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"You overdid it again," Dorian says, unconvincingly conversational, from where he leans in the doorway. So he'd received a report from the healer already, then. Revas swallows a sigh.

He's sitting on Dorian's bed just a few yards away, but he doesn't look up. Instead, his gaze is locked on the golden embroidery of Dorian's bedspread. It should be gaudy, and objectively it is, but it's somehow elegant, too. Revas has lost himself in the patterns of it so many times since he arrived here.

There's no point denying the injury. "I need to get stronger," Revas says instead, and the endless frustration feels like simply anger today. "I still can't hold my staff for long enough to cast more than two or three spells."

"The healers only gave you permission to really start training last month," Dorian reminds him.

Doesn't change the fact that if anything bigger than a mabari comes at me, I'm dead, Revas wants to say. Instead, he picks out the constellations among the design of gold threads and nods silently.

"Pouting again," Dorian says, voice softer, pushing off from the threshold. Revas waits for the bed to dip as Dorian joins him, but instead Dorian kneels on the plush carpet at Revas's feet.

"Not my leg I hurt," Revas mumbles. It's something in his back, pain radiating down one side.

"Amatus." Dorian chuckles. "I'm not down here to tend your sore muscles. I'll rub those perfumed lotions into every inch of you, later, if that's what you want, but I had another idea to help relax you first."

Revas nods again, and he finally, finally looks at Dorian. "I'm exhausted," he admits.

Dorian takes Revas's hand in his own, kisses each of his fingers before he says, "I know," then adds, "Good thing you're on a bed."

Revas has favored linen trousers over leather since losing his arm – anything to make the day-to-day easier. Independence isn't only about his pride; it's also survival, now that he no longer has an army sworn to protect him. Technically, he shouldn't even be in Minrathous – he's not sure whether it's the former leader of a foreign power or the free elven mage Tevinter would find more objectionable, and either one would be enough – and Dorian's insistence that I'm hardly the only magister to bend the rules for a lover wasn't exactly the reassurance Revas needed.

But Dorian's fingers on the laces of Revas's trousers promise a different kind of comfort, and soon Dorian is using his talented tongue for something he once described as even more enjoyable than eviscerating his opponents on the floor of the senate.

This isn't what they do most often, and Revas always forgets how good it feels until Dorian is enveloping him in the heat of his mouth. It takes a little longer now for Revas to get excited, and even longer to get anywhere; after an excruciatingly embarrassing conversation with Thom, of all people, Revas knows now that it's not uncommon after a serious shock to the body, and that it may even improve in the months and years to come.

Dorian acts as if he has endless time and nowhere he'd rather be as he works Revas's length with his mouth. Revas reaches for Dorian, threads his fingers through Dorian's hair. It feels different to do this now, uneven, and his shoulder twitches painfully. Dorian must sense his sudden tension because he slides his hand under the cuff of Revas's trousers, wraps his palm big and warm around his ankle. It grounds him, and Revas can finally succumb to sensation, let it wash over him.

He's felt so untethered since the Exalted Council. Beyond his physical recovery, beyond the Qunari threat, beyond all the political maneuvering and a series of painful goodbyes as Skyhold slowly emptied out… Dorian leaving was the worst, of course, and Revas would have gone mad on some of the most painful nights of his recovery if not for the messenger stones and Dorian's voice in his ear from across the Waking Sea.

Beyond all that, Revas is struggling with everything they've learned in the fade. It's too much to carry, even with his inner circle to help with the burden. Everything he'd believed his entire childhood was wrong, and everything he'd helped to build over his entire adult life was sacrificed to secure political stability… but also Revas's freedom.

The freedom to leave Skyhold behind himself, too, when the time was right. To make his way across the sea to Kirkwall to visit his new estate. But it hadn't been home, and eventually he'd made arrangements for the house to be used by one of Cullen's protégés to assist the few recovering templars who remained in the city, and Revas left Kirkwall. He claimed to Varric to have no destination in mind, but Varric laughed knowingly and said, "Tell Sparkles I said hello" when he saw Revas off.

Traveling in Tevinter as a free elf isn't a simple feat, but a heavy purse eases the path. Revas has been here at the Pavus estate since, working all morning in the private courtyard to build his strength back before retiring inside to escape the afternoon heat. He's usually alone until late into the evening, other than the kitten he saved in Kirkwall and, as Dorian put it, imposed upon the famous Pavus hospitality despite Revas's not having a plus-one on his invitation. So Dorian being home in the afternoon today is a nice surprise, and Dorian sucking his cock is even better.

Revas twists his fingers in Dorian's hair and tugs lightly. The first time he did that, years ago now, Dorian made an affronted sound, and Revas scolded himself, resolved never to do it again. It was only after several times coming in Dorian's mouth, his hands twisted in the blankets or clenched against his thighs to avoid repeating his mistake, that Dorian admitted he'd been embarrassed that he quite enjoyed when Revas pulled his hair. Any other man, it might have felt demeaning, but I didn't mind with you. It felt like you were telling me how good you felt, how well I'd done. Then he'd cracked a joke about his vanity to hide his vulnerability, but Revas understood.

So now, when he pulls Dorian's hair, Dorian groans around his cock. It's a shameless sound, and Revas is glad for it: Dorian deserves that, deserves to have to hold nothing back here in his bedroom. Revas lifts his hips, fucks into Dorian's mouth a little, and Dorian makes a breathless sound then takes Revas deeper.

"Dorian," Revas moans. Dorian's hand flexes around Revas's ankle, a silent response, and Revas feels blissfully grounded, connected, as his climax comes and he spills into Dorian's mouth. Dorian swallows his spend with appreciative little sounds that are almost overwhelmingly sexy, all the more so because Dorian wouldn't have allowed himself to utter them with anyone but Revas. It's heady, knowing he's the only one who gets to see the great Dorian Pavus like this, unarmored.

Revas uses his hold on Dorian's hair to move him off of his oversensitive length, then he leans forward to kiss him. He can taste himself, and under that the bite of the spicy tea everyone favors here. Dorian kisses him back with care, entirely unhurried, but Revas sits back, holding Dorian at arm's length.

"Take off your clothes," Revas says, looking down at Dorian and feigning a confidence he hasn't felt since before returning to the Winter Palace for the Exalted Council, "and get on your bed."

Revas lets go of his hair, and Dorian stands in a single graceful motion but breathes hard as he works very quickly over the buckles on his clothes. Revas wonders whether Dorian is aware that he licks his bottom lip as he watches Revas tuck his cock back into his pants and do up the laces. It's flattering enough to take the sting out of Dorian seeing him struggle a little to dress himself. He tucks the ends of the laces in at his waist and pulls his vest down to cover it, rather than attempt a proper knot.

As Dorian finally manages to get undressed, he says, "Our bed."

"What?" Revas says. He follows Dorian with his eyes as Dorian climbs onto the bed and settles against the eleven – Revas counted them one morning – pillows arranged along his headboard.

"I said, ‘our bed.'" Dorian looks almost defiant, somehow, even naked with his cock half-hard as Revas settles his weight across Dorian's thighs. He's not really pinned in place, of course; even before, he was stronger than Revas. He's only pinned because he chooses to be, because he wants Revas warm and real on top of him, steady with his legs on either side of Dorian's as he wraps his hand around Dorian's cock.

"It's not–" Revas starts to say, but he doesn't want to talk right now and he certainly doesn't want to argue, not with Dorian growing harder under his touch. He wants to bring him pleasure, and then he wants that massage because he really is sore from entirely too many push-ups this morning. At least he's temporarily numbed by the endorphins from his own orgasm, and from seeing Dorian give himself to him.

Dorian's hands are the ones twisting in that beautiful quilt now, since Revas is sitting too far back on Dorian's thighs for him to reach him comfortably. Dorian whines when he comes in Revas's grasp, and the sound only really stops after Revas ceases his relentless strokes and lets go. Revas hesitates a moment then wipes his hand on his shirt. He shrugs it off, folds it over, and wipes at Dorian's skin until he's clean enough for the moment. Revas isn't quite ready for them to part, even just long enough to get properly clean, and he thinks for all Dorian's prissiness that he might not be, either. Revas balls the shirt up and tosses it on the floor. Dorian tsks, as if there was anything better to do with it right then, and Revas rolls his eyes even as he settles into the crook of Dorian's arm and turns his face up for a kiss.

This kiss is gentle compared to the others, and brief, too. Revas rests his head against Dorian's chest, listens as his heartbeat slows. But it never slows completely to its normal rhythm, and finally Dorian says, "I want you to– Allow me to start again. I know the Dalish ask Sylaise to bless their unions."

Revas frowns. "Because they don't know about the Evanuris, they still believe Sylaise is a goddess who keeps them safe."

"I know," Dorian says. "It wasn't a criticism. I only meant." He huffs. "Clearly it means that home, belonging, that's all important." He sighs and says, "I had a speech prepared, but I'm afraid it's inappropriate now that you've reminded me that history has undercut Sylaise as ‘the hearthkeeper.'"

Revas almost feels annoyed at this rather casual regard for his entire world crumbling under his feet. "I'm very sorry reality has ruined your public address, Magister Pavus," he says, but he also knows that this is who Dorian is so he takes Dorian's hand and interlaces their fingers to soften the bite of what he's said.

Dorian sighs again, but this time it's dramatic, put-upon. "I simply wanted you to know that this place, ostentatious as it is, could be your home, too, if you want to be here." He forces some mirth into his voice for bravado and adds, "Might as well have two people who actually like each other reside here together someday. It would, after all, be a historic moment for House Pavus."

"I could add that to my list of accolades," Revas says.

"If you'd like," Dorian says lightly. "You are, of course, already quite accomplished."

"It's true," Revas agrees, "even one-handed, I had Dorian Pavus on his knees just this afternoon."

That surprises a laugh out of Dorian, a genuine and hearty one. His chest shakes with it, and Revas throws a leg over Dorian's and draws even closer. The setting sun is casting a rainbow of patterns over their skin through the stained glass of the Pavus estate's master bedroom. Dorian traces a line over Revas's shoulder; where purple and blue glass in the window are joined by a thin line of lead, the colors of the light bleed together against his skin.

"I'm glad you're here," Dorian says softly, and It's so much better to hear his voice when he's right there, his breath rustling Revas's hair and the warmth of his body pressed close. Revas looks up at him, and Dorian kisses his forehead. His mustache tickles, and Revas smiles as he closes his eyes. "Welcome home, amatus," Dorian whispers, and they hold each other close in their bed.


"I shouldn't have snapped at you," Revas admits later, over a quiet dinner in Dorian's study.

Dorian just shakes his head and takes another drink of his wine before saying, "I'm not afraid of your little rat when it hisses, and I'm not afraid of you when you do, either."

"She's not a rat," Revas pouts. She'd been the size of one when he first found her in the alley behind The Hanged Man, but she's a fairly healthy, mostly full-grown cat now. She even has a very shiny bell on a ribbon around her neck; Dorian had forgotten to blink when he insisted, loudly, that a member of the staff must have put it on her to prevent her sneaking, because Dorian certainly wouldn't give a gift to the beast.

Like any politician, Dorian Pavus can be a great liar, but he doesn't put his full effort into deception when it's just the two of them. After a token protest, he's willing to grumble and admit, perhaps, that he likes having both of these southern strays imposing on his hospitality.