, really, you don't have to-
[Arhen reached over to cover Dorian's hand with his own, taking it back himself. He hadn't missed the reluctance when he first let go, and was equally reluctant to give up anything he could get.]
And don't worry over whether I like it, of course I do. You have no idea how much I've missed having something green around.
[It had a bit of a wistful touch to it, a hint of something a little sad in his eyes despite the smile. He'd found himself actually missing Skyhold, here, and how much homier it felt in comparison to the ship.]
no subject
I wish I could offer you a greenhouse but...I'm not certain your shipmates will regard me too fondly if you turn the cargo hold into a small garden.
[He smiled a bit, just this side of a smirk, and in a moment of boldness, reached out with his other hand to take Arhen's face, resting his palm against his jaw and gently touching his cheek with his thumb, following the tattoos on his face.]
no subject
[He put some serious thought into that, if the contemplative look were anything to go by-- but it faded at the unexpected touch to his face, the familiar way Dorian's thumb trailed along the lines of his vallaslin. Arhen's eyes closed reflexively, content enough to simply let the attention continue.]
-did Jove teach you about those, as well as my preferences?
[His eyes never opened, but one side of his mouth quirked to match the faintly amused tone of his voice.]
no subject
[He smiled softly, his expression gentle and honest now that Arhen's eyes were closed, and he leaned forward, briefly kissing him. It was just a moment, but more certain than his previous kisses had been.]
What are they? What are these preferences, beyond a care for charming and attractive men?
no subject
Perhaps it still was, though, in a way, and he was comfortable enough to lean in and rest his head on Dorian's shoulder, eyes half-open and looking rather like a sleepy cat.]
We call the tattoos 'vallaslin'. Blood writing. You've seen elves wearing the same patterns, haven't you? They're not a decoration for us, each of them represents one of our gods.
[He kept his voice soft, out of habit. Surely none on this distant moon would care for elven ways save himself and Dorian, but he wasn't used to sharing this with others.]
Mythal, in my case. The Protector and Mother. [And, with a small grin at Dorian-] Also the patron of love, as it happens.
no subject
Oh, he longed for it, to have someone who lived him for who he was, but he never really thought it possible. Dorian knew who he was, but in some ways he still carried the shame of being an anomaly in Tevinter, of knowing that who he was was something that even his father could not accept.
He leaned his head against Arhen's, and he smiled softly, fondly. His heart thudded in his chest. This was so different from anything he had known.
This odd elf, with love marks on his face.]
I suppose they suit you, in an odd way.
no subject
[If the teasing lilt in his voice were any indication, he took no offense to it as things stood; the return of that affectionate little gesture was a soothing thing, helped to ease what remained of any worries about this meeting. The way he fit against Dorian's side was a wholly familiar thing, the warmth and weight of him was reassuring, and everything else was so easy to forget.]
no subject
[He hesitated, and then put an arm around Arhen's waist. He was uncertain what to do, or where to start with this, only knowing that he wanted this, he had wanted it for years.
But now that it was here, love and caring seemed vast and daunting.]
no subject
[Encouragement was a dangerous move, at least if he expected things to stay as they were. Arhen shifted easily to make himself more comfortable there, turning more toward Dorian and reaching up to drape an arm across him in return.]
But if you feel like making it up to me regardless... you can always tell me more about how they suit me. I won't mind at all.
no subject
[And he chuckles softly.]
But I suspect that if you wanted to hear someone rhapsodize about the Herald of Andraste, you'd look elsewhere.
[What he means to say is that he has the markings of the patron of love on his face, and he's brought the promise of something like that to Dorian. That Arhen is like a spirit that stole into his heart and brought with him the Spring to thaw the ice around it.
He wants to say these things, spin him poetic words, but he can't. The words die in his throat, and he can't bring himself to do more than think them.]
What I can tell you is that they set off your eyes beautifully, and they very nicely follow the curves of your face, amatus.
[He says the term of endearment, and even though it's an admission of caring, it's safer when he can pretend that Arhen doesn't speak any Tevene.]