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.]
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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.]